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"And the rain all over her, and the thunder close above her, and the sea in her face, the sea the sea!" She clapped her hands. "Gaspare! Gaspare!" She put her face to the glass. Gaspare, who was standing up in the stern, with his hands holding fast to the rail that edged the cabin roof, bent down till his brown face was on a level with hers, and his big eyes were staring inquiringly into her eyes.
There were no tears in his eyes now, but long, violent sobs shook his body from time to time, and his blistered lips opened and shut mechanically with each sob. He stared dully at the doctor, but did not say a word, or move to get out of the way. "Gaspare!" said the doctor. "Where is the padrona?" The boy sobbed and sobbed, always in the same dry and terribly mechanical way.
And then she thought of her dead husband's reverence of her intellect, boyish admiration of her mental gifts; and an agony of longing for his love swept over her again, and she felt that he was the only person who had been able to love her really, and that now he was gone there was no one. At that moment she forgot Gaspare.
Their voices were loud in the night. The doctor pushed his way between the men and came onto the terrace in front of the steps that led into the sitting-room. Gaspare was standing there alone. His face was almost unrecognizable. It looked battered, puffy, and inflamed, as if he had been drinking and fighting.
Tears came into his eyes as he listened. Then he shut his eyes and said to himself, shuddering: "Oh, you beast! You beast!" "It is the signora!" said Gaspare, turning round on his donkey. "She does not know we are here, and she is playing to keep herself awake." He looked down at his clock, and his eyes began to shine. "I am glad the signora is awake!" he said.
He wanted it because it would satisfy an imperious desire of tender passion, not because it would infuriate a man who hated him. He forgot the father in the daughter. "Suppose I were quite poor, Maddalena!" he said. "But you are very rich, signorino." "But suppose I were poor, like Gaspare, for instance. Suppose I were as I am, just the same, only a contadino, or a fisherman, as your father is.
He stood there quite still, but she felt as if in this unnatural stillness there was violent movement, and she looked away from him. It was fully night now. She gazed down at the ravine. By that way Maurice would come, unless he really had gone to Marechiaro to see Artois. She had suggested to Gaspare that this might be the reason of Maurice's delay, but she knew that she did not think it was.
Just let me swim out and come back. If I want you I'll call. But don't follow me." Salvatore nodded appreciatively. He liked a good swimmer, a real man of the sea. "And don't wake Gaspare, or he'll be after me." "Va bene!" Maurice stripped off his clothes, all the time looking at the sea. Then he sat down on the gunwale of the boat with his feet in the water. Salvatore had stopped rowing.
He did not try any more to remove her impression. He saw that to do so would be quite useless. "I should like to speak to Gaspare," Vere said, after a moment's thought. "Gaspare! Why?" "Perhaps you will laugh at me! But I often think Gaspare understands Madre better than any of us, Monsieur Emile." "Gaspare has been with your mother a very long time." "Yes, and in his way he is very clever.
"Madre, may I stand on my chair?" "Of course, Signorina. Look! Others are standing!" Gaspare helped his Padroncina up, then took his place beside her, and stood like a sentinel. Artois had never liked him better than at that moment. Hermione, who looked rather tired, sat down on her chair.
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