Maddalena, signore? What do you think of Maddalena?"

He looked at his girl with a certain pride, and then back at Maurice
searchingly.

"Maddalena is beautiful to-day," Maurice answered, quickly. He did not
want to discuss her with her father, whom he longed to be rid of, whom he
meant to get rid of if possible at the fair. Surely it would be easy to
give him the slip there. He would be drinking with his companions, other
fishermen and contadini, or playing cards, or--yes, that was an idea!

"Salvatore!" Maurice exclaimed, catching hold of the fisherman's arm.

"Signore?"

"There'll be donkeys at the fair, eh?"

"Donkeys--per Dio! Why, last year there were over sixty, and--"

"And isn't there a donkey auction sometimes, towards the end of the day,
when they go cheap?"

"Si, signore! Si, signore!"

The fisherman's greedy little eyes were fixed on Maurice with keen
interrogation.

"Don't let us forget that," Maurice said, returning his gaze. "You're a
good judge of a donkey?"

Salvatore laughed.

"Per Bacco! There won't be a man at San Felice that can beat me at that!"

"Then perhaps you can do something for me. Perhaps you can buy me a
donkey. Didn't I speak of it before?"

"Si, signore. For the signora to ride when she comes back from Africa?"

He smiled.

"For a lady to ride," Maurice answered, looking at Maddalena.

Salvatore made a clicking noise with his tongue, a noise that suggested
eating. Then he spat vigorously and took from his jacket-pocket a long,
black cigar. This was evidently going to be a great day for him.

"Avanti, signorino! Avanti!"

Gaspare was shouting and waving his hat frantically from the road.

"Come along, Maddalena!"

They left the beach and climbed the bank, Maddalena walking carefully in
the shining shoes, and holding her green skirt well away from the bushes
with both hands. Maurice hurried across the railway line without looking
at it. He wanted to forget it. He was determined to forget it, and what
it was bringing to Cattaro that afternoon. They reached the group of four
donkeys which were standing patiently in the dusty white road.

"Mamma mia!" ejaculated Gaspare, as Maddalena came full into his sight.
"Madre mia! But you are like a burgisa dressed for the wedding-day, Donna
Maddalena!"

He wagged his head at her till the big roses above his ears shook like
flowers in a wind.

"Ora basta, ch' e tardu: jamu ad accumpagnari li Zitti!" he continued,
pronoun