"Palermo!" he said, sharply.
"Si, signore."
"But the train from Palermo comes the other way, by Messina!"
"Si, signore. But there are two, one by Messina and one by Catania.
Ecco!"
From the lemon groves came the rattle of the approaching train.
"But--but----"
He caught at his watch, pulled it out.
Five o'clock!
He had taken his hand from Maddalena's, and now he made a movement as if
to get up. But he did not get up. Instead, he pressed back against the
olive-tree, upon whose trunk he was leaning, as if he wished to force
himself into the gnarled wood of it. He had an instinct to hide. The
train came on very slowly. During the two or three minutes that elapsed
before it was in his view Maurice lived very rapidly. He felt sure that
Hermione and Artois were in the train. Hermione had said that they would
arrive at Cattaro at five-thirty. She had not said which way they were
coming. Maurice had assumed that they would come from Messina because
Hermione had gone away by that route. It was a natural error. But now? If
they were at the carriage window! If they saw him! And surely they must
see him. The olive-trees were close to the line and on a level with it.
He could not get away. If he got up he would be more easily seen.
Hermione would call out to him. If he pretended not to hear she might,
she probably would, get out of the train at the San Felice station and
come into the fair. She was impulsive. It was just the sort of thing she
might do. She would do it. He was sure she would do it. He looked at the
watercourse hard. The crowd of people was not very far off. He thought he
detected the form of Gaspare. Yes, it was Gaspare. He and Amedeo were on
the outskirts of the crowd near the railway bridge. As he gazed, the
train whistled once more, and he saw Gaspare turn round and look towards
the sea. He held his breath.
"Ecco, signorino. Viene!"
Maddalena touched his arm, kept her hand upon it. She was deeply
interested in this event, the traversing by the train of the unfinished
bridge. Maurice was thankful for that. At least she did not notice his
violent perturbation.
"Look, signorino! Look!"
In despite of himself, Maurice obeyed her. He wanted not to look, but he
could not help looking. The engine, still whistling, crept out from the
embrace of the lemon-trees, with the dingy line of carriages behind it.
At most of the windows there were heads of people looking out. Third
class--he saw soldiers, contadini. Second class--no one. Now the
first-class carriages were coming. They were close to him.