The Call of the Blood

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.