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Updated: May 21, 2025
"It may be," said Ruggiero carelessly. "But of course she would thank, and say 'Who is this Ruggiero? and besides, the world is full of women." Bastianello was about to ask the interpretation of this rather enigmatical speech when there was a stir on the pier and two or three boats put out, the men standing in them and sculling them stern foremost.
"We have been in your town, Ruggiero," said one of the men, looking down into the little boat. "I hope you gave a message from me to Don Pietro Casale," answered Ruggiero. "Health to us, Don Pietro is dead," said the man, "and his wife is not likely to live long either." "Dead, eh?" cried Bastianello. "He is gone to show the saints the nose we gave him when we were boys."
They had a shabby-looking old skiff with which they amused themselves, upsetting and righting it again in the shallow water by the beach beyond the bathing houses. "What a boat!" laughed Bastianello. "A baby can upset her and it takes a dozen boys to right her again!" "Whose is she?" enquired Ruggiero idly, as he filled his pipe. "She?
"Can you tell me whether the padroni will go out to-day in the boat?" "I think they will not," answered the girl. "But I will ask. But I think they will not, because there is the devil in the house to-day, and the Signorina looks as though she would eat us all, and that is a bad sign." "What has happened?" asked Bastianello. "You can tell me, because I will tell nobody."
"Yes." "It was this. Bastianello had a thought. He imagined to himself that I loved Teresina I! " Ruggiero broke off in the sentence and looked away. His voice shook with the deep vibration that sometimes pleased Beatrice. He paused a moment and then went on. "I, who have quite other thoughts.
The Marchesa's nerves were terribly shaken by the tragedy, but she has recovered wonderfully and still fans herself and smokes countless cigarettes through the long summer afternoon. Of those left, Bastianello and Beatrice are the most changed both, perhaps, for the better. The sailor is graver and sterner than before, but he still has the gentleness which was never his brother's.
To reach Tragara where the Faraglioni, or needles, rise out of the deep sea close to the rocky shore under the cliffs, it is necessary to go round the point. There was soon hardly any breeze at all, so that Bastianello and the other men shipped half-a-dozen oars and began to row.
Ruggiero was sitting alone on one of the stone pillars on the little pier, gazing at the sea, or rather, at a vessel far away towards Ischia, running down the bay with every stitch of canvas set from her jibs to her royals. He looked round as Bastianello came up to him. "Ruggiero," said the latter in a quiet tone. "If you want to kill me, you may, for I have betrayed you."
"What did she do?" asked Bastianello quietly. But he grew a shade paler. "Eh? you want to know now, do you? What will you give me?" inquired the urchin. "Half a cigar," said Bastianello, who knew the boy's vicious tastes, and forthwith produced the bribe from his cap, holding it up for the other to see. "What did she do? She threw down the gold and called him an infamous liar to his face.
But Bastianello felt that he was on his honour, for he never doubted that the little maid was the cause of Ruggiero's disease of the heart and indeed of all that his brother evidently suffered, and he was too modest by nature to think that Teresina could prefer him to Ruggiero, who had always been the object of his own unbounded devotion and admiration.
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