--me for instance!" she said. "And you
_are_ a saint. I don't know how to thank you enough. My poor boy will be
grateful! Well, I must go. You ought to have more wood on your fire. But
I suppose it's gone. Everything always is in this house, if it's
anything one wants. If ever you're in trouble of your own, and need a
couple of friends to stand by you, you've got us. Let's shake on it!"

She put out her hand and drew Mary toward her. If the girl had not
shrunk away almost imperceptibly, she would have bent down and kissed
her.

XXI

The cure of Roquebrune learned in an odd way that his Principino was
gambling; just in the queer roundabout way that secret things become
public on the Riviera.

His housekeeper had a sister. That sister was the wife of a man who kept
cows at Cap Martin, sold milk which the cows gave, and butter which he
said that he made (gaining praise thereby), though it was really
imported at night in carts from Italy.

The daughter was eighteen, and it was her duty to carry milk to the
customers of her father, who did business under the name of Verando,
Emilio. She was a beauty, and her fame spread until people of all
classes made errands to the laiterie of Verando, Emilio, to stare at the
dark-browed girl who was like a splendid Ligurian storm-cloud. When the
twelve white cows of Emilio were occasionally allowed an outing, and
could be seen glimmering among the ancient olive trees, the Storm-cloud
walked with them; early in the morning, when the gray-blue of mountain
and sky was framed like star sapphires in the silver of gnarled trunks
and feathery branches; or else early in the evening, when the moon-dawn
had come. The cows were supposed to chaperon Mademoiselle Nathalie
Verando, who was by blood more Signorina than Mademoiselle; but they
countenanced several flirtations which were observed by the caretaker of
Mirasole, the villa presently to be occupied by Prince Angelo Della
Robbia and his bride.

The caretaker, consumed with jealousy because one of the flirters had
flirted also with her daughter, told everybody that Nathalie Verando had
been kissed in the olive woods. Jim Schuyler's cook was a friend of
Luciola, the cure's housekeeper. When she heard of the incident in the
Verando family, she told Nathalie's aunt that Mrs. Winter, the
chaplain's wife at Monte Carlo, was in need of a parlour maid. The maid
must be pretty, because Mrs. Winter could not bear to have ugly people
about