"Fritz, Fritz; where are you?"
And a moment later she came out, followed by her mother ... and the little
lady of the Taverne Royale. Did Nora see him? It was impossible to tell.
She simply stooped and gathered up the puppy, who struggled determinedly
to lick her face. Courtlandt lifted his hat. It was in nowise offered as
an act of recognition; it was merely the mechanical courtesy that a man
generally pays to any woman in whose path he chances to be for the breath
of a second. The three women in immaculate white, hatless, but with
sunshades, passed on down the street.
Courtlandt went into the shop, rather blindly. He stared at the shelves of
paper-covered novels and post-cards, and when the polite proprietor
offered him a dozen of the latter, he accepted them without comment.
Indeed, he put them into a pocket and turned to go out.
"Pardon, sir; those are one franc the dozen."
"Ah, yes." Courtlandt pulled out some silver. It was going to be terribly
difficult, and his heart was heavy with evil presages. He had seen
Celeste. He understood the amusing if mysterious comedy now. Nora had
recognized him and had sent her friend to follow him and learn where he
went. And he, poor fool of a blunderer, with the best intentions in the
world, he had gone at once to the Calabrian's apartment! It was damnable
of fate. He had righted nothing. In truth, he was deeper than ever in the
quicksands of misunderstanding. He shut his teeth with a click. How neatly
she had waylaid and trapped him!
"Those are from Lucerne, sir."
"What?" bewildered.
"Those wood-carvings which you are touching with your cane, sir."
"I beg your pardon," said Courtlandt, apologetically, and gained the open.
He threw a quick glance down the street. There they were. He proceeded in
the opposite direction, toward his hotel. Tea at the colonel's? Scarcely.
He would go to Menaggio with the hotel motor-boat and return so late that
he would arrive only in time for dinner. He was not going to meet the
enemy over tea-cups, at least, not under the soldier's tactless
supervision. He must find a smoother way, calculated, under the rose, but
seemingly accidental. It was something to ponder over.
"Nora, who was that?" asked Mrs. Harrigan.
"Who was who?" countered Nora, snuggling the wriggling dachel under her
arm and throwing the sunshade across her shoulder.
"That fine-looking young man who stood by the door as we passed out. He
raised his hat."
"Oh, bother! I was looking at Fritz."
Celeste searched her face keenly, but Nora looked on ahead serenely; not a
quiver of an eyelid, not the slightest change in color or expression.
"She did not see him!" thought the musician, curiously stirred. She knew
her friend tolerably well. It would have been impossible for her to have
seen that man and not to have given evidence of the fact.