Botzen proved to be very hot and full of smells, nor did Mrs. Morton care for its quaint old medieval houses, but Ida’s heart had begun to fail her when she came so near the crisis, and on looking over the visitors’ book she gave a cry. ‘Ah, if we had only known! It is all of no use.’

‘How?’ she was asked.

‘That horrid Mrs. Bury!’

‘There?’

‘Of course she is. Only a week ago she was here. If she is at Ratzes, of course we can do nothing.’

‘And the road is affreux, perfectly frightful,’ said Mademoiselle. ‘I have been inquiring about it. No access except upon mules. A whole day’s journey—and the hotel! Bah, it is vilain!’

‘If Ida is bent on going she must go without me,’ said Mrs. Morton. ‘I—I have had enough of those horrid beasts. Ida’s nonsense will be the death of me.’

‘I don’t see much good in going on with that woman there,’ said Ida gloomily. ‘She would be sure to stifle all inquiry.’

‘A good thing too,’ muttered poor, weary Mrs. Morton.

Ida turned the leaves of the visitors’ book till she found the names of Lord and Lady Northmoor, and then, growing more eager as obstructions came in her way, and not liking to turn back as if on a fool’s errand, she suggested to Miss Gattoni that questions might be asked about their visit. The Tyrolean patois was far beyond her, and not too comprehensible to her friend, but there was a waiter who could speak French, and the landlady’s German was tolerable.

The milord and miladi were perfectly remembered, as well as their long detention, but the return had been by way of Italy, so they had not revisited Botzen with their child the next spring.

‘But,’ said the hostess, ‘there is a young woman in the next street who can tell you more than I. She offered herself as a nurse.’

This person was at once sent for. She was the same who had been mentioned by Mrs. Bury, but she had exchanged the peasant costume, which had, perhaps, only been assumed to please the English ladies, for the townswoman’s universal endeavour at French fashion, which by no means enhanced her rather coarse beauty, which was more Italian than Austrian.

Italian was the tongue which chiefly served as a medium between her and Miss Gattoni, though hers was not pure enough to be easily understood. Mrs. Morton and Ida put questions which Miss Gattoni translated as best she could, and made out as much as possible of the answers. It was elicited that she had not been allowed to see the English miladi. All had been settled by the signora who came yearly, and they had rejected her after all her trouble; the doctor had recommended her, and though her creatura would have been just the right age, and that little ipocrila’s child was older, ever so much older—she spread out her hands to indicate infinity.

‘Ah!’ said Ida, ‘I always thought so.’

‘Ask her how much older,’ demanded Mrs. Morton.

The replies varied from nearly un sanestre to tre settimane—and no more could be made of that question.

‘Where was the foster-child?’

Again the woman threw up her hands to indicate that she had no notion—what was it to her? She could not tell if it were alive or dead; but (upon a leading question) it had not been seen since Hedwige’s departure nor after return. Was it boy or girl? and, after some hesitation, it was declared to have been un maschio.

There was more, which nobody quite understood, but which sounded abusive, and they were glad to get rid of her with a couple of thalers.

‘Well?’ said Ida triumphantly.

‘Well?’ echoed her mother in a different tone. ‘I don’t know what you were all saying, but I’m sure of this, that that woman was only looking to see what you wanted her to say. I watched the cunning look of her eyes, and I would not give that for her word,’ with a gesture of her fingers.

‘But, ma, you didn’t understand! Nothing could be plainer. The doctor recommended her, and sent her over in proper time, but she never saw any one but Mrs. Bury, who, no doubt, had made her arrangements. Then this other woman’s child was older—nobody knows how much—but we always agreed that nobody could believe Mite, as they call him, was as young as they said. And then that other child was a boy, and it has vanished.’

‘I don’t believe she knew.’

‘No, I do not think she did,’ chimed in Miss Gattoni. ‘This canaille will say anything!’

‘I believe the woman,’ said Ida obstinately. ‘Her evidence chimes in with all my former conclusions.’

The older ladies both had a strong misgiving that the conclusions had formed the evidence, and Mrs. Morton, though she had listened all along to Ida’s grumbling, was perfectly appalled at the notion of bringing such a ridiculous accusation against the brother-in-law, against whom she might indeed murmur, but whom she knew to be truthful and self-denying. She ventured to represent that it was impossible to go upon this statement without ascertaining whether the Grantzen child was alive, or really dead and buried at Ratzes, and that the hostess of the inn would have been better evidence, but—

He that of purpose looks beside the mark,
Might as well hoodwinked shoot as in the dark,

and Ida was certain that all the people at Ratzes had been bribed, and that no one would dare to speak out while Mrs. Bury kept guard there. Indeed, for that lady to guess at such suspicions and inquiries would have been so dreadful that Ratzes was out of the question, much to the relief of the elders, dragged along by the masterful maiden against their better judgment, though indeed Miss Gattoni gave as much sympathy in her tÊte-À-tÊtes with Ida as she did to her mother in their consultations.

They were made to interview the doctor, but he knew as little about the matter as the disappointed balia, and professed to know much less. In point of fact, though he had been called in after the accident, Mrs. Bury had not thought much of his skill, and had not promoted after-visits. There had not been time to summon him when the birth took place, and Mrs. Bury thought her experience more useful afterwards than his treatment was likely to be. So he was a slighted and offended man, whose testimony, given in good German, only declared the secretiveness, self-sufficiency, and hard-neckedness of Englander!

And Ida’s state of mind much resembled that of the public when resolved to believe in the warming-pan.