The Gadfly disclaimed all knowledge of the state of feeling in Pisa, explaining that he had been there “only on a holiday.” He then plunged at once into an animated discussion, first of agricultural prospects, then of the pamphlet question; and continued pouring out a flood of stammering talk till the others were quite tired. He seemed to find some feverish delight in the sound of his own voice. When the meeting ended and the members of the committee rose to go, Riccardo came up to Martini. “Will you stop to dinner with me? Fabrizi and Sacconi have promised to stay.” “Thanks; but I was going to see Signora Bolla home.” “Are you really afraid I can't get home by myself?” she asked, rising and putting on her wrap. “Of course he will stay with you, Dr. Riccardo; it's good for him to get a change. He doesn't go out half enough.” “If you will allow me, I will see you home,” the Gadfly interposed; “I am going in that direction.” “If you really are going that way----” “I suppose you won't have time to drop in here in the course of the evening, will you, Rivarez?” asked Riccardo, as he opened the door for them. The Gadfly looked back over his shoulder, laughing. “I, my dear fellow? I'm going to see the variety show!” “What a strange creature that is; and what an odd affection for mountebanks!” said Riccardo, coming back to his visitors. “Case of a fellow-feeling, I should think,” said Martini; “the man's a mountebank himself, if ever I saw one.” “I wish I could think he was only that,” Fabrizi interposed, with a grave face. “If he is a mountebank I am afraid he's a very dangerous one.” “Dangerous in what way?” “Well, I don't like those mysterious little pleasure trips that he is so fond of taking. This is the third time, you know; and I don't believe he has been in Pisa at all.” “I suppose it is almost an open secret that it's into the mountains he goes,” said Sacconi. “He has hardly taken the trouble to deny that he is still in relations with the smugglers he got to know in the Savigno affair, and it's quite natural he should take advantage of their friendship to get his leaflets across the Papal frontier.” “For my part,” said Riccardo; “what I wanted to talk to you about is this very question. It occurred to me that we could hardly do better than ask Rivarez to undertake the management of our own smuggling. That press at Pistoja is very inefficiently managed, to my thinking; and the way the leaflets are taken across, always rolled in those everlasting cigars, is more than primitive.” “It has answered pretty well up till now,” said Martini contumaciously. He was getting wearied of hearing Galli and Riccardo always put the Gadfly forward as a model to copy, and inclined to think that the world had gone well enough before this “lackadaisical buccaneer” turned up to set everyone to rights.