r?"

"Of course, Signorina. Look! Others are standing!"

Gaspare helped his Padroncina up, then took his place beside her, and
stood like a sentinel. Artois had never liked him better than at that
moment. Hermione, who looked rather tired, sat down on her chair. The
loud music of the band, the lines of fire that brought the discolored
houses into sharp relief, and that showed her with a distinctness that
was fanciful and lurid the moving faces of hundreds of strangers, the
dull roar of voices, and the heat that flowed from the human bodies,
seemed to mingle, to become concrete, to lie upon her spirit like a
weight. Artois stood by her, leaning on his stick and watching the crowd
with his steady eyes. The Marchesino was looking up at Vere, standing
in a position that seemed to indicate a longing that she should rest her
hand upon his shoulder.

"You will fall, Signorina!" he said. "Be careful. Let me--"

"I am quite safe."

But she dropped one hand to the shoulder of Gaspare.

The Marchesino moved, almost as if he were about to go away. Then he lit
a cigarette and spoke to Hermione.

"You look tired, Signora. You feel the heat. It is much fresher outside,
when one is walking. Here, under the prison walls, it is always like a
furnace in summer. It is unwholesome. It puts one into a fever."

Hermione looked at him, and saw a red spot burning on each side of his
face near his cheek-bones.

"Perhaps it would be better to walk," she said, doubtfully.

Her inclination was for movement, for her fatigue was combined with a
sensation of great restlessness.

"What do you say, Vere?" she added.

"Oh, I should love to go among the people and see everything," she
answered, eagerly.

The Marchesino's brow cleared.

"Let us go, Emilio! You hear what the Signorina says."

"Very well," said Artois.

His voice was reluctant, even cold. Vere glanced at him quickly.

"Would you rather stay here, Monsieur Emile?" she said.

"No, Vere, no. Let us go and see the fun."

He smiled at her.

"We must keep close together," he added, looking at the Marchesino. "The
crowd is tremendous."

"But they are all in good humor," he answered, carelessly. "We
Neapolitans, we are very gay, that is true, but we do not forget our
manners when we have a festa. There is nothing to fear. This is the best
way out. We must cross the Mercato. The illuminations of the streets
beyond are always magnificent. The Signorina shall walk down paths