Maurice listened to the music and the chatter which, silenced by the
arrival of the music, had now burst forth again, with rather indifferent
ears. He wanted to get away somewhere and to be alone with Maddalena. The
day was passing on. Soon night would be falling. The fair would be at an
end. Then would come the ride back, and then----But he did not care to
look forward into that future. He had not done so yet. He would not do so
now. It would be better, when the time came, to rush upon it blindly.
Preparation, forethought, would only render him unnatural. And he must
seem natural, utterly natural, in his insincere surprise, in his
insincere regret.
"Pay for the coffee, Gaspare," he said, giving the boy some money. "Now I
want to walk about and see everything. Where are the donkeys?"
He glanced at Salvatore.
"Oh, signore," said Gaspare, "they are outside the town in the
watercourse that runs under the bridge--you know, that broke down this
spring where the line is? They have only just finished mending it."
"I remember your telling me."
"And you were so glad the signora was travelling the other way."
"Yes, yes."
He spoke hastily. Salvatore was on his feet.
"What hour have we?"
Maurice looked at his watch.
"Half-past two already! I say, Salvatore, you mustn't forget the
donkeys."
Salvatore came close up to him.
"Signore," he began, in a low voice, "what do you wish me to do?"
"Bid for a good donkey."
"Si, signore."
"For the best donkey they put up for sale."
Salvatore began to look passionately eager.
"Si, signore. And if I get it?"
"Come to me and I will give you the money to pay."
"Si, signore. How high shall I go?"
Gaspare was listening intently, with a hard face and sullen eyes. His
whole body seemed to be disapproving what Maurice was doing. But he said
nothing. Perhaps he felt that to-day it would be useless to try to govern
the actions of his padrone.
"How high? Well"--Maurice felt that, before Gaspare, he must put a limit
to his price, though he did not care what it was--"say a hundred. Here,
I'll give it you now."
He put his hand into his pocket and drew out his portfolio.
"There's the hundred."
Salvatore took it eagerly, spread it over his hand, stared at it, then
folded it with fingers that seemed for the moment almost delicate, and
put it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He meant to go presently and
show it to the fishermen of Catania, who had laughed upon the steps of
the church, and explain matters to them a little. They thought him a
fool. Well, he would soon make them understand who was the fool.