o execution the plan it suggested.

She took a parasol and went out of the hotel, hatless and gloveless,
into the garden of orange trees which lies between the buildings and the
gate. She strolled leisurely along the path towards the exit, on one
side of which is the porter's lodge, while the little square stone box
of a building which is the telegraph office stands on the other. She
knew that just before twelve o'clock Ruggiero and his brother were
generally seated on the bench before the lodge waiting for orders for
the afternoon. As she expected, she found them, and she beckoned to
Ruggiero and turned back under the trees. In an instant he was at her
side. She was startled to see how pale he was and how suddenly his face
seemed to have grown thin. She stopped and he stood respectfully before
her, cap in hand, looking down.

"Ruggiero," she said, "will you do me a service?"

"Yes, Excellency."

"Yes, I know--but it is something especial. You must tell no one--not
even your brother."

"Speak, Excellency--not even the stones shall hear it."

"I want you to find out at the telegraph office whether your master has
sent a telegram anywhere this morning. Can you ask the man and bring me
word here? I will walk about under the trees."

"At once, Excellency."

He turned and left her, and she strolled up the path. She wondered a
little why she was doing this underhand thing. It was not like her, and
whatever answer Ruggiero brought her she would gain nothing by it. If
San Miniato had spoken the truth, then he had really believed the
engagement already binding, as her mother had said. If he had lied, that
would not prevent his really telegraphing within the next half hour,
and matters would be in just the same situation with a slight difference
of time. She would, indeed, in this latter case, have a fresh proof of
his duplicity. But she needed none, as it seemed to her. It was enough
that he should have acted his comedy last night and got by a stratagem
what he could never have by any other means. Ruggiero returned after two
or three minutes.

"Well?" inquired Beatrice.

"He sent one at nine o'clock this morning, Excellency."

For one minute their eyes met. Ruggiero's were fierce, bright and clear.
Beatrice's own softened almost imperceptibly under his glance. If she
had seen herself at that moment she would have noticed that the hard
look she had observed in her own face had momentarily vanished, and that
she was