Rico had been promised for another dance in Riva the following week, and he was glad to go, for it would give him the opportunity to see closely what he had always looked at from a distance. Riva lies at the opposite end of the lake from Peschiera, and the white houses of the little towns built along the shore under the towering, rocky cliffs, had always seemed to throw him a glance of welcome. The musicians crossed the lake in an open boat under a clear blue sky. Rico's thoughts were mostly with Stineli. He wished again that she might know how pretty the lake was, especially since she had at first doubted its existence. He knew how much she would enjoy the beautiful sight, and how much it would surprise her to see it. He meant to tell her all about it when he went back to her. The boat landed at Riva all too soon, and a few moments later Rico was playing for the same kind of people that he had played for at the two preceding dances. It occurred to him that it was much pleasanter to look at the white houses and friendly rocks from his accustomed place on the opposite shore, or to amuse Silvio at Mrs. Menotti's, than to play amid the present tumult and applause. As they were returning to Peschiera that night he found no time to look about the town, though he had long wished to see the place. When there were no dances Rico was allowed to go to Mrs. Menotti's every evening, for the landlady wished to prove herself grateful not only to Rico but to Mrs. Menotti as well. These evenings were Rico's greatest pleasure. He invariably went to the bridge for a short time on his way over. It always gave him fresh comfort, for he knew to a certainty that it was a place that had once been a part of his home. He had found the exact spot where his mother used to sit most frequently when she held and fondled him. He would sit there and think it over and over, actually living in the spirit of the past. Each time he had to force himself to realize that Silvio needed him and would be waiting. Though it was always a little hard to leave the place, his peace of mind was restored as soon as he came to Mrs. Menotti's, for she had endeared herself to him, and he realized that from her he received more affection than from any one else except Stineli. Mrs. Menotti had heard the story about Rico's suffering in the hills, and she considered it wise to forbear asking questions, for fear of recalling to his mind painful scenes that had much better be forgotten. She longed to take Rico away from the hotel, for she knew that it was not the place for a sensitive nature such as his, but she saw that this would be an impossibility. Once she fondly put her hand on his head and said, "You poor little orphan, I do so wish I could keep you."