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He had drawn his broad-brimmed hat down low over his pale face, and he looked neither to right nor left, as he was carried down the long and narrow street, followed by the searching glances of the inhabitants, who, as he had surmised, were all out, engaged in eager conversation, and anxiously waiting for the return of the Pretore and his assistants, and the announcement of the result of the autopsy.
"In the hotel?" "Si, signore. They have taken the body of the signore to the hospital. Everybody was in the street to see it pass. And now the poor signora has come here. She has taken the rooms above you on the little terrace." "The signora is going to stay here?" "Si, signore. They say, if the Signor Pretore allows after the inquiry is over, the funeral will be to-morrow."
It seemed to her so utterly useless, this inquiry by strangers into the cause of her sorrow. "I must just write something," she added. She went up the steps into the sitting-room. Gaspare was there with three men the Pretore, the Cancelliere and the Maresciallo. As she came in the strangers turned and saluted her with grave politeness, all looking earnestly at her with their dark eyes.
The Pretore, receiving no assistance from his colleagues, seemed doubtful what more to do. It was evident to Artois that he was faintly suspicious, that he was not thoroughly satisfied about the cause of this death. "Your daughter seems very upset about all this," he said to Salvatore. "Mamma mia! And how should she not? Why, Signor Pretore, we loved the poor signore.
And Maddalena, if she wept, wept now in secret; if she prayed, prayed in the lonely house of the sirens, near the window which had so often given a star to the eyes that looked down from the terrace of the Casa del Prete. There was gossip in Marechiaro, and the Pretore still preserved his air of faint suspicion.
"Corragio, Gaspare!" said Artois to him, in a low voice. His strong intuition enabled him to understand something of the conflict that was raging in the boy. He had seen his glances at Salvatore, and felt that he was longing to fly at the fisherman, that he only restrained himself with agony from some ferocious violence. The Pretore remained silent for a moment.
And in America you get good pay. A man can earn eight lire a day there, they tell me." "I have not seen your daughter yet," Artois said, abruptly. "No, signore, she is not well to-day. And the Signor Pretore frightened her. She will stay in the house to-day." "But I should like to see her for a moment." "Signore, I am very sorry, but "
She looked at the Pretore. "I am very sorry, signora, such a thing could not possibly be allowed. If the body is buried here it must be in the Campo Santo." "Thank you." She turned to the table and wrote after "Don't come yet": "They are taking him away now to the hospital in the village. I shall come down. I think the funeral will be to-morrow. They tell me he must be buried in the Campo Santo.
They seemed to be in strong conversation, but directly Artois appeared there was a silence, and they all turned and stared at him as if in wonder. Then Gaspare came forward and took off his hat. The boy looked haggard with grief, and angry and obstinate, desperately obstinate. "Signore," he said. "You know my padrone! Tell them " But the Pretore interrupted him with an air of importance.
"Signor Pretore, I do not know. I did not look at the clock. But it was before sunset it was well before sunset." "And the signore only came down from the Casa del Prete very late," interposed Artois, quietly. "I was there and kept him. It was quite evening before he started." An expression of surprise went over Salvatore's face and vanished.
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