He could find no adequate words for the situation.
The boat drew alongside and Constance stepped in, but she did not sit down.

Her attention was attracted by two washer-women who had come clattering on to the little rustic bridge that spanned the stream above the water steps.

The women, their baskets of linen on their heads, had paused to watch the embarkation.
"Ah, Gustavo," Constance asked over her shoulder, "is there a washer-woman here at the Hotel du Lac named Costantina ?" "_Si_, signorina, zat is Costantina standing on ze bridge wif ze yellow handkerchief on her head." Constance looked at Costantina, and nodded and smiled.

Then she laughed out loud, a beautiful rippling, joyous laugh that rang through the grove and silenced the chaffinches.
Perhaps once upon a time Costantina was beautiful--beautiful as the angels--but if so, it was long, long ago.

Now she was old and fat with a hawk nose and a double chin and one tooth left in the middle of the front.