From time to time he looked along the
path in the direction of the hotel, which was hidden from view by the
shrubbery. Then the clock struck twelve and a few minutes later the
church bells began to ring, as they do half a dozen times a day in Italy
on small provocation. Still San Miniato went on with his calculations.
Before many minutes more had passed, a trim young figure appeared in the
path--a young girl, with pink cheeks and bright dark eyes, no other than
Teresina, the Marchesa's maid. She carried some sewing in her hand and
looked nervously behind her and to the right and left as she walked. But
there was no one in the garden at that hour. The guests of the hotel
were all at breakfast, and the servants were either asleep or at work
indoors. The porter was at his dinner and the sailors were presumably
eating their midday bread and cheese down by the boats, or dining at
their homes if they lived near by. The breeze blew pleasantly through
the trees, making the broad polished leaves rustle and the little green
oranges rock on the boughs.
As soon as San Miniato caught sight of Teresina he put his note-book
into his pocket and rose to his feet.
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