The chauffeur got out and tried to open them,
but they were locked. He turned to the Prince for instructions. "What
are we to do, sir? There is no bell." His tone was plaintive, for he was
hungry and consequently irritable.
Vanno jumped out and tried the gates in vain. The chauffeur looked at
the ground to hide his pleasure in the gentleman's failure. Peter peered
from the car anxiously. "Perhaps Mary didn't come here after all, or
else she's gone away," the girl suggested. "It would have meant a horrid
delay, trying to find the cabman who drove her from Monte Carlo, but
after all it might have been better."
Vanno was ungallant enough not to answer. He was hardly conscious that
Peter was speaking. The iron gates, set between tall stone posts, were
very high. On the other side an ill-kept road overgrown with bunches of
rough grass wound up the cypress and olive clad hill. At the very top
stood the house which somewhat pretentiously named itself a chateau. It
was built of the beautiful mottled stone of the country, brown and gray,
veined and splashed with green, purple, yellow, and rose pink. There
were two square towers and several large balconies and terraces with
windows looking out upon them; but the windows in sight were closed and
shuttered. The thick flowering creepers which almost covered the walls
as high as the windows of the second story--roses, bougainvillea,
plumbago, and convolvulus--were tangled and matted together, great
branches trailing over the shut eyes of the windows.
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