All through dinner-time he did his best to be amiable, and kept up a flow of small-talk, to which she responded with radiant smiles. Her evident joy at his return somewhat embarrassed him; he had grown so accustomed to the idea that she led her own life apart from his, among such friends and companions as were congenial to her, that it had never occurred to him to imagine her as missing him. And yet she must have felt dull to be so much excited now. “Let us have coffee up on the terrace,” she said; “it is quite warm this evening.” “Very well. Shall I take your guitar? Perhaps you will sing.” She flushed with delight; he was critical about music and did not often ask her to sing. On the terrace was a broad wooden bench running round the walls. The Gadfly chose a corner with a good view of the hills, and Zita, seating herself on the low wall with her feet on the bench, leaned back against a pillar of the roof. She did not care much for scenery; she preferred to look at the Gadfly. “Give me a cigarette,” she said. “I don't believe I have smoked once since you went away.” “Happy thought! It's just s-s-smoke I want to complete my bliss.” She leaned forward and looked at him earnestly. “Are you really happy?” The Gadfly's mobile brows went up. “Yes; why not? I have had a good dinner; I am looking at one of the m-most beautiful views in Europe; and now I'm going to have coffee and hear a Hungarian folk-song. There is nothing the matter with either my conscience or my digestion; what more can man desire?” “I know another thing you desire.” “What?” “That!” She tossed a little cardboard box into his hand. “B-burnt almonds! Why d-didn't you tell me before I began to s-smoke?” he cried reproachfully. “Why, you baby! you can eat them when you have done smoking. There comes the coffee.” The Gadfly sipped his coffee and ate his burnt almonds with the grave and concentrated enjoyment of a cat drinking cream. “How nice it is to come back to d-decent coffee, after the s-s-stuff one gets at Leghorn!” he said in his purring drawl. “A very good reason for stopping at home now you are here.” “Not much stopping for me; I'm off again to-morrow.” The smile died on her face. “To-morrow! What for? Where are you going to?” “Oh! two or three p-p-places, on business.” It had been decided between him and Gemma that he must go in person into the Apennines to make arrangements with the smugglers of the frontier region about the transporting of the firearms. To cross the Papal frontier was for him a matter of serious danger; but it had to be done if the work was to succeed. “Always business!” Zita sighed under her breath; and then asked aloud: “Shall you be gone long?” “No; only a fortnight or three weeks, p-p-probably.” “I suppose it's some of THAT business?” she asked abruptly. “'That' business?” “The business you're always trying to get your neck broken over--the everlasting politics.” “It has something to do with p-p-politics.”