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They had always lived in Naples, and knew their aristocracy. So they merely returned the Marchesino's glance with one of comprehension and composed themselves once more to repose. The Marchesino did not come back, and presently Artois lifted himself up a little, and looked out.
He realized that; but, subtle though he was, he did not understand the inmost and root-cause of Vere's loss of self-control. Vere was feeling bitterly ashamed, had been bending under this sense of undeserved shame, ever since the Marchesino's stratagem on the preceding night. Although she was gay and fearless, she was exquisitely sensitive.
They returned the Marchesino's stare with vigorous impudence as they swung by. "What sympathetic creatures!" he murmured. "They are two angels. I believe I have seen one of them at the Margherita. What was her name Maria Leoni, I fancy." He looked enviously at the young men.
And he was not at all accustomed to control himself or to fight his own impulses. For the moment "caro Emilio" became "maledetto Emilio" in his mind. Sleepless as Providence, Emilio reclined there. A slightly distracted look came into the Marchesino's eyes as he glanced away from his friend and stared once more at the islet, which he longed so ardently to invade.
And probably at this consultation his the Marchesino's fate had been decided. By Emilio? At that moment the Marchesino actively, even furiously, hated his former friend. There was a little noise at the door; the Marchesino turned swiftly, and saw Hermione coming in. He looked eagerly behind her. But the door shut. She was alone. She did not give her hand to him. He bowed, trying to look calm.
The abrupt change in Monsieur Emile's demeanor towards her made her feel as if she were despised by him because she had been the victim of the Marchesino's trick. Or perhaps Monsieur Emile completely misunderstood her; perhaps he thought perhaps he dared to think, that she had helped the Marchesino in his manoeuvre.
"You did not mean to get lost with the Signorina?" said Artois. "One leaves such things to destiny." "Destiny! Well, to-night it is your destiny to go out of the Signorina's life forever." "How dare you command me? How dare you speak for these ladies?" Suddenly Artois went quite white, and laid his hand on the Marchesino's arm. "Where have you been?
Even the Marchesino's vivacity was suddenly abated, either by the increasing violence of the storm or by the change in Vere. It would have been difficult to say by which. The lightning flashed. The thunder at moments seemed to split the sky asunder as a charge of gunpowder splits asunder a rock. The head wind rushed by, yet had never passed them, but was forever coming furiously to meet them.
He knew it for that by the wave of disgust that went over him when his imagination, prompted by the Marchesino's brutality, set pictures before him of himself in other relations with Vere. The real man in him recoiled so swiftly, so uncontrollably, that he was reassured as to his own condition.
Suddenly she remembered the Marchesino and the sound of his voice when he had spoken of his friend. "Lunch?" she said. Instantly he caught her hesitation, her dubiety. "It isn't convenient, perhaps?" "Perfectly, only only the Marchesino is coming." "To-morrow To lunch?" The hardness of the Marchesino's voice was echoed now in the voice of Artois. There was antagonism between these men.
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