The Lure of the Mask | Page 7

cathedral? They thought I was drunk, and would have
arrested me!"
"Everybody must keep moving here; it is the penalty of being rich."
"And I am lonesome for my kind. I have nothing in common with these
herds of Sicilians and Neapolitans who pour into the streets from the
wharves." Giovanni spoke scornfully.

"Yet in war time the Neapolitans sheltered your pope."
"Vanity! They wished to make an impression on the rest of the world. It
is dull here, besides. There is no joy in the shops. I am lost in these
great palaces. The festa is lacking. Nobody bargains; nobody sees the
proprietor; you find your way to the streets alone. The butcher says that
his meat is so-and-so, and you pay; the grocer marks his tins
such-and-such, and you do not question; and the baker says that, and
you pay, pay, pay! What? I need a collar; it is quindici--fifteen you say!
I offer quattordici. I would give interest to the sale. But no! The collar
goes back into the box. I pay quindici, or I go without. It is the same
everywhere; very dull, dead, lifeless."
Hillard was moved to laughter. He very well understood the old man's
lament. In Italy, if there is one thing more than another that pleases the
native it is to make believe to himself that he has got the better of a
bargain. A shrewd purchase enlivens the whole day; it is talked about,
laughed over, and becomes the history of the day that Tomass', or
Pietro, or Paoli, or whatever his name may be, has bested the merchant
out of some twenty centesimi.
"And the cook and the butler," concluded Giovanna; "we do not get on
well."
"It is because they are in mortal fear of you, you brigand! Well, my
coat and cap."
Hillard presently left the house and hailed a Fifth Avenue omnibus. He
looked with negative interest at the advertisements, at the people in the
streets, at his fellow-travelers. One of these was hidden behind his
morning paper. Personals. Hillard squirmed a little. The world never
holds very much romance in the sober morning. What a stupid piece of
folly! The idea of his sending that personal inquiry to the paper!
To-morrow he would see it sandwiched in between samples of
shop-girl romance, questionable intrigues, and divers search-warrants.
Ye gods! "Will the blonde who smiled at gentleman in blue serge,
elevated train, Tuesday, meet same in park? Object, matrimony."
Hillard fidgeted. "Young man known as Adonis would adore stout

elderly lady, independently situated. Object, matrimony." Pish! "Girlie.
Can't keep appointment to-night. Willie." Tush! "A French Widow of
eighteen, unencumbered," and so forth and so on. Rot, bally rot; and
here he was on the way to join them! "Will the lady who sang from
Madame Angot communicate with gentleman who leaned out of the
window? J.H. Burgomaster Club." Positively asinine! The man
opposite folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket, and its
disappearance relieved Hillard somewhat.
There was scarce one chance in a thousand of the mysterious singer's
seeing the inquiry, not one in ten thousand of her answering it. And the
folly of giving his club address! That would look very dignified in
yonder agony column! And then he brightened. He could withdraw it;
and he would do so the very first thing when he went down-town to the
office. "Object, matrimony!" If the woman saw it she would only laugh.
It was all a decent woman could do. And certainly the woman of the
past night's adventure was of high degree, educated; and doubtless the
spirit which had prompted the song was as inexplicable to her this
morning as it had been to him last night. He had lost none of the desire
to meet her, but reason made it plain to him that a meeting could not
possibly be arranged through any personal column in the newspaper.
He would cancel the thing.
He dropped from the omnibus at the park entrance, where he found his
restive mare. He gave her a lump of sugar and climbed into the saddle.
He directed the groom to return for the horse at ten o'clock, then headed
for the bridle-path. It was heavy, but the air was so keen and bracing
that neither the man nor the horse worried about the going. There were
a dozen or so early riders besides himself, and in and out the winding
path they passed and repassed, walking, trotting, cantering. Only one
party attracted him: a riding master and a trio of brokers who were
verging on embonpoint, and were desperate and looked it. They stood
in a fair way of losing several pounds that morning. A good rider
always smiles at the sight of a poor one, when a little retrospection