Italian,
and spoken by two women.

He took advantage of the moment when the two speakers were at one end
of the walk to slip noiselessly to the other. After half an hour of
struggling he got to the end of the avenue, and there took up a position
whence, without being seen or heard, he could watch the two women
without being observed by them as they came towards him. What was
Rodolphe's amazement on recognizing the deaf-mute as one of them; she
was talking to Miss Lovelace in Italian.

It was now eleven o'clock at night. The stillness was so perfect on
the lake and around the dwelling, that the two women must have thought
themselves safe; in all Gersau there could be no eyes open but
theirs. Rodolphe supposed that the girl's dumbness must be a necessary
deception. From the way in which they both spoke Italian, Rodolphe
suspected that it was the mother tongue of both girls, and concluded
that the name of English also hid some disguise.

"They are Italian refugees," said he to himself, "outlaws in fear of the
Austrian or Sardinian police. The young lady waits till it is dark to
walk and talk in security."

He lay down by the side of the hedge, and crawled like a snake to find
a way between two acacia shrubs. At the risk of leaving his coat behind
him, or tearing deep scratches in his back, he got through the hedge
when the so-called Miss Fanny and her pretended deaf-and-dumb maid were
at the other end of the path; then, when they had come within twenty
yards of him without seeing him, for he was in the shadow of the hedge,
and the moon was shining brightly, he suddenly rose.

"Fear nothing," said he in French to the Italian girl, "I am not a spy.
You are refugees, I have guessed that. I am a Frenchman whom one look
from you has fixed at Gersau."

Rodolphe, startled by the acute pain caused by some steel instrument
piercing his side, fell like a log.

"_Nel lago con pietra_!" said the terrible dumb girl.

"Oh, Gina!" exclaimed the Italian.

"She has missed me," said Rodolphe, pulling from his wound a stiletto,
which had been turned by one of the false ribs. "But a little higher up
it would have been deep in my heart.--I was wrong, Francesca," he went
on, remembering the name he had heard little Gina repeat several times;
"I owe her no grudge, do not scold her. The happiness of speaking to you
is well worth the prick of a stiletto. Only show me the way out; I must
get back to the Stopfers' house. Be easy; I shall