"They are in the Casa delle Sirene, signore. They are waiting to see if
Salvatore comes back this morning from Messina."
"And his daughter? Is she there?"
"Si, signore. But she knows nothing. She was in the village. She can
only cry. She is crying for the poor signore."
Again that statement. It was becoming a refrain in the ears of Artois.
"Gaspare is angry with her," added the fisherman. "I believe he would
like to kill her."
"It makes him sad to see her crying, perhaps," said Artois. "Gaspare
loved the signore."
He saluted the fisherman and rode on. But the man followed and kept by
his side.
"I will take you across in a boat, signore," he said.
"Grazie."
Artois struck the donkey and made it trot on in the dust.
Giuseppe rowed him across the inlet and to the far side of the Sirens'
Isle, from which the little path wound upward to the cottage. Here, among
the rocks, a boat was moored.
"Ecco, signore!" cried Giuseppe. "Salvatore has come back from Messina!
Here is his boat!"
Artois felt a pang of anxiety, of regret. He wished he had been there
before the fisherman had returned. As he got out of the boat he said: "Did Salvatore know the signore well?"
"Si, signore. The poor signore used to go out fishing with Salvatore.
They say in the village that he gave Salvatore much money."
"The signore was generous to every one."
"Si, signore. But he did not give donkeys to every one."
"Donkeys? What do you mean, Giuseppe?"
"He gave Salvatore a donkey, a fine donkey. He bought it at the fair of
San Felice."
Artois said no more. Slowly, for he was still very weak, and the heat was
becoming fierce as the morning wore on, he walked up the steep path and
came to the plateau before the Casa delle Sirene.
A group of people stood there: the Pretore, the Cancelliere, the
Maresciallo, Gaspare, and Salvatore. 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.
"It is my duty to make an inquiry," he said. "Who is this signore?"