The Place of Honeymoons

To-night! The round moon was rising palely over Lecco; the moon, mistress

of love and tides, toward whom all men and maids must look, though only

Eros knows why! Evidently there was no answer to the Italian's question,

for he faced about and walked moodily toward the entrance. Here he paused,

looking up at the empty window. Again a snatch of song-O solo mio ... che bella cosa...!

What a beautiful thing indeed! Passionately he longed for the old days,

when by his physical prowess alone oft a man won his lady. Diplomacy,

torrents of words, sly little tricks, subterfuges, adroitness, stolen

glances, careless touches of the hand; by these must a maid be won to-day.

When she was happy she sang, when she was sad, when she was only

mischievous. She was just as likely to sing O terra addio when she was

happy as O sole mio when she was sad. So, how was a man to know the

right approach to her variant moods? Sighing deeply, he went on to his

room, to change his Piccadilly suit for another which was supposed to be

the last word in the matter of evening dress.

Below, in the village, a man entered the Grand Hotel. He was tall, blond,

rosy-cheeked. He carried himself like one used to military service; also,

like one used to giving peremptory orders. The porter bowed, the director

bowed, and the proprietor himself became a living carpenter's square,

hinged. The porter and the director recognized a personage; the proprietor

recognized the man. It was of no consequence that the new arrival called

himself Herr Rosen. He was assigned to a suite of rooms, and on returning

to the bureau, the proprietor squinted his eyes abstractedly. He knew

every woman of importance at that time residing on the Point. Certainly it

could be none of these. Himmel! He struck his hands together. So that

was it: the singer. He recalled the hints in certain newspaper paragraphs,

the little tales with the names left to the imagination. So that was it?

What a woman! Men looked at her and went mad. And not so long ago one had

abducted her in Paris. The proprietor threw up his hands in despair. What

was going to happen to the peace of this bucolic spot? The youth permitted

nothing to stand in his way, and the singer's father was a retired fighter

with boxing-gloves!