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"I can't was the signora alone, or did you see some one with her?" "The sick signore? I did not see him. I saw only the signora standing at the window, waving her hand così!" He waved his hand. "Madonna!" Maurice said, mechanically. "What are we to do, signorino?" "Do! What can we do? The train has gone!" "Si, signore. But shall I fetch the donkeys?" Maurice stole a glance at Maddalena.
His needs were simple, and he could live without applying himself to uncongenial work, though the allowance had been stopped, and the income, as Leslie had said, was incredibly small. The good Giovanna, who had been his mother's servant, stayed on with her signorino, and economized for him; the wages of an Italian servant were in those days no extravagance.
The young patient is spoken of as Signorino M . . . Ch. . . . But you must remember that ch is pronounced hard in Italian, like k, which letter is wanting in the Italian alphabet; and it is natural enough that the initial of the second name should have got changed in the record to its Italian equivalent."
It was not to the credit of her absolute rectitude that she should have gone the longest way round to Florence in order to spend a few weeks with her invalid son; since in former years it had been one of her most definite convictions that when Ralph wished to see her he was at liberty to remember that Palazzo Crescentini contained a large apartment known as the quarter of the signorino.
"Signorino Marchesino, I do when I have any soldi to buy them with." "Take these." The Marchesino emptied one side of his cigarette case into the boatman's hand, called a hired carriage, and drove off towards the Villa the horse going at a frantic trot, while the coachman, holding a rein in each hand, ejaculated, "A ah!" every ten seconds, in a voice that was fiercely hortatory.
He dreaded to see the terrace wall, the snowy building it protected. And he felt as if he were drawing near to a terror, and as if he could not face it, did not know how to face it. "Signorino, there is no light! Look!" "The signora and Lucrezia must be asleep at this hour." "If they are, what are we to do? Shall we wake them?" "No, no." He spoke quickly, in hope of a respite.
At last he felt the imperative need of air, and, coming up into the light again, he gasped, shook his head, lifted his eyelids that were heavy with the pressure of the water, heard a shrill cry, and felt a hand grasp him fiercely. "Signorino! Signorino!" "Gaspare!" he gulped. He had not fully drawn breath yet. "Madonna! Madonna!" The hand still held him. The fingers were dug into his flesh.
When Gaspare came in that evening with a string of little birds in his hand and asked Maurice if there were any letter from Africa to say when the signora would arrive, Maurice answered "No." "Then the signora will not be here for the fair, signorino?" said the boy. "I don't suppose no, Gaspare, she will not be here for the fair." "She would have written by now if she were coming.
"Amedeo is a parrucchiere, signorino," he said, "and my compare, and the best dancer in San Felice. May he eat with us?" "Of course." Gaspare informed Amedeo, who took off his hat, held it in his hand, and smiled all over his face with pleasure. "Yes, Gaspare is my compare, signore," he affirmed.
"After all, I scarcely gave things a fair trial yesterday," he said. And the corollary of that, of course, was that he might give things a further and fairer trial some other day. But his hope was still hard hurt; he was still in a profound dejection. "The Signorino is not eating his dinner," cried Marietta, fixing him with suspicious, upbraiding eyes. "I never said I was," he retorted.
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