“For six francs fifty a day—­wine included,” chuckled John.

“Wine, and apparently the unhindered enjoyment of—­the whole blessed thing,” supplemented she, with a reminder of his comprehensive gesture.

“Yes—­the run of the house and garden, the freedom of the hills and valley.”

“I understand,” she said, and was mute for a space, readjusting her impressions.  “I had supposed,” she went on at last, “from the handsome way in which you snubbed that creature in shoulder-knots, and proceeded to do the honours of the place, that you were little less than its proprietor.”

“Well, and so I could almost feel I am,” laughed John.  “I’m alone here—­there’s none my sway to dispute.  And as for the creature in shoulder-knots, what becomes of the rights of man or the bases of civil society, if you can’t snub a creature whom you regularly tip?  For five francs a week the creature in shoulder-knots cleans my boots (indifferent well), brushes my clothes, runs my errands (indifferent slow),—­and swallows my snubs as if they were polenta.”

“And tries to shoo intrusive trippers from your threshold—­and gets an extra plateful for his pains,” laughed the lady.  “Where,” she asked, “does the Prince of Zelt-Neuminster keep himself?”

“In Vienna, I believe.  Anyhow, at a respectful distance.  The parroco, who is also his sort of intendant, tells me he practically never comes to Sant’ Alessina.”

“Good easy man,” quoth she.  “Yes, I certainly supposed you were his tenant-in-fee, at the least.  You have an air.”  And her bob of the head complimented him upon it.

“Oh, we Marquises of Carabas!” cried John, with a flourish.

She regarded him doubtfully.

“Wouldn’t you find yourself in a slightly difficult position, if the Prince or his family should suddenly turn up?” she suggested.

“I?  Why?” asked John, his blue eyes blank.

“A young man boarding with the parroco for six francs a day—­” she began.

“Six francs fifty, please,” he gently interposed.

“Make it seven if you like,” her ladyship largely conceded.  “Wouldn’t your position be slightly false?  Would they quite realize who you were?”

“What could that possibly matter? wondered John, eyes blanker still.

“I could conceive occasions in which it might matter furiously,” said she.  “Foreigners can’t with half an eye distinguish amongst us, as we ourselves can; and Austrians have such oddly exalted notions.  You wouldn’t like to be mistaken for Mr. Snooks?”

“I don’t know,” John reflected, vistas opening before him.  “It might be rather a lark.”

“Whrrr!” said Lady Blanchemain, fanning herself with her pocket-handkerchief.  Then she eyed him suspiciously.  “You’re hiding the nine million other causes up your sleeve.  It isn’t merely the ’whole blessed thing’ that’s keeping an eaglet of your feather alone in an improbable nest like this—­it’s some one particular thing.  In my time,” she sighed, “it would have been a woman.”