'_Si_, signorina; it is my place. If it is true I cannot be your donkey-man any longer.' 'No, it is not true, but that is no concern of yours.' 'Are you going on another trip Friday--to Monte Maggiore?' 'Yes.' 'May I come with you?' His tone implied more than his words. She hesitated a moment, then shrugged indifferently. 'Just as you please, Tony. If you don't wish to work for us any more I dare say we can find another man.' 'It is as you please, signorina. If you wish it, I come, if you do not wish it, I go.' She made no answer. They joined the others and the party proceeded to the villa gates. Lieutenant di Ferara helped Constance dismount, while Captain Coroloni, with none too good a grace, held the donkey. A careful observer would have fancied that the lieutenant was ahead, and that both he and the captain knew it. Tony untied the bundles, dumped them on the kitchen floor, and waited respectfully, hat in hand, while Mr. Wilder searched his pockets for change. He counted out four lire and added a note. Tony pocketed the lire and returned the note, while Mr. Wilder stared his astonishment. 'Good-bye, Tony,' Constance smiled as he turned away. 'Good-bye, signorina.' There was a note of finality in his voice. 'Well!' Mr. Wilder ejaculated. 'That is the first----' 'Italian' he started to say, but he caught the word before it was out--'donkey-driver I ever saw refuse money.' Lieutenant di Ferara raised his shoulders. '_Mache_! The fellow is too honest; you do well to watch him.' There was a world of disgust in his tone. Constance glanced after the retreating figure and laughed. 'Tony!' she called. He kept on; she raised her voice. 'Mr. Yamhankeesh.' He paused. 'You call, signorina?' 'Be sure and be here by half-past six on Friday morning; we must start early.' 'Sank you, signorina. Good night.' 'Good night, Tony.' CHAPTER VIII The Hotel du Lac may be approached in two ways. The ordinary, obvious way, which incoming tourists of necessity choose, is by the high road and the gate. But the romantic way is by water. One sees only the garden then, and the garden is the distinguished feature of the place; it was planned long before the hotel was built to adorn a marquis's pleasure house. There are grottos, arbours, fountains, a winding stream, and, stretching the length of the water front, a deep cool grove of interlaced plane trees. At the end of the grove, half a dozen broad stone steps dip down to a tiny harbour which is carpeted on the surface with lily pads. The steps are worn by the lapping waves of fifty years, and are grown over with slippery, slimy water weeds.