The Call of the Blood
Page 168He showed his portfolio, full of dirty notes. Gaspare's eyes began to
sparkle.
"Wait, signorino!"
He lifted his hands to Maurice's striped flannel jacket and thrust two
large bunches of flowers and ferns into the two button-holes, to right
and left.
"Bravo! Now, then."
"No, no, signorino! Wait!"
"More flowers! But where--what, over my ears, too!"
He began to laugh.
"But--"
"Si, signore, si! To-day you must be a real Siciliano!"
"Va bene!"
He bent down his head to be decorated.
"Pouf! They tickle! There, then! Now let's be off!"
"Addio, Lucrezia!"
Maurice turned to her.
"Don't leave the house to-day."
"No, signore," said poor Lucrezia, in a deplorable voice.
"Mind, now! Don't go down to Marechiaro this afternoon."
There was an odd sound, almost of pleading, in his voice.
"No, signore."
"I trust you to be here--remember."
"Va bene, signorino!"
"Ah--a--a--ah!" shouted Gaspare.
They were off.
"Signorino," said Gaspare, presently, when they were in the shadow of the
ravine, "why did you say all that to Lucrezia?"
"All what?"
"Oh--why--it's better to have some one there."
"Si, signore. But why to-day specially?"
"I don't know. There's no particular reason."
"I thought there was."
"No, of course not. How could there be?"
"Non lo so."
"If Lucrezia goes down to the village they'll be filling her ears with
that stupid gossip about Sebastiano and that girl--Teodora."
"It was for Lucrezia then, signorino?"
"Yes, for Lucrezia. She's miserable enough already. I don't want her to
be a spectacle when--when the signora returns."
"I wonder when she is coming? I wonder why she has not written all these
days?"
"Oh, she'll soon come. We shall--we shall very soon have her here with
He tried to speak naturally, but found the effort difficult, knowing what
he knew, that in the evening of that day Hermione would arrive at the
house of the priest and find no preparations made for her return, no one
to welcome her but Lucrezia--if, indeed, Lucrezia obeyed his orders and
refrained from descending to the village on the chance of hearing some
fresh news of her fickle lover. And Artois! There were no rooms engaged
for him at the Hôtel Regina Margherita. There were no flowers, no books.
Maurice tingled--his whole body tingled for a moment--and he felt like a
man guilty of some mean crime and arraigned before all the world. Then he
struck Tito with his switch, and began to gallop down the steep path at a
breakneck pace, sticking his feet far out upon either side. He would
forget. He would put away these thoughts that were tormenting him. He
would enjoy this day of pleasure for which he had sacrificed so much, for
which he had trampled down his self-respect in the dust.