s he was absent, she had gone to her father's best friend
and her own--to Paul Griggs. She said nothing more. He might interpret
the statement as he pleased. She sealed the note and addressed it, and
before she went out of the house she gave it to the servant, to be given
to Reanda as soon as he came home. The man-servant went downstairs with
her, and stood looking after the little open cab; he saw Gloria speak to
the coachman, who nodded and changed his direction before they were out
of sight.

At the door in the Via della Frezza the cabman let down Gloria's luggage
and drove away. She stood still a moment and looked at the one-eyed
cobbler.

"You have given the signore a beautiful fright," observed the old man.
"I told him you had gone out. With one jump he was upstairs. By this
time he cries."

Gloria took a silver piece of two pauls from her purse.

"Can you carry up these things for me?" she inquired, concealing her
annoyance at the man's speech.

"I am not a porter," said the cobbler, with his head on one side. "But
one must live. With courage and money one makes war. There are three
pieces. One at a time. But you must watch the door while I carry up the
box. If any one should steal my tools, it would be a beautiful day's
work. Without them I should be in the middle of the street. You will
understand, Signora. It is not to do you a discourtesy, but my tools are
my bread. Without them I cannot eat. There is also the left boot of Sor
Ercole. If any one were to steal it, Sor Ercole would go upon one leg.
Imagine the disgrace!"

"I will stay here," said Gloria. "Do not be afraid."

The cobbler, who was a strong old man, got hold of the trunk and
shouldered it with ease. When he stood up, Gloria saw that he was
bandy-legged and very short.

She turned and stood on the threshold of the street door as she had
stood on the previous night. No one would have believed that a few hours
earlier the rain had fallen in torrents, for the pavement was dry, and
even under the arch there seemed to be no dampness. Looking up the
street towards the Corso, she saw that there was a wine shop, a few
doors higher on the opposite side. Two or three men were standing before
it, under the brown bush which served for a sign, and amongst them she
saw a peasant in blue cloth clothes with silver buttons and clean white
stockings. She recognized him as the man who had held his umbrella over
her in the storm. He also saw her, lifted his