"Yes," he said, almost passionately. "It's true! Ah, Maddalena--"
But at this moment a group of people from Marechiaro suddenly appeared
upon the road beside them, having descended from the village by a
mountain-path. There were exclamations, salutations. Maddalena's gown was
carefully examined by the women of the party. The men exchanged
compliments with Maurice. Then Salvatore and Gaspare, seeing friends,
came galloping up, shouting, in a cloud of dust. A cavalcade was formed,
and henceforth Maurice was unable to exchange any more confidences with
Maddalena. He felt vexed at first, but the boisterous merriment of all
these people, their glowing anticipation of pleasure, soon infected him.
His heart was lightened of its burden and the spirit of the careless boy
awoke in him. He would take no thought for the morrow, he would be able
to take no thought so long as he was in this jocund company. As they
trotted forward in a white mist along the shining sea Maurice was one of
the gayest among them. No laugh rang out more frequently than his, no
voice chatted more vivaciously. The conscious effort which at first he
had to make seemed to give him an impetus, to send him onward with a rush
so that he outdistanced his companions. Had any one observed him closely
during that ride to the fair he might well have thought that here was a
nature given over to happiness, a nature that was utterly sunny in the
sun.
They passed through the town of Cattaro, where was the station for
Marechiaro. For a moment Maurice felt a pang of self-contempt, and of
something more, of something that was tender, pitiful even, as he thought
of Hermione's expectation disappointed. But it died away, or he thrust
it away. The long street was full of people, either preparing to start
for the fair themselves or standing at their doors to watch their friends
start. Donkeys were being saddled and decorated with flowers. Tall,
painted carts were being harnessed to mules. Visions of men being
lathered and shaved, of women having their hair dressed or their hair
searched, Sicilian fashion, of youths trying to curl upward scarcely born
mustaches, of children being hastily attired in clothes which made them
wriggle and squint, came to the eyes from houses in which privacy was not
so much scorned as unthought of, utterly unknown. Turkeys strolled in and
out among the toilet-makers. Pigs accompanied their mistresses from
doorway to doorway as dogs accompany the women of other countries. And
the cavalcade of the people of Marechiaro was hailed from all sides with
pleasantries and promises to meet at the fair, with broad jokes or
respectful salutations. Many a "Benedicite!" or "C'ci basu li mano!"
greeted Maurice. Many a berretto was lifted from heads that he had never
seen to his knowledge before. He was made to feel by all that he was
among friends, and as he returned the smiles and salutations he
remembered the saying Hermione had repeated: "Every Sicilian, even if he
wears a long cap and sleeps in a hut with the pigs, is a gentleman," and
he thought it very true.