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Now and then they could faintly hear the sound of his moving jaws, Lucrezia's laughter, or Gaspare's eager voice. These fragmentary noises scarcely disturbed the great silence that lay about them, the night hush of the mountains and the sea. Hermione sat down on the seat in the terrace wall looking over the ravine. It was a moonless night, but the sky was clear and spangled with stars.
Hers it was, hers only, no part of it Vere's. That she had her memory, and Gaspare's loyal, open-hearted devotion. He knew what she had suffered. He loved her as he had loved his dead Padrone.
And I think nobody could tell better than you." "I am sure the Signora will not leave the island till October, Signore. She says we are all to stay until the end of October." "And now it's July." "Si, Signore. Now it's July." In saying the last words Gaspare's voice sounded fatalistic, and Artois believed that he caught an echo of a deep-down thought of his own.
But he thought of certain subtle things which had seemed like indications, like shadowy pointing fingers; of a look in Gaspare's eyes when they had met his a hard, defiant look that seemed shutting him out from something; of a look in another face one night under the moon; of some words spoken in a cave with a passion that had reached his heart; of two children strangely at ease in each other's society.
Gaspare's great eyes dropped before hers, and he stood looking on the floor. She saw a deep flush cover his brown skin. "I am sure you have noticed it, Gaspare," she said. "I can see you have. Why did you not tell me?" At that moment she felt angry with herself and almost angry with him.
But the best poet at Lodovico's court, a sweeter singer and a finer scholar than the much-praised Bellincioni or the gay Visconti, was Niccolo, the "gran Correggio" of Gaspare's song.
Gaspare's face changed, softened for an instant, then grew stern again. "That was long ago, Signore. It was all different in Sicily!" His eyes filled with tears, yet his face remained stern.
Even the sea was dumb, or, if it were not, murmured so softly that these two could not hear it where they stood. And now, in this dark silence, they heard a faint sound. It was surely a foot-fall upon stones. Yes, it was. By the fierce joy that burst up in her heart Hermione measured her previous fear. "It's he! It's the padrone!" She put her face close to Gaspare's and whispered the words.
She began to laugh through tears. "Thank God you're not conceited!" she exclaimed. "What about?" he asked. But she did not answer. Presently they heard Gaspare's step on the terrace. He came to them bareheaded, with shining eyes, to ask if they were satisfied with Lucrezia. About himself he did not ask.
But he knew it was not Gaspare's voice he had heard. The net was drawn up now for the last time, and as soon as Delarey had dressed they set out to walk to the caves on the farther side of the rocks, where they meant to sleep till Carmela was about and ready to make the frittura.
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