things right, would sweep away
all lingering disappointment at their absence and the want of welcome.

Salvatore did not appear at the meal. He had gone off to stable his new
purchase with the other donkeys, and now, having got a further sum of
money out of the Inglese, was drinking and playing cards with the
fishermen of Catania. But he knew where his girl and Maurice were, and
that Gaspare and Amedeo were with them. And he knew, too, that the
Inglese's signora had come back. He told the news to the fishermen.

"To-night, when he gets home, his 'cristiana' will be waiting for him.
Per Dio! it is over for him now. We shall see little more of him."

"And get little more from him!" said one of the fishermen, who was
jealous of Salvatore's good-fortune.

Salvatore laughed loudly. He had drunk a good deal of wine and he had had
a great deal of money given to him.

"I shall find another English fool, perhaps!" he said. "Chi lo sa?"

"And his cristiana?" asked another fisherman. "What is she like?"

"Like!" cried Salvatore, pouring out another glass of wine and spitting
on the discolored floor, over which hens were running; "what is any
cristiana like?"

And he repeated the contadino's proverb:

"'La mugghieri e comu la gatta: si l'accarizzi, idda ti gratta!'"

"Perhaps the Inglese will get scratched to-night," said the first
fisherman.

"I don't mind," rejoined Salvatore. "Get us a fresh pack of cards,
Fortunato. I'll pay for 'em."

And he flung down a lira on the wine-stained table.

Gaspare, now quite relieved in his mind, gave himself up with all his
heart to the enjoyment of the last hours of the fair, and was unwearied
in calling on his padrone to do the same. When the evening meal was over
he led the party forth into the crowd that was gathered about the music;
he took them to the shooting-tent, and made them try their luck at the
little figures which calmly presented grotesquely painted profiles to the
eager aim of the contadini; he made them eat ices which they bought at
the beflagged cart of the ecclesiastical Romans, whose eternally chanting
voices made upon Maurice a sinister impression, suggesting to his
mind--he knew not why--the thought of death. Finally, prompted by Amedeo,
he drew Maurice into a room where there was dancing.

It was crowded with men and women, was rather dark and very hot. In a
corner there was a grinding organ, whose handle was turned by a
perspiring man in a long, woollen ca