The Call of the Blood

He stared down at Lucrezia with a half-contemptuous humor, and she up at

him with a wide-eyed, unconcealed adoration. Then he looked curiously

round the room, with a sharp intelligence that took in every detail in a

moment.

"Per Dio!" he ejaculated. "Per Dio!"

He looked at Lucrezia, folded his brawny arms on the window-sill, and

said: "They've got plenty of soldi."

Lucrezia nodded, not without personal pride.

"Gaspare says--"

"Oh, I know as much as Gaspare," interrupted Sebastiano, brusquely. "The

signora is my friend. When she was here before I saw her many times. But

for me she would never have taken the Casa del Prete."

"Why was that?" asked Lucrezia, with reverence.

"They told her in Marechiaro that it was not safe for a lady to live up

here alone, that when the night came no one could tell what would

happen."

"But, Gaspare--"

"Does Gaspare know every grotto on Etna? Has Gaspare lived eight years

with the briganti? And the Mafia--has Gaspare--"

He paused, laughed, pulled his mustache, and added: "If the signora had not been assured of my protection she would never

have come up here."

"But now she has a husband."

"Yes."

He glanced again round the room.

"One can see that. Per Dio, it is like the snow on the top of Etna."

Lucrezia got up actively from the floor and came close to Sebastiano.

"What is the padrona like, Sebastiano?" she asked. "I have seen her, but

I have never spoken to her."

"She is simpatica--she will do you no harm."

"And is she generous?"

"Ready to give soldi to every one who is in trouble. But if you once

deceive her she will never look at you again."

"Then I will not deceive her," said Lucrezia, knitting her brows.

"Better not. She is not like us. She thinks to tell a lie is a sin

against the Madonna, I believe."

"But then what will the padrone do?" asked Lucrezia, innocently.

"Tell his woman the truth, like all husbands," replied Sebastiano, with a

broadly satirical grin. "As your man will some day, Lucrezia mia. All

husbands are good and faithful. Don't you know that?"

"Macchè!"

She laughed loudly, with an incredulity quite free from bitterness.

"Men are not like us," she added. "They tell us whatever they please, and

do always whatever they like. We must sit in the doorway and keep our

back to the street for fear a man should smile at us, and they can stay

out all night, and come back in the morning, and say they've been fishing

at Isola Bella, or sleeping out to guard the vines, and we've got to say,

'Si, Salvatore!' or 'Si, Guido!' when we know very well--"