Violetta Sets Her Wits to Work
“Wherever have you been all this time?” asked Violetta, as Harlequin entered the inn.
“Nowhere in particular,” said Harlequin carelessly.
Violetta laughed.
“That means that he has been somewhere very particular indeed,” she said to Scaramouche. “I shouldn’t mind wagering twenty crowns that he has been trying to see Columbine.”
“And I shouldn’t mind wagering fifty that he has not succeeded,” replied Scaramouche.
“Did you, Harlequin?” Violetta asked.
“No, I didn’t,” Harlequin admitted. “But I made the acquaintance of her papa.”
“I am sure he was delighted to make yours,” said Scaramouche sarcastically. “He is noted for his hospitality.”
“He certainly insisted on giving me a drink,” said Harlequin, pulling a wry face.
“Do tell us what happened,” cried Violetta.
So Harlequin told them; and before he had finished they were both nearly dying of laughter.
“I don’t see that it was as funny as all that,” said Harlequin sulkily.
“Poor Harlequin!” said Violetta. “What a shame! But I should have thought you were too clever to go such a simple way to work.”
“Well,” said Harlequin, “since Columbine hardly ever goes outside the house, I thought my best chance of seeing her was to get inside.”
“Pantaloon was quite right,” said Scaramouche, “you are a logician, Harlequin. Unfortunately, things don’t always happen logically in this casual and rather ridiculous world.”
“You know a lot of long words, Scaramouche,” said Violetta, “but they won’t help Harlequin to see Columbine.”
“Is it absolutely necessary that he should see her?” Scaramouche asked.
“Of course it is,” replied Violetta. “He wants to; and Harlequin is one of those people who must always have what they want. Aren’t you, Harlequin?”
“How well you know me, Violetta!” said Harlequin.
“But Columbine might not like him if she did see him,” objected the sceptical Scaramouche.
“Nonsense!” said Violetta. “Who could help liking Harlequin?”
“Violetta, you are a darling,” cried Harlequin, and kissed the girl.
“You haven’t done that for more than twenty-four hours,” she said.
“It won’t be twenty-four seconds before I do it again,” Harlequin retorted. And it wasn’t.
“You seem to be getting away from the matter in hand,” Scaramouche remarked drily.
“Oh, no, we aren’t,” replied Violetta. “Harlequin is only rehearsing.”
“Don’t be unkind, Violetta,” said Harlequin, giving her waist a gallant squeeze. “I am not sure that I want to meet Columbine after all.”
“Now you are being silly, Harlequin,” said Violetta. “You know you want to meet her. Of course you like kissing me—who wouldn’t? But wait till you have kissed Columbine.”
“It appears that I shall have to wait,” said Harlequin.
“You are a faint-hearted fellow,” said Scaramouche, “to be put off at the first check. Why don’t you try again when Pantaloon is out?”
“That is no good,” said Violetta scornfully. “Pantaloon very rarely goes out—except when he is summoned to a patient. And when he does go, he locks the door on the outside—so that neither Columbine nor Pierrot can open it.”
“Do you mean to say that he locks them up alone together?” cried Harlequin. “But after all,” he added, “why shouldn’t he? That white-faced moon-gazer is more like a girl than a boy—and more like a ghost than either.”
“Poor Pierrot!” said Violetta. “I pity him.”
“You pity everybody,” said Harlequin rather shortly.
“Violetta has a very large heart,” said Scaramouche.
“And a tolerably long head,” the girl retorted. “Harlequin doesn’t seem to be able to help himself; and you are far too lazy to try to help him. But I have a notion that I can.”
“Have you?” cried Harlequin eagerly. “Oh, do tell me! Quick!”
“Well,” said Violetta, “the important thing is not that Columbine should see you, but that she should see you dancing. She adores dancing more than anything else in the world, though it is not much that she gets of it, poor lamb! There is no one to dance with her, and I am sure she has little heart for dancing alone. Pierrot, though he sings very nicely, can’t dance a bit; and as for Lelio, if looks go for anything, he is far too stiff and solemn for anything livelier than a minuet. So to see a dancer like you, Harlequin, would be a wonderful treat for her. And if you could only dance together, she would be yours for ever.”
“What bliss!” exclaimed Harlequin. “But how is it to be managed? How can we ever dance together?”
“That we must think about later,” said Violetta. “It is no use being impatient: we must take one step at a time. If only we can contrive that she should see you, that would be a great thing.”
“But can we?” Harlequin asked.
“I think so,” Violetta answered. “You can dance in the street as well as in a house, I suppose?”
“Of course,” said Harlequin.
“And Columbine can look out of a window,” said Violetta. “The point is to get her to look out of the window at the same time that you are dancing in the street.”
“That ought to be easy,” said Harlequin.
“It isn’t in the least easy,” replied Violetta. “How are we to let her know that you are going to be there?”
“By sending her a letter, I suppose,” said Harlequin.
“By sending her a letter!” repeated Violetta in contemptuous tones. “Why, Pantaloon would be the first to read it. All the same, a letter it must be—only it mustn’t be sent: it must be delivered straight into Columbine’s own hands by some one we can trust.”
“Whom can we trust?” asked Harlequin, who was beginning to despair.
“Only ourselves,” said Violetta. “You—I—and Scaramouche. At least I suppose we can trust you, Scaramouche?”
“You can count on me, my dear,” said the musician. “I am no spoil-sport.”
“But which of us is to deliver the letter?” said Harlequin.
“Well, you have seen what luck you had when you tried to get near the young lady,” said Violetta. “And Scaramouche would fare no better. It is plain that it will have to be me.”
“Oh, will you?” cried Harlequin. “Dear Violetta!”
“I will try, at any rate,” the girl replied. “But it is not going to be easy even for me. Besides, there is another thing.”
“Oh dear!” said Harlequin. “There seems to be no end to the difficulties. What is this one?”
“Pantaloon himself,” said Violetta. “Of course he must be got out of the way. It wouldn’t help us much if he were to catch you at your capers, would it?”
“I’ll look after Pantaloon,” said Scaramouche.