"In London! You don't know it. In London you will scarcely ever see the
sun."
"Aren't there theatres in London, signorino?"
"Theatres? Yes, of course. But there is no sea, Gaspare, there are no
mountains."
"Are there many soldiers? Are there beautiful women?"
"Oh, there are plenty of soldiers and women."
"I should like always to live in London," repeated Gaspare, firmly.
"Well--perhaps you will. But--remember--we are all to be happy at the
fair of San Felice."
"Si, signore. But be careful, or Salvatore will make you buy him a
donkey. He had a wine-shop once, long ago, in Marechiaro, and the
wine--Per Dio, it was always vino battezzato!"
"What do you mean?"
"Salvatore always put water in it. He is cattivo--and when he is angry--"
"I know. You told me. But it doesn't matter. We shall soon be going away,
and then we sha'n't see him any more."
"Signorino?"
"Well?"
"You--do you want to stay here always?"
"I like being here."
"Why do you want to stay?"
For once Maurice felt as if he could not meet the boy's great, steady
eyes frankly. He looked away.
"I like the sun," he answered. "I love it! I should like to live in the
sunshine forever."
"And I should like to live always in London," reiterated Gaspare. "You
want to live here because you have always been in London, and I want to
live in London because I have always been here. Ecco!"
Maurice tried to laugh.
"Perhaps that is it. We wish for what we can't have. Dio mio!"
He threw out his arms.
"But, anyhow, I've not done with Sicily yet! Come on, Gaspare! Now for
the rocks! Ciao! Ciao! Ciao! Morettina bella ciao!"
He burst out into a song, but his voice hardly rang true, and Gaspare
looked at him again with a keen inquiry.
* * * * * Artois was not yet destined to die. He said that Hermione would not let
him die, that with her by his side it was useless for Death to approach
him, to desire him, to claim him. Perhaps her courage gave to him the
will to struggle against his enemy. The French doctor, deeply, almost
sentimentally interested in the ardent woman who spoke his language with
perfection and carried out such instructions of his as she considered
sensible, with delicate care and strong thoroughness, thought and said
so.
"But for madame," he said to Artois, "you would have died, monsieur. And
why? Because till she came you had not the will to live. And it is the
will to live that assists the doctor."