s.

The gulf between them had widened.

From the kitchen came the persistent sound of whispering voices. The
green parrot turned sideways on the board beyond the pile of rolled-up
mattresses, and looked, with one round eye, steadfastly at Hermione.

An almost intolerable sensation of desertion swept over her. She felt as
if every one hated her.

"Would you mind shutting that door?" she said to Maddalena, pointing
towards the kitchen.

The sound of whispers ceased. The women within were listening.

"Signora, we always keep it open."

"But I have something to say to you that I wish to say in private."

"Si!"

The exclamation was suspicious. The voice sounded harsher than before.
In the kitchen the silence seemed to increase, to thrill with anxious
curiosity.

"Please shut that door."

It was like an order. Maddalena obeyed it, despite a cataract of words
from the old woman that voiced indignant protest.

"And do sit down, won't you? I don't like to sit while you are
standing."

"Signora, I--"

"Please do sit down."

Hermione's voice began to show her acute nervous agitation. Maddalena
stared, then took another chair from its place against the wall, and sat
down at some distance from Hermione. She folded her plump hands in
her lap. Seated, she looked bigger, more graceless, than before. But
Hermione saw that she was not really middle-aged. Hard life and trouble
doubtless had combined to destroy her youth and beauty early, to coarsen
the outlines, to plant the many wrinkles that spread from the corners
of her eyes and lips to her temples and her heavy, dusky cheeks. She was
now a typical woman of the people. Hermione tried to see her as a girl,
long ago--years and years ago.

"I know your son Ruffo very well," she said.

Maddalena's face softened.

"Si, Signora. He has told me of you."

Suddenly she seemed to recollect something.

"I have never--Signora, thank you for the money," she said.

The harshness was withdrawn from her voice as she spoke now, and in her
abrupt gentleness she looked much younger than before. Hermione divined
in that moment her vanished beauty. It seemed suddenly to be unveiled by
her tenderness.

"I heard you were in trouble."

"Si, Signora--great trouble."

Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth worked. As if moved by an
uncontrollable impulse, she thrust one hand into her dress, drew out the
death-charm, and contemplated it, at the same time muttering some
words