The Lure of the Mask | Page 6

as best he could. Hillard contrived
to smuggle him on the private yacht of a friend. He found a peasant
who was reconsidering the advisability of digging sewers and laying
railroad ties in the Eldorado of the West. A few pieces of silver, and the
passport changed hands. With this Giovanni blandly lied his way into
the United States. After due time he applied for citizenship, and
through Hillard's influence it was accorded him. He solemnly voted
when elections came round, and hoarded his wages, like the thrifty man
he was. Some day he would return to Rome, or Naples, or Venice, or
Florence, as the case might be; and then!
When the boots shone flawlessly, he carried them to Hillard's door and
softly tiptoed back. He put his face against the cold window. He, too,
had heard the Voice. How his heart hurt him with its wild hope! But
only for a moment. It was not the voice he hungered for. The words
were Italian, but he knew that the woman who sang them was not!
CHAPTER II
OBJECT, MATRIMONY
Winter fogs in New York are never quite so intolerable as their
counterparts in London; and while their frequency is a matter of

complaint, their duration is seldom of any length. So, by the morrow a
strong wind from the west had winnowed the skies and cleared the sun.
There was an exhilarating tingle of frost in the air and a visible rime on
the windows. Hillard, having breakfasted lightly, was standing with his
back to the grate in the cozy breakfast-room. He was in boots and
breeches and otherwise warmly clad, and freshly shaven. He rocked on
his heels and toes, and ran his palm over his blue-white chin in search
of a possible slip of the razor.
Giovanni came in to announce that he had telephoned, and that the
signore's brown mare would be at the park entrance precisely at
half-after eight. Giovanni still marveled over this wonderful voice
which came out of nowhere, but he was no longer afraid of it. The
curiosity which is innate and child-like in all Latins soon overcame his
dark superstitions. He was an ardent Catholic and believed that a few
miracles should be left in the hands of God. The telephone had now
become a kind of plaything, and Hillard often found him in front of it,
patiently waiting for the bell to ring.
The facility with which Giovanni had mastered English amazed his
teacher and master; but now he needed no more lessons, the two when
alone together spoke Giovanni's tongue: Hillard, because he loved it,
and Giovanni because the cook spoke it badly and the English butler
not at all.
"You have made up your mind to go, then, amico?" said Hillard.
"Yes, signore."
"Well, I shall miss you. To whom shall I talk the tongue I love so well,
when Giovanni is gone?" with a lightness which he did not feel. Hillard
had grown very fond of the old Roman in these seven years.
"Whenever the signore goes to Italia, he shall find me. It needs but a
word to bring me to him. The signore will pardon me, but he is
like--like a son."
"Thanks, Giovanni. By the way, did you hear a woman singing in the

street last night?"
"Yes. At first--" Giovanni hesitated.
"Ah, but that could not be, Giovanni; that could not be."
"No, it could not be. But she sang well!" the old servant ventured.
"So thought I. I even ran out into the street to find out who she was; but
she vanished like the lady in the conjurer's trick. But it seemed to me
that, while she sang in Italian, she herself was not wholly of that race."
"Buonissima!" Giovanni struck a noiseless brava with his hands. "Have
I not always said that the signore's ears are as sharp as my own? No, the
voice was very beautiful, but it was not truly Roman. It was more like
they talk in Venice. And yet the sound of the voice decided me. The
hills have always been calling to me; and I must answer."
"And the unforgetting carabinieri?"
"Oh, I must take my chance," with the air of a fatalist.
"What shall you do?"
"I have my two hands, signore. Besides, the signore has said it; I am
rich." Giovanni permitted a smile to stir his thin lips. "Yes, I must go
back. Your people have been good to me and have legally made me one
of them, but my heart is never here. It is always so cold and every one
moves so quickly. You can not lie down in the sun. Your police, bah!
They beat you on the feet. You remember when I fell asleep on the
steps of the