ely to Gaspare. And as
she turned she saw tears start into his eyes. The blood rushed to his
temples, his forehead. He put up his hand to his face.

"Signora," he said, "are you not coming?"

He cleared his throat violently. "I have taken a cold," he muttered.

He caught hold of his throat with his left hand, and again cleared his
throat.

"Madre di Dio!"

He spoke very roughly.

But his roughness did not hurt Hermione; for suddenly she felt far less
lonely and deserted. Gaspare had seen what she had seen--she knew it.

As they went back to the house it seemed to her that she and Gaspare
talked together.

And yet they spoke no words.

CHAPTER XXVII

Neither Artois nor the Marchesino visited the island during the days
that elapsed before the Festa of the Madonna del Carmine. But Artois
wrote to tell Hermione that the Marchesino had accepted his invitation,
and that he hoped she and Vere would be at the Hotel des Etrangers
punctually by eight o'clock on the night of the sixteenth. He wrote
cordially, but a little formally, and did not add any gossip or any
remarks about his work to the few sentences connected with the projected
expedition. And Hermione replied as briefly to his note. Usually, when
she wrote to Artois, her pen flew, and eager thoughts, born of the
thought of him, floated into her mind. But this time it was not so. The
energies of her mind in connection with his mind were surely failing. As
she put the note into its envelope, she had the feeling of one who had
been trying to "make" conversation with an acquaintance, and who had
not been successful, and she found herself almost dreading to talk with
Emile.

Yet for years her talks with him had been her greatest pleasure, outside
of her intercourse with Vere and her relations with Gaspare.

The change that had come over their friendship, like a mist over the
sea, was subtle, yet startling in its completeness. She wondered if he
saw and felt this mist as definitely as she did, if he regretted the
fair prospect it had blotted out, if he marvelled at its coming.

He was so acute that he must be aware of the drooping of their intimacy.
To what could he attribute it? And would he care to fight against the
change?

She remembered the days when she had nursed him in Kairouan. She felt
again the hot dry atmosphere. She heard the ceaseless buzzing of the
flies. How pale his face had been, how weak his body! He had returned
to the weakness of a c