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She wondered if Vere noticed this, but she did not look into her eyes to see. "Good-night, Vere." "Good-night." Vere was at the door when Hermione remembered her two meetings of that evening. "By-the-way," she said, "I met the Marchesino to-night. He was at the Scoglio di Frisio." "Was he?" "And afterwards on the sea I met Emile." "Monsieur Emile! Then he isn't quite dead!"
To dance with the Marchesino at the Scoglio di Frisio would have been banal in comparison with this glorious progress through the night in the teeth of opposing elements. She envied Gaspare, who was outside with the sailors, and whose form she could dimly see, a blur against the blackness.
The Padrone approached aristocratically. "The Marchese Isidoro Panacci is here dining with friends, the Duca di " "Yes, yes. But I am only here for a moment, so it is not worth while to tell the Marchese." "You are not going to dine, Signora! The food of Frisio does not please you!" He cast up his eyes in deep distress. "Indeed it does. But I have dined.
She was sharply conscious of the change of climate, the inland sensation, the falling away of the freedom from her, the freedom that seems to exhale from wave and wind of the wave. She walked on, meeting no one and still undecided what to do. The thought of the Scoglio di Frisio returned to her mind, was dismissed, returned again. She might go and dine there quietly alone.
"Ecco lo Scoglio di Frisio! And here is the Padrone!" he added, as a small, bright-eyed man, with a military figure and fierce mustaches, came briskly forward to receive them. The dinner, which was served at a table strewn with red carnations close to an open window, was a gay one, despite Artois.
William Ewart Gladstone had deigned to praise the "oeufs a la Gladstone," called henceforth by his name, when he walked over from the Villa Rendel to breakfast; and the delicious punch served before the dolce, and immediately after the "Pollo panato alla Frisio," had been lauded by the late Czar of all the Russias, who was drinking a glass of it according to the solemn asseveration of the Padrone when the telegram announcing the assassination of his father was put into his hand.
Ruffo and Gaspare strolled slowly away towards the jetty where the yachts lie, and presently disappeared. Artois found Pasqualino waiting for him rather impatiently not far from the entrance to the Scoglio di Frisio. "I thought you were dead, Signore," he remarked, as Artois came up. "I was watching the people." He got into the carriage.
"I only want to go to Naples." "To which landing, Signore?" "The Vittoria. But go quietly and keep near the shore. Go round as near as you can to the Mergellina." "Va bene, Signore." They slipped out, with a delicious, liquid sound, upon the moving silence of the sea. Hermione was not going to Mergellina, but to the Scoglio di Frisio. She had only come out of her room late in the afternoon.
She met his eyes with a sort of child's impertinence. She had abruptly become the Vere of the Scoglio di Frisio. "Who would take you for a watch-dog?" "Ma Signorina!" "As a seal yes, you are all very well! But " The young man was immediately in the seventh Heaven. The Signorina remembered his feats in the water.
Artois and Vere held up their hands in exaggerated surprise. "Are you mad, my dear Hermione?" asked Artois. "I believe I am. It's dangerous to go to Naples. I met a young man." "The Marchesino!" cried Vere. "The Marchesino! I see him in your eye, Madre." "C'est cela!" said Artois, "and you mean to say !" "That I accepted an invitation to dine with him to-night, at nine, at the Scoglio di Frisio.
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