Italy -- History -- 20th century -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Rich people -- Fiction
He assured her Excellency that he was not one of those who had deserted
the palace; he had done no more than observe the precaution to secrete
himself in the wine cellar that he might be at hand when the master
wanted him. The velvet had gone from his voice and the steadiness
from his speech. Plainly he had not been idle while hiding amid the
bottles. With an upward roll of the eyes and more wringing of the
hands, he gasped the wish that no harm had befallen Signor Tarsis.
Hera pointed across the great hall to where the light poured from the
library, and kept on her way. In her veins there was a new leaping of
life--hopeful, eager. The invaders had swung their axes and bludgeons
at the corridor mirrors, and she had to choose her steps over broken
glass and shattered woodwork. The grand staircase was illuminated;
there and in the portico she met servants returning because assured
that the storm had passed.
In the rear court she looked around for her horse. The shapes of things
all about were visible in the moonlight, but of her horse there was no
sign. Lamps were lit in the stables, and she heard the excited voices
of hostlers. When she told the head man to saddle the swiftest horse,
he asked her Excellency’s pardon and pointed to the rows of empty
stalls. While the rioters within the palace were reforming society by
destroying art objects and baiting their owner, their brothers below
had been plundering the stable. Every horse was gone.
CHAPTER XXIV
A CHASE IN THE MOONLIGHT
HERA asked if the automobiles, too, were gone. The excited servants
told her the garage had been attacked and everything smashed. Had any
one seen Sandro? Yes; he was there looking through the ruins. She ran
to the door of the place, and called the name of the chauffeur. From
amid the wreckage he answered her, and came forth, cap in hand.
“Are all the machines damaged?” she asked.
“All but one, your Excellency. The thirty-horse touring car is far back
in the house, and the devils did not get to it.”
“Can it be used at once?”
“Oh, yes, your Excellency. There is not so much as a scratch upon it.”
“I wish to go to Villa Barbiondi as swiftly as you can make it carry
us.”
“The moon is bright, and if the road is half clear,” he said, delighted
with the hazardous mission, “we can do it in thirty minutes.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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