Following him, we came to the door of the inn. It
was ringed round with men, and directly opposite to us stood Vlacho.
When he saw me, he commanded silence with his hand, and addressed me
in the following surprising style:
"The Lady Euphrosyne, of her grace, bids you depart in peace. Go,
then, to your boat, and depart, thanking God for his mercy."
"Wait a bit, my man," said I. "Where is the lord of the island?"
"Did you not know that he died a week ago?" asked Vlacho, with
apparent surprise.
"Died!" we exclaimed, one and all.
"Yes, sir. The Lady Euphrosyne, lady of Neopalia, bids you go."
"What did he die of?"
"Of a fever," said Vlacho, gravely. And several of the men round him
nodded their heads, and murmured, in no less grave assent: "Yes, of a
fever."
"I am very sorry for it," said I. "But as he sold the island to me
before he died, I don't see what the lady, with all respect to her,
has got to do with it. Nor do I know what this rabble is doing about
the door. Send them away."
This attempt at hauteur was most decidedly thrown away. Vlacho seemed
not to hear what I said. He pointed with his finger toward the harbor.
"There lies your boat. Demetri and Spiro cannot go with you, but you
will be able to manage her yourselves. Listen, now! Till six in the
morning you are free to go.
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