“Oh, per amore di Dio, Signor Giovacchino, don’t talk in that way.  Never heard of again!  I shall be really uneasy if I don’t hear of her again in a very few minutes.  It is so extraordinary.  What can have become of her?”

“Become of her!  Why, she waited, of course:  got tired of waiting for you, and so strolled back to the town.  That sort of lady does not much like waiting, I fancy.”

“That sort of lady does not much like walking so far as from the Pineta here, I fancy.  Besides, I should have overtaken her on the road.”

“In any case what is there to be uneasy about.  No harm can have happened to her.  No such luck, per Bacco!”

“Harm!  No; no harm can have happened to her, beyond losing herself in the forest.  What I am afraid of is that she has strayed and not been able to find her way.  And God knows how far she may wander.  When I tell you that in wandering away from the place where I left her, for not above a quarter of an hour, I lost my way, and that when I found, as I supposed, the place where we had been, I could not be sure whether it was the same spot or not; you may suppose how easy it is to lose oneself.  And I don’t suppose the poor girl would be able to walk very far.  If she has not returned, I must get help and go back to the forest and search till I find her.”

“It’s far more likely that you will find that she has returned home.  I wish, for my part, that she had never set foot within a dozen miles of Ravenna.  Just think what it would be!  But I trust—­I trust we may yet be able to induce your uncle to listen to reason.”

“I’ll tell you what, Signor Fortini.  I should not be surprised if it should be found more possible to make the other party hear reason.”

“What, the lady!”

“Yes, the lady—­if we set about the matter in the right way.”

“Well, Signor Ludovico, it may be that you may understand such matters and such people better than I can pretend to do.  It is not improbable.  But my conceptions of the power of persuasion have never risen yet to a belief in the possibility of persuading a dog who has got a lump of butter in his mouth to relinquish it.”

“Umph! you are not particularly gallant, Signor Giovacchino.  We shall see.  But all that must be matter for future conversation.  Here we are at her door.  Let us see if anything has been heard of her.”  Ludovico, leaving his companion for an instant in the street, sprang up the stairs to make inquiry; and in the next minute returned looking very much vexed and annoyed, with the information that nothing had been seen or heard of the Diva since she left the house in his company at an early hour that morning.

CHAPTER IX

“Passa la Bella Donna e par che dorma”—­Tasso

“What’s to be done now?  I absolutely must find her,” said Ludovico, looking, as he felt, exceedingly puzzled and annoyed.