He held out his hand. Gaspare took it. The grasp of it was strong, that
of a man. It seemed to reassure the boy.
"I will always help my padrone," he said.
Then they went down the mountain-side.
It was perhaps very strange--Maurice thought it was--but he felt now less
tired, less confused, more master of himself than he had before he had
spoken with Gaspare. He even felt less miserable. Face to face with an
immediate and very threatening danger, courage leaped up in him, a
certain violence of resolve which cleared away clouds and braced his
whole being. He had to fight. There was no way out. Well, then, he would
fight. He had played the villain, perhaps, but he would not play the
poltroon. He did not know what he was going to do, what he could do, but
he must act, and act decisively. His wild youth responded to this call
made upon it. There was a new light in his eyes as he went down to the
cottage, as he came upon the terrace.
Artois noticed it at once, was aware at once that in this marvellous
peace to which Hermione had brought him there were elements which had
nothing to do with peace.
"What hast thou to do with peace? Turn thee behind me."
These words from the Bible came into his mind as he looked into the eyes
of his host, and he felt that Hermione and he were surely near to some
drama of which they knew nothing, of which Hermione, perhaps, suspected
nothing.
Maurice acted his part. The tonic of near danger gave him strength, even
gave him at first a certain subtlety. From the terrace he could see far
over the mountain flanks. As one on a tower he watched for the approach
of his enemy from the sea, but he did not neglect his two companions. For
he was fighting already. When he seemed natural in his cordiality to his
guest, when he spoke and laughed, when he apologized for the misfortune
of the previous day, he was fighting. The battle with circumstances was
joined. He must bear himself bravely in it. He must not allow himself to
be overwhelmed.
Nevertheless, there came presently a moment which brought with it a sense
of fear.
Hermione got up to go into the house.
"I must see what Lucrezia is doing," she said. "Your collazione must not
be a fiasco, Emile."
"Nothing could be a fiasco here, I think," he answered.
She laughed happily.
"But poor Lucrezia is not in paradise," she said. "Ah, why can't every
one be happy when one is happy one's self? I always think of that when
I----"