Part 4 (1/2)

Kalmon looked at her a moment and then broke into a peal of laughter that was taken up by the rest, and in which the good lady joined.

”You brought it on yourself,” she said at last.

”Yes,” Kalmon answered. ”I did. From your point of view it is better to admit the possibility of a mediaeval devil with horns than to have no religion at all. Half a loaf is better than no bread.”

”Is that stuff of yours animal, vegetable, or mineral?” asked Corbario as the laughter subsided.

”I don't know,” replied the Professor. ”Animal, vegetable, mineral?

Those are antiquated distinctions, like the four elements of the alchemists.”

”Well--but what is the thing, then?” asked Corbario, almost impatiently.

”What should you call it in scientific language?”

Kalmon closed his eyes for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts.

”In scientific language,” he began, ”it is probably H three C seven, parenthesis, H two C plus C four O five, close parenthesis, HC three O.”

Corbario laughed carelessly.

”I am no wiser than before,” he said.

”Nor I,” answered the Professor. ”Not a bit.”

”It is much simpler to call it 'the sleeping death,' is it not?”

suggested the Contessa.

”Much simpler, for that is precisely what it is.”

It was growing late, according to country ideas, and the party rose from the table and began to move about a little before going to bed. The moon had risen high by this time.

Marcello and Aurora, unheeded by the rest, went round the verandah to the other side of the house and stood still a moment, looking out at the trees and listening to the sounds of the night. Down by the pool a frog croaked now and then; from a distance came the plaintive, often repeated cry of a solitary owlet; the night breeze sighed through the long gra.s.s and the low shrubbery.

The boy and girl turned to each other, put out their hands and then their arms, and clasped each other silently, and kissed. Then they walked demurely back to their elders, without exchanging a word.

”We have had to give you the little room at the end of the cottage,”

Corbario was saying to Kalmon. ”It is the only one left while the Contessa is here.”

”I should sleep soundly on bare boards to-night,” Kalmon answered. ”I have been walking all day.”

Corbario went with him, carrying a candle, and s.h.i.+elding the flame from the breeze with his hand. The room was furnished with the barest necessities, like most country rooms in Italy. There were wooden pegs on which to hang clothes instead of a wardrobe, an iron bedstead, a deal wash-stand, a small deal table, a rush-bottomed chair. The room had only one window, which was also the only door, opening to the floor upon the verandah.

”You can bolt the window, if you like,” said Corbario when he had bidden the Professor good-night, ”but there are no thieves about.”

”I always sleep with my windows open,” Kalmon answered, ”and I have no valuables.”

”No? Good-night again.”