Chapter III: Part 3

“Ah, Coviello!” said Lelio in a languid voice, as the dancer approached. When he realised that it was not Coviello, he uttered an exclamation of surprise.

Harlequin hastened to explain about Coviello’s grandmother, and how he had come to take his place.

“Upon my soul!” cried Lelio. “You don’t mean to say that Coviello has a grandmother? How extraordinary! I suppose the fellow will be claiming a coat of arms next. What is your name, by the way?”

“Truffaldino, sir,” said Harlequin.

“And have you a grandmother, too?” Lelio asked.

“Certainly not, sir,” replied Harlequin promptly.

“And yet you are Coviello’s cousin,” said Lelio, looking puzzled.

“Only in a manner of speaking, sir,” said Harlequin.

“So much the better,” said Lelio, “if qualities, as they say, run in families. For Coviello was the worst servant I ever had. Had I not been so lazy I should have got rid of the oaf long ago. I hope you will do better, Truffaldino.”

“It is my devoutest wish, sir,” said Harlequin, bowing low, “to give you perfect satisfaction.”

“Well,” said Lelio, “you may as well set about it.” And he got out of bed.

Coviello had given Harlequin some hints as to his new duties; and the dancer, being naturally quick-witted, even on this first day was far less at a loss than might have been expected. He dressed Lelio and shaved him, and afterwards waited on him at breakfast; and Lelio, liking his light touch and graceful movements after Coviello’s clumsiness, had by the evening made up his mind to take him permanently into his service, and to leave Coviello to mourn for his grandmother, if he chose, for the rest of his life.

_Harlequin Sees Columbine Once More_

Harlequin waited impatiently for the day when Lelio would visit Columbine, or send him to her with a message; but Lelio, though he really intended to marry the Doctor’s daughter, felt it beneath his dignity to go too often to so humble a house as Pantaloon’s. He saw no cause to press his suit, for, coldly as Columbine always welcomed him, he could not believe that she would refuse a husband of his rank and elegance. He admired her the more for her reserve. In his view, a courtship should be a slow and dignified business. Harlequin’s methods would have deeply shocked him.

About a week after the dancer had entered his service, however, he decided that the time was come for another visit; and he set out for Pantaloon’s house, Harlequin walking behind him with a great bouquet of flowers which Lelio was going to present to Columbine. Harlequin was in high hopes of once more setting eyes on his beloved. He wondered whether she would recognise him under his disguise. Great was his disgust when, on arriving at their destination, Lelio entered the house alone and left him to kick his heels in the street. He did not even get a chance of speaking to Pierrot, to whom he had intended to make himself known. “If this is how things are to be,” he thought, “I might as well have stayed at Burattino’s.”

But Harlequin was not easily defeated. While he waited for Lelio, he set his nimble wits to work; and that evening, as his master sat yawning over his wine, he asked him whether he would like to see him dance.

From any other of his servants, Lelio would have considered such a suggestion a great impertinence, but “Truffaldino” was already high in his favour. Being a true Venetian he liked, above all things, to be amused; and Coviello’s cousin was certainly an amusing fellow.

“Can you dance, Truffaldino?” he asked.

“A little,” said Harlequin modestly.

“Go on, then,” said Lelio. “Let me see what you can do.”

What his new servant could do in the way of dancing amazed him. Since he had jilted Isabella for Columbine, Lelio went very little into the world, and so it chanced that he had never seen the mandoline-player and the dancer whose performances were so popular in fashionable Venice.

“I must confess that you dance very well, Truffaldino,” he said, taking a pinch of snuff. “Where did you learn the art?”

“I was born dancing,” said Harlequin, “and I daresay I shall die dancing.”

“Then I hope it will be with your feet on the ground,” laughed Lelio.

Seeing his master in so good a humour, Harlequin thought that he might venture a little further.

“I wonder if I might take a great liberty, sir,” he said.

“I will tell you that when you have taken it,” replied Lelio. “You do it at your own risk, remember.”

“Well, sir,” said Harlequin, “is it not possible that my dancing might afford some entertainment to the lady whom you visited this morning? Ladies are often very partial to dancing.”

Lelio frowned, and Harlequin feared that he had angered him. But Lelio was not angry: he was only thinking.

“That is not a bad idea,” he said at length. “I noticed that she seemed rather out of spirits this morning. Perhaps your dancing would divert her. Yes, Truffaldino, you shall come with me next time I visit her.”

Harlequin had difficulty in restraining himself from showing his joy. As for Lelio, he also was pleased; for the notion of going courting attended by a dancer--and so good a dancer as “Truffaldino”--struck him as extremely elegant.

Thus it was that Harlequin again saw his beautiful Columbine. He was very much grieved to observe how pale she was and how unhappy she looked; but he could not help being gratified by the listless air with which she accepted Lelio’s well-turned compliments.

It was clear that at first she did not recognise her lover; but when, at Lelio’s command, he began to dance, he saw a puzzled look come into her face--and then she blushed--and then she trembled a little. She knew him!

Harlequin got no chance of speaking to her alone that day. But little by little, as his position with Lelio grew more and more privileged, he managed to contrive means of going without his master to the Doctor’s house. He would suggest, so tactfully that Lelio thought that the idea was his own, that it would be a graceful thing to send a present of sweetmeats or flowers, or even a jewel, to Columbine. And Lelio liked always to act gracefully.

Harlequin insisted on delivering the presents into Columbine’s own hands. He said that it was his master’s desire, and Pantaloon, so churlish with every one else, was all complaisance to Lelio’s lightest whim. It is true that he was usually present at the lovers’ meetings, but one who had the honour to wear Lelio’s livery was, in the Doctor’s eyes, a person worthy to be trusted; and when, as sometimes happened, a patient called while the dancer was in the house, Pantaloon quite happily left “Truffaldino” with his daughter. Pierrot, too, whom Columbine had told who the pretended lackey really was, became quite clever at inventing reasons to get his master out of the way.

So once more Harlequin and Columbine enjoyed some happy moments, and the roses returned to Columbine’s cheeks. But they were very short moments and they did not occur very often; and the lovers, who were both more in love than ever, were far from being satisfied. Nothing, indeed, would content them but that they should run away together--and how were they to do that, when it was impossible to leave the house, to draw the creaking bolts and loosen the clanking chains, without Pantaloon hearing them?

Harlequin, on his way back to the palace, sometimes called at Burattino’s, but though Violetta and Scaramouche were always glad to see him, they had no new suggestions to make.

As Harlequin became better acquainted with his master’s private affairs, however, he got to know certain things which set him thinking. One was that Lelio, though he was as devoted to Columbine as so languid a gentleman was capable of being, was not a little inclined to regret his break with Isabella. A marriage between himself and the great heiress would have been so fitting a match. Their wedding might have been the most splendid ever seen in Venice. He did not propose to have very much ceremony when he married Columbine; for he was afraid that his friends would only come to laugh at him, and he did not at all relish the notion of being laughed at.

Naturally the Lady Isabella’s name was not very often spoken in Lelio’s presence, but when by chance it was, Harlequin noticed that his master was far more interested than he pretended to be, and that when any one was mentioned as paying court to her, he could scarcely conceal his annoyance. Isabella had many suitors, though she gave them but little encouragement.

Another thing which the observant Harlequin discovered was that, although Lelio was acknowledged to be the finest gentleman in Venice, there was a certain Leandro who ran him a close second. There had, indeed, been an ardent rivalry between the two young men as to which of them should be the leader of fashion, and though hitherto the palm had always gone to Lelio, now that he was seen so little Leandro was beginning to usurp his place. Lelio sometimes thought seriously of reasserting himself, but he dare not go much into society for fear of meeting Isabella. When he heard, however, of some new triumph of his rival’s--some particularly delightful entertainment which he had given or some specially exquisite suit which he had worn--he almost wished that he had never seen the fascinating Columbine.

These feelings Harlequin did all he could to foster. From his fellow servants and the servants of the other great houses whom he met in the taverns he heard many stories of what was happening in the fashionable world, and such stories he would repeat to his master while he was dressing him. Nor did they lose in the repetition.

One day, when he thought the time was ripe, Harlequin said to Lelio: “I wonder, sir, whether you have heard the latest news.”

“What is it?” asked Lelio.

“Why, sir,” said Harlequin, in a very innocent voice, “that there is likely soon to be a great wedding in Venice.”

“Indeed,” said Lelio, “between whom?”

“Between the Lord Leandro and the Lady Isabella,” said Harlequin.

Lelio, who was being shaved, started from his chair so violently that he gashed his chin badly on the razor in his servant’s hand. But he was far too excited to notice the fact, though the blood quite ruined his beautiful shirt.

“Nonsense!” he cried. “It is impossible!”

“I only tell you what I have heard, sir,” said Harlequin. “I had it from one of the Lord Leandro’s own servants.”

Lelio was in a fume. If Leandro and Isabella married, and their two great houses were united, his own proud position would be gone for ever.

“You must find out more of this, Truffaldino,” he cried; and then, realising how much beneath his dignity it was to talk in this strain to a mere lackey, he added more calmly: “I have a special and important reason for wishing to have certain knowledge in this matter.”

“I will do my best, sir,” said Harlequin, deftly applying a piece of cotton-wool to his master’s chin.

_Pantaloon’s Dinner Party_

“I think I see a way out of our troubles at last, my dear,” said Harlequin next time he was alone with Columbine.

“Oh, Harlequin!” cried Columbine. “How?”

Harlequin told her what was in his mind, and she listened with eager attention.

“But it sounds dreadfully dangerous,” she said, when he had finished.

“Don’t you think it is worth the risk?” Harlequin asked.

“Yes, yes,” cried Columbine, “of course I do. Oh!--to be away with my Harlequin--to have him all to myself--what happiness!”

Harlequin kissed her tenderly. When he had left her, he went to the inn and had a long and earnest conversation with Scaramouche and Violetta.

“Good luck to you, Harlequin,” cried the innkeeper’s daughter, as he at last took his departure. “So noble a plot deserves to succeed.”

“I suppose I must wish you good luck, too,” growled the musician, “but I think you would have done far better to stay with me.”

Pantaloon, now that he believed that Harlequin had gone away for good, was treating Columbine with less severity; but he was none the less determined that she should marry Lelio, and was very vexed that she showed as little inclination as ever to comply with his wishes. His manner towards her, therefore, if not actually cruel, was far from affectionate, and usually there was but little conversation between father and daughter.

So the old Doctor was greatly surprised when that evening after supper the girl came to him and perched herself upon his knee.

“I am afraid, Papa,” she said timidly, “that you do not think that I am a very good daughter to you.”

Pantaloon, who was really very fond of his child, and believed that the way he treated her was only for her good, was quite moved by this display of affection.

“Nay, my dear,” he said, patting her hand, “except on one point you are the best of daughters.”

“Ah!” said Columbine, “but you consider that one point the most important of all, do you not?”

“Why, of course,” said Pantaloon. “There are few doctors’ daughters who are sought in marriage by lords. I cannot think how you can be so foolish as to scorn such good fortune.”

“But if I do not love him, Papa?” said Columbine.

“Love!” replied Pantaloon scornfully. “What is love compared with a position like Lelio’s? Besides, you will come to love him in time--so handsome and gallant a gentleman.... I hope, Columbine”, he went on, more sternly, “that you are not still thinking of that scoundrelly dancer?”

“Oh, no, Papa,” said Columbine, blushing. “I see now how wrongly I behaved, and to make amends for my naughtiness, I have determined to marry Lelio ...”

“You have?” cried Pantaloon in delight.

“... When he asks for me,” Columbine went on demurely. “He has not asked for me yet, you know.”

“Not in so many words,” said the Doctor. “But he will soon enough, if you will only smile on him. You are always so cold to him, and he is far too proud to care to risk the rejection of his suit.”

“I will try to smile on him,” said Columbine meekly. “Do you not think, Papa, that it would be a good idea to ask him to dinner? One feels so much more friendly at dinner-time.”

“Ask Lelio to dine at my humble table!” exclaimed Pantaloon. “What a notion! Where is my plate? What wine have I fit for him to drink? Who would wait upon him?”

“If Lelio really loves me,” Columbine replied, “he will not mind eating off porcelain for once in his life, while as for wine, I daresay that Violetta, when she hears who is to be our guest, would persuade Burattino to let us have some good wine at a cheap rate. And Pierrot can wait at table.”

“A pretty mess he would make of it,” cried Pantaloon; but he was in such good humour that Columbine had little difficulty in persuading him to comply with her wish.

So Pierrot was despatched to the palace with a letter inviting Lelio to dine at the Doctor’s house on the morrow.

Lelio laughed when he read it.

“What is the world coming to?” he cried. “Pantaloon invites me, Lelio, to dine with him. I suppose he thinks that since his daughter pleases me, he is my equal in rank! I see that if I marry Columbine I shall have to pay her father to live at the other end of the country--otherwise I shall be plagued out of my life with his impertinences.”

At first, to Harlequin’s concern, he was for refusing the invitation. Then it occurred to him that it would be a new and perhaps amusing experience to dine at such a house as the Doctor’s, and he decided to accept it. The pleasure of seeing Columbine did not seem to enter into his consideration, but Harlequin knew that he was so much worried by what he had heard about Leandro and Isabella that he had little thought for anything else.

When the time came to dress his master for the dinner-party, Harlequin presented himself with a very solemn expression on his face.

“How now, Truffaldino?” said Lelio. “What is the matter?”

“I have just heard something which I think will interest you, sir,” he said. “The Lord Leandro has invited the Lady Isabella to accompany him this evening in his gondola, and she has consented.”

“A gondola party?” Lelio asked.

“No, sir,” replied Harlequin. “I am told they are to be alone.”

“Good heavens!” cried Lelio. “This is too much! This must be stopped!”

“He fetches her within the half-hour,” said Harlequin.

“Then there is no time to lose,” said Lelio.

“You have not forgotten, sir,” said Harlequin, “that you dine with Doctor Pantaloon?”

“I can’t go!” cried the excited young nobleman. “I won’t go! You must take a message. Say--oh! say what you will. But first order my gondola to be prepared immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” said Harlequin, and he bowed and went out. When he returned, he found his master muffled to the eyes in a great cloak and examining his sword. He conducted him to his gondola, saw him start down the canal in the direction of Isabella’s palace, and then hurried back to Lelio’s room.

Harlequin changed into one of his master’s richest suits, and he, too, donned a cloak which hid his face.

Lelio’s coach was at the door, with the coachman on the box and the footman in attendance. Harlequin, copying his master’s languid air to the life, got into the coach, and the coachman, who had already received his instructions from “Truffaldino,” whipped up the horses.

As they bowled along, Harlequin took from his pocket a little phial containing a white powder, examined it carefully, and replaced it in his pocket.

The first thing that happened when the coach had stopped at Pantaloon’s was an accident. As Harlequin stepped on to the street, the Doctor, who had long been on the watch for his distinguished guest, ran from the house with words of effusive welcome. These Harlequin acknowledged by raising his hat with so magnificent a gesture that the brim of it swept Pantaloon’s spectacles from his nose. Harlequin darted forward to pick them up, but in so doing he unluckily trod on them, grinding the glasses to a thousand atoms.

“My dear Pantaloon,” cried Harlequin, in what was not at all a bad imitation of Lelio’s voice. “How careless of me! How intolerably clumsy! Can you forgive me?”

“It does not matter at all,” said Pantaloon. He spoke as though the greatest favour had been conferred on him. But for the rest of the evening he saw very little of what was going forward.

Nevertheless, the dinner was a great success. Pantaloon was surprised at his guest’s liveliness; for usually Lelio had not very much to say for himself. The food, which Columbine had prepared with Violetta’s assistance, was really excellent; the wine from Burattino’s was good enough for Lelio’s own table; and even Pierrot, though he did spill some soup on Lelio’s coat, at which the affable gentleman laughed heartily, acquitted himself not nearly so ill as Pantaloon had feared. Columbine, it is true, was almost silent, but this her father attributed to a becoming modesty.

The Doctor was therefore in high good humour when his guest rose and, in happily chosen words, proposed the health of his charming hostess.

“This is a toast,” he concluded, turning to Pantaloon, “to drink which you and I must exchange our glasses--in token of the closer bond which I hope will ere very long unite us.”

As he spoke he quickly drew the little phial from his pocket and emptied its contents into his glass. Then, taking Pantaloon’s in exchange, he handed the glass to his host, who, blind but beaming, raised it aloft and drained it at a draught.

Pantaloon’s last thought was that it was his turn now to make a speech. He tried to rise to his feet; instead of which, he fell heavily forward, his head sunk upon the table, and so he stayed.

“Oh, Harlequin,” cried Columbine in a fright, “is he dead?”

“No,” said Harlequin, “he is only asleep. And, unless the chemist has played me false, he will sleep for some hours to come. All the same, we had better not delay. Are you ready, my dear?”

Columbine ran from the room. When she returned, she was cloaked and carrying a little bag, in which she had put the few things which she wanted to take with her into her new life.

She gazed for a moment at her father.

“Poor Papa!” she sighed, and kissed the top of his head.

Then she turned to accompany Harlequin.

Pierrot saw them out. He managed to wish them a fairly cheerful good-bye; but as he watched them disappear into the darkness two big tears coursed down his white cheeks.

_Concerning Lelio and Pantaloon_

There was certainly a gondola outside Isabella’s palace, and on the palace steps a man was standing. The gondola was not Leandro’s, and the man looked stouter than that elegant young nobleman, who prided himself on his slimness; but he was masked, and so completely muffled in his cloak that it was impossible to see what his figure was really like. It was natural, too, that for the adventure on which Lelio believed Leandro to be embarked he should not use his own smart gondola, which every one in Venice knew. Lelio, at any rate, had no doubt that what “Truffaldino” had told him was true; and he was surer of it than ever when, as he approached, a woman, also cloaked and masked, stepped out from the shadow of the palace. The two got into the gondola and entered its cabin, and the gondolier pushed out into the stream.

Lelio had formed no definite plan of action, but he was determined to discover whither Leandro and Isabella were going. So he told his own gondolier to keep their craft in sight, but to stay far enough behind it not to be observed. Then the game began.

It was a long game, and for Lelio a very wearisome one. It soon appeared that Leandro and Isabella were going nowhere in particular. They merely rowed up and down and in and out of the canals, apparently without purpose. Lelio, who had not dined, grew hungrier and hungrier, and the hungrier he grew the worse became his temper. He fingered his sword in a way which boded very ill for Leandro.

At last, after several hours, the wandering gondola drew up quite suddenly at a landing-stage in a little side-canal, and the two occupants got out. Lelio was only a few moments behind, and he leaped to land just as his quarry was moving away. He hurried after them, crying to them in a very threatening manner to stop. He was so angry that he was for having the matter out there and then, regardless of consequences.

At the sound of his voice, the man and woman turned round, at the same time removing their masks.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the man politely. “Did you address us?”

Lelio was dumbfounded. Whoever they might be, they were not Leandro and Isabella.

His first impulse was to vent his rage upon them nevertheless, but he realised in time that to do so would make him look very ridiculous. It was not their fault--at least he did not know that it was--that he had been following them.

“I--I beg your pardon,” he stammered. “I fear I have made a mistake.” And without more ado he dashed back to his gondola and told the gondolier, in a furious voice, to take him home.

Homewards, too, went Scaramouche and Violetta, so soon as their merriment had abated sufficiently to allow them to walk.

* * * * *

Pantaloon, having slept for about four hours, woke up. At first he did not know where he was, but gradually, seeing the remains of the feast on the table, the broken meats and empty glasses, he recollected the earlier events of the evening. Then he observed Pierrot sitting in the window, his white face made whiter by the moonlight which streamed through the panes.

“What has happened?” asked Pantaloon.

“You have been asleep, sir,” said Pierrot.

“I know that,” replied the Doctor testily. “Where is Columbine?”

Pierrot looked at him in melancholy and frightened silence.

“Where is Columbine?” Pantaloon repeated.

“She has gone,” said Pierrot in a hollow voice.

“Gone!” cried Pantaloon. “What do you mean? Gone where?”

“I don’t know,” said Pierrot.

“You are talking nonsense,” shouted Pantaloon. “She can’t have gone. Columbine wouldn’t do such a thing.”

But he was soon convinced that she had, for he searched every room in the house and could find no trace of his daughter.

“The villain!” he cried, as he returned to the parlour. “To steal her from under my very nose! I suppose he thinks that a fine gentleman like him can treat a mere physician as he pleases. But he shall learn his mistake, if I have to burn his palace down to teach him.”

To this Pierrot said nothing. If Pantaloon believed that it was Lelio who had carried Columbine away, so much the better. It would make the lovers’ chance of escape all the surer.

His silence, however, did not save his own skin. For suddenly the infuriated Doctor turned upon his pale assistant.

“You are in this, too,” he stormed. “I know you are, you scoundrel. You helped that dancing rascal to play his tricks, and now you have helped Lelio. Out of my house, you wretch! Never let me see your moon-face again!”

And with kicks and cuffs of surprising vigour for one so old and infirm, he drove Pierrot out of the room, out of the house and into the street, and slammed the door against him.

When he had recovered a little from his bewilderment, Pierrot made his way to Burattino’s. He arrived there at the same moment as Scaramouche and Violetta, who were still laughing over the dance which they had led Lelio. They took him into the inn, and while Violetta plastered his broken head, he told them how matters had gone at Pantaloon’s dinner party.

Violetta clapped her hands when she heard that Harlequin and Columbine had got safely away.

“We did our part well, too, didn’t we, Scaramouche?” she said.

“Not at all badly, my dear,” replied the musician. “But it was hungry and thirsty work.”

Violetta took the hint, and laid the table for supper.

“As for you, Pierrot,” she said, “you must stay here with us. You shall have Harlequin’s bed.”

“Yes,” said Scaramouche, “and you shall do Harlequin’s work. Where he danced, you shall sing; and you shall make that fortune which he so foolishly abandoned.”

“I feel as though I could never sing again,” said Pierrot.

“Nonsense!” said Scaramouche, and filled his glass for him.

* * * * *

The first thing next morning Pantaloon went straight to Lelio’s palace. Lelio, of course, was still in bed, but the Doctor was so insistent in his demands to see him that at last a message was taken up to him.

“Let him come,” said Lelio indifferently. He wondered sleepily what the old gentleman wanted. Not that it mattered very much. After the way his dignity had been upset on the previous night, nothing seemed to matter very much to Lelio.

Pantaloon came striding to his bedside.

“Give me my daughter,” he said in a threatening voice.

“My good fellow, what on earth are you talking about?” said Lelio, sitting up. “I haven’t got your daughter.”

“You can’t deceive me, sir,” shouted Pantaloon.

“You are making a great deal of noise,” said Lelio.

“Who wouldn’t make a noise,” Pantaloon retorted, “when his daughter had been stolen by his own guest after he himself had been drugged at his own table? For shame, sir! It was a trick unworthy of a nobleman.”

“No doubt,” said Lelio calmly. “But perhaps you would explain yourself a little more clearly.”

“It strikes me that it is your business to explain,” said the Doctor. “Do you deny my charge?”

“Most certainly,” Lelio replied.

“I suppose you will deny that you dined with me last night,” Pantaloon sneered.

“Why!” exclaimed Lelio. “Are you in your dotage, Pantaloon? Don’t you remember that I sent you a message to express my regret that important business”--here Lelio blushed--“prevented me from having that pleasure? Didn’t Truffaldino give you that message?”

“He did not,” said Pantaloon. “And what is more, you did dine with me last night, my Lord Lelio.”

“I give you my word of honour I did nothing of the kind,” said Lelio haughtily.

Pantaloon was silent. Who was he to doubt the word of honour of a nobleman?

“There is evidently some mystery here,” Lelio went on. “Perhaps Truffaldino can throw light upon it. Which reminds me, I have seen nothing of the fellow since I came home last night.”

As a matter of fact, Lelio had been so put out of countenance by his misadventure that he had not cared to face even his servant. Contrary to his custom, therefore, he had not sent for him but, for the first time in his life, had undressed and gone to bed without assistance.

He rang the bell by his bedside, and a page appeared.

“Send Truffaldino,” said Lelio.

The page went away, but no Truffaldino came. Lelio was getting very impatient when the boy returned to say that the lackey was nowhere to be found.

“This is very strange,” said Lelio; and then it occurred to him that it was Truffaldino who had told him the story which had led to his humiliating wild-goose chase. “I am afraid there is something queer about that fellow,” he added. “I suppose I ought to have found out more about him when I took him into my service.” He turned to the page. “Do you happen to know where Coviello is?” he asked.

“No, sir,” said the boy, “but I do not think it would be very hard to find him. He will be in some tavern or other, if I know Coviello.”

“Visit every tavern in Venice if necessary,” said Lelio, “but bring him to me. If you will wait,” he said to Pantaloon, “perhaps we may get an explanation of this extraordinary occurrence.”

It was not so very long before the page came back, and behind him slouched Coviello. Nor was it very long before Lelio had drawn from his old lackey an account of how he had been bribed to give his place and his livery to a stranger.

“And you did not bury your grandmother after all?” Lelio asked.

“I never had a grandmother,” said Coviello.

“I thought not,” said Lelio.

“I hope you will forgive me, sir,” said Coviello, “and take me back into your service.”

“Well,” said Lelio, “since Truffaldino has apparently gone for good, I suppose I might as well. You are a bad servant, but at least you know my ways. You had better get into your livery again.”

“Truffaldino had my livery,” said Coviello.

“So he had, the scamp!” said Lelio. “You will have to have a new one. Are those Truffaldino’s clothes that you are wearing?”

“No, sir,” replied Coviello. “He bought them for me. He was wearing the funniest clothes--as tight as his skin and all the colours of the rainbow.”

At this Pantaloon uttered such a cry that Lelio nearly jumped out of bed.

“Whatever is the matter now?” he asked.

“He has got her after all!” cried Pantaloon, wringing his hands. “The villain! The scoundrel! Oh, why didn’t I guess?”

“Guess what?” said Lelio.

“That Truffaldino was Harlequin,” wailed the Doctor; and, though he was so enraged that he could hardly speak coherently, he poured into Lelio’s ears the tale of Harlequin’s wickedness.

“You seem to have been nicely tricked, my friend,” said Lelio, when he had finished.

“You too,” cried Pantaloon.

Lelio raised his eyebrows. He could not deny that he had been tricked, but to be coupled with Pantaloon did not please him at all.

“There is no time to lose,” the Doctor went on. “We must rescue Columbine from your rival’s clutches.”

“My rival!” exclaimed Lelio. “Thank you. I pretend to no rivalry with dancers and lackeys.”

“But surely,” cried Pantaloon in surprise, “you are going to help me to find Columbine?”

“I really shouldn’t dream of interfering so far in your family affairs,” said Lelio coldly. And very deliberately he lay down in his bed again and turned his back on the Doctor.

Pantaloon gazed at him for a moment in speechless indignation, and then stamped out of the room.

“This is what comes of mixing with the lower classes,” Lelio murmured, as he heard the door slam behind the old gentleman whom less than twenty-four hours ago he had regarded as his future father-in-law. “I might have known that a girl of Columbine’s birth could not be worthy of me.... But she was very charming,” he sighed.

Presently he raised himself on his elbow and called to Coviello, who was still waiting his pleasure.

“Dress me, Coviello,” he said, “and dress me very carefully. I have an important visit to pay.”

_The Married Life of Harlequin and Columbine_

The very first thing that Harlequin did when he and Columbine were fairly out of Venice was to strip off Lelio’s grand clothes and throw them into a ditch. Seeing him once more in the well-known suit of many colours Columbine laughed for joy.

“Now you are more like my Harlequin,” she exclaimed.

Harlequin put on his mask and brandished his wand, which had been concealed in the folds of Lelio’s cloak.

“Now you are really and truly my Harlequin,” cried Columbine, and floated into his arms.

They walked on through the moonlit night and in the morning came to a village. Having broken their fast at the inn, they sought the priest, who married them in the little village church.

Then they continued their journey, though they minded but little whither they went. They were quite content to walk side by side and love one another. Sometimes they stopped to dance, and sometimes they paused to kiss. By evening they found themselves in an orange grove, and there they rested.

When Columbine awoke, she saw that Harlequin was busy carving something on the trunk of the tree under which they had slept. She rose and looked over his shoulder, and this is what she read.

Dear orange tree, whose leafy tent
Has served our love for hiding-place,
Take, and let never Time deface,
These lines, a lover’s testament.

And say to all who wend their way,
Happy and idle, down this glade:
If pleasure had the power to slay,
I should have died beneath thy shade.

“Oh, Harlequin,” said Columbine, “how beautiful! I never guessed that you were a poet.”

“I was not, until you made me one,” said Harlequin, kissing her.

Their wandering honeymoon lasted for several weeks. Sometimes they slept in the open, sometimes at inns, and when they needed money they had only to dance for it.

It was a jolly life, and they were both very happy, but one day Columbine said to her husband: “Harlequin, I should like to see your home. Won’t you take me there? I am sure your parents must have forgiven you by now.”

“Whether they have or not,” said Harlequin, “they will certainly do so when they see what a beautiful wife I have married.”

So they turned their steps towards Bergamo, where they arrived after two or three days. As they walked through the streets, Harlequin pointed out to Columbine, who was, of course, very much interested, the scenes of his boyish exploits. When they reached the shop, Harlequin was surprised to see that it was twice as big as it had been when he left it. One half was still filled with fruit, while the other was filled with flowers most tastefully arranged.

“That is my mother’s doing, I know,” he said. “And there she is herself.”

Skipping into the shop, he took his mother into his arms.

“Oh, my precious Harlequin!” she cried, when she had a little recovered from her surprise. “You have come back at last.”

She was too much delighted to utter a single word of reproach for his long truancy.

When she saw Columbine, and learned that the lovely girl was Harlequin’s wife, she was more delighted than ever: and Columbine loved her at once, for she was quite as charming, and almost as pretty, as when she had married the fruit-seller.

“But where is my father?” Harlequin asked.

“Alas!” replied his mother, “your poor father is dead.”

“Dead!” cried Harlequin; and “Oh dear!” murmured Columbine.

“I hope it was not my running away that killed him,” said Harlequin.

“No,” said his mother. “Of course he was very angry about that, but I think he was really glad to be rid of so disgraceful a son”--and she smiled at Harlequin as though she did not consider him in the least disgraceful. “It was this way,” she continued. “Having become such an important person in Bergamo, he had to go to a great many banquets. As you will remember, Harlequin, he was always a very full-blooded man; and in the end an apoplexy carried him off.”

The widow sighed, for she had been very fond of the fruit-seller; but with Harlequin home again, she could not feel sad for long.

“I shall give up the shop to you, Harlequin,” she said presently. “It will keep you out of mischief. Besides, I am getting old.”

She did not look at all old, but Harlequin was quite willing to mind the shop or do anything else, so long as Columbine was with him. So he sold the fruit, and Columbine the flowers, and they drove a brisker trade than even the old fruit-seller had done. The beauty of Harlequin’s wife was soon the talk of Bergamo, and people came to buy just for the sake of looking at her. In the evening, when the shop was shut, Harlequin and Columbine used to dance, and very often the widow would join them. She danced as delightfully as ever.

During the day, she sewed alternately at a little patchwork suit and a little frilled white dress. In due course both were needed.

One morning, when Harlequin was arranging his fruit, he heard the sound of a mandoline coming from down the street.

“There is only one man in all Italy who can play like that,” he cried, and, dropping his basket of apples, he ran as fast as he could in the direction of the music.

In a minute he was back again, and with him was Scaramouche, plump and merry as of old. Columbine welcomed the musician warmly, and asked him eagerly for news of Venice.

“Why, my dear,” said Scaramouche, “many things have happened there since you ran away. But what will interest you most, I expect, is that there have been two weddings--of both of which your departure was the cause. For neither of the bridegrooms would have looked elsewhere had Columbine’s bright eyes still been there to draw their gaze.”

Columbine blushed.

“The marriage of Lelio and Isabella,” Scaramouche proceeded, “was a very magnificent affair indeed. The other was not so gorgeous, but it was merry enough. I saw to that.”

“Whose marriage do you mean?” Columbine asked. “Surely not Pierrot’s?”

“Yes, Pierrot’s,” replied Scaramouche.

“Pierrot is never married!” exclaimed Harlequin.

“He is, though,” said Scaramouche. “And married to Violetta. I myself opposed the notion at first. For Pierrot sings very nicely, and our performances together were becoming as popular as yours and mine used to be. And I knew that, once married, he would be lost to me. But Violetta insisted that he needed a wife to look after him--and Violetta, as you know, is a young woman of determined character.”

“Are they happy?” asked Columbine.

“The happiest couple in the world, by all appearances,” said Scaramouche.

“Except one,” said Harlequin, and again Columbine blushed.

“Of course I should have excepted present company,” laughed Scaramouche. “But, really, they are most devoted. Indeed, I got quite tired of their billing and cooing. I felt out of it. That is why I am on the road again.”

“And have you any news of my father?” Columbine asked.

“No,” said Scaramouche, “none. He left Venice to look for you, the very day after your flight, and nothing has been heard of him since.”

“Poor Papa!” said Columbine, sighing. “I hope no evil has befallen him. I wish I could see him again.” This was perfectly true, for in her happiness she had quite forgotten Pantaloon’s unkindness and remembered only that he was her father.

It was not so very long before her wish was fulfilled. All this time Pantaloon had been searching for his daughter through the length and breadth of Italy, and at last he came to Bergamo. Riding on his donkey, he arrived at the shop, looking so old and tired that Columbine cried when she saw him. As for the Doctor, he was so glad to have found his daughter again that he never even thought of saying the harsh things which he had intended to say to her; nor, seeing Columbine so prosperous and contented, could he do anything else but forgive Harlequin on the spot.

Thenceforth Pantaloon lived above the fruit shop, where Columbine and Harlequin’s mother looked after him. He spent most of his time playing with his grandchildren, and his only quarrel with his son-in-law was that he was never allowed to give them physic.

FINIS