The Net: A Novel | Page 7

France these many years. On the contrary, they had both recognized the
mediocrity of his talent and had often joked about it. It was perhaps no
more than a youthful restlessness and craving for excitement, he
concluded.
Knowing that his luxurious host would not be stirring for another hour,
he set out to explore the place at his leisure, and in time came around to
the stables and outhouses. It is not the front of any residence which
shows its real character, any more than a woman's true nature is
displayed by her Sunday attire. Norvin made friends with a surly,
stiff-haired dog, then with a patriarchal old goat which he found

grazing atop a wall, and at last he encountered Francesca bearing a
bundle of fagots upon her head.
She was in a bad temper, it appeared, for in answer to his cheerful
greeting she began to revile the names of Ippolito and Michele.
"Lazy pigs!" she cried, fiercely. "Is it not sufficient that old Francesca
should bare her bones and become a shadow with the cares of the
household? Is it not sufficient that she performs the labor of twenty in
caring for the padrone? No! Is it not the devil's task to prepare the many
outlandish delicacies he learned to eat in his travels? Yes! Ha! What of
that! She must also perform the duties of an ass and bear wood for the
fires! And what, think you, those two young giants are doing all the day?
Sleeping, Si'or! Up all night, asleep all day! A fine business. And
Francesca with a broken back!"
"I'll carry your wood," he offered, at which the mountainous old
woman stared at him as if she did not in the least comprehend his
words. Although her burden was enough to tax a man's strength, she
balanced it easily upon her head and made no move to go.
"And the others! May they all be blinded--Attilio, Gaspare, Roberto!
The hangman will get them, surely. Briganti, indeed!" She snorted like
a horse. "May Belisario Cardi roast them over these very fagots."
Slowly she moved her head from side to side while the bundle swayed
precariously. "It is a bad business, Si'or. The padrone is mad to resist.
You may tell him he is quite mad. Mark me, Ricardo knows that no
good will come of it, but he is like a bull when he is angry. He lowers
his head and sees blood. Veramente, it is a bad business and we shall
all lose our ears." She moved off majestically, her eyes rolling in her fat
cheeks, her lips moving; leaving the American to speculate as to what
her evil prediction had to do with Ippolito and the firewood.
He was still smiling at her anger when Ippolito himself, astride a horse,
came clattering into the courtyard and dismounted stiffly, giving him a
good morning with a wide yawn.
"Corpo di Baccho!" exclaimed the rider. "I shall sleep for a century."
He stretched luxuriously and, unslinging a gun from his shoulder,
leaned it against the wall. Blake was surprised to find it a late model of
an American repeating rifle. "Francesca!" he called loudly. "Madonna
mia, I am famished!"
"Francesca was here a moment ago," Norvin volunteered. "In a

frightful temper, too."
"Just so! It was the wood, I presume." He scowled. "One cannot be in
ten places unless he is in ten pieces. I am glad to be here, and not here
and there."
"Well, she wants you roasted by some fellow named Cardi--"
"Eh? What?" Ippolito started, jerking the horse's head by the bridle rein,
through which he had thrust his arm. "What is this?"
"Belisario Cardi, I believe she said. I don't know him."
The Sicilian muttered an oath and disappeared into the stable; he was
still scowling when he emerged.
Prompted by a feeling that he was close to something mysterious,
Blake tried to sound the fellow.
"You are abroad early," he suggested.
But Ippolito seemed in no mood for conversation, and merely replied:
"Si, Signore, quite early."
He was a lean, swarthy youth, square-jawed and well put up. Although
his clothes were poor, he wore them with a certain grace and moved
like a man who is sure of himself.
"Did you see any robbers?"
"Robbers?" Ippolito's look was one of quick suspicion. "Who has ever
seen a robber?"
"Come, come! I heard the Count and Ricardo talking. You have been
away, among the orange-groves, all night. Am I right?"
"You are right."
"Tell me, is it common thieves or outlaws whom you watch? I have
heard about your brigands."
"Ippolito!" came the harsh voice of Ricardo, who at that moment
appeared around the corner of the stable. "In the kitchen you will find
food."
Ippolito bowed to the American