remembered the saying Hermione had repeated: "Every Sicilian, even if he
wears a long cap and sleeps in a hut with the pigs, is a gentleman," and
he thought it very true.

It seemed as if they would never get away from the street. At every
moment they halted. One man begged them to wait a moment till his donkey
was saddled, so that he might join them. Another, a wine-shop keeper,
insisted on Maurice's testing his moscato, and thereupon Maurice felt
obliged to order glasses all round, to the great delight of Gaspare, who
always felt himself to be glorified by the generosity of his padrone, and
who promptly took the proceedings in charge, measured out the wine in
appropriate quantities, handed it about, and constituted himself master
of the ceremony. Already, at eleven o'clock, brindisi were invented, and
Maurice was called upon to "drop into poetry." Then Maddalena caught
sight of some girl friends, and must needs show them all her finery. For
this purpose she solemnly dismounted from her donkey to be closely
examined on the pavement, turned about, shook forth her pea-green skirt,
took off her chain for more minute inspection, and measured the silken
fringes of her shawl in order to compare them with other shawls which
were hastily brought out from a house near-by.

But Gaspare, always a little ruthless with women, soon tired of such
vanities.

"Avanti! Avanti!" he shouted. "Dio mio! Le donne sono pazze! Andiamo!
Andiamo!"

He hustled Maddalena, who yielded, blushing and laughing, to his
importunities, and at last they were really off again, and drowned in a
sea of odor as they passed some buildings where lemons were being packed
to be shipped away from Sicily. This smell seemed to Maurice to be the
very breath of the island. He drank it in eagerly. Lemons, lemons, and
the sun! Oranges, lemons, yellow flowers under the lemons, and the sun!
Always yellow, pale yellow, gold yellow, red-gold yellow, and white, and
silver-white, the white of the roads, the silver-white of dusty olive
leaves, and green, the dark, lustrous, polished green of orange leaves,
and purple and blue, the purple of sea, the blue of sky. What a riot of
talk it was, and what a riot of color! It made Maurice feel almost drunk.
It was heady, this island of the south--heady in the summer-time. It had
a powerful influence, an influence that was surely an excuse for much.
Ah, the stay-at-homes, who condemned the far-off passions and violences
of men! Wh