embered his feeling when he had put his arms round her in the
dance. It had been like putting his arms round ignorance that wanted to
be knowledge. Who would be Maddalena's teacher? Not he. And yet he had
almost intended to have his revenge upon Salvatore.

"Shall we go now?" he said. "Shall we go off to Etna, Maddalena?"

"Signorino!"

She gave a little laugh.

"We must go home after the fireworks."

"Why should we? Why should we not take the donkeys now? Gaspare is
dancing. Your father is playing cards. No one would notice. Shall we?
Shall we go now and get the donkeys, Maddalena?"

But she replied:

"A girl can only go like that with a man when she is married."

"That's not true," he said. "She can go like that with a man she loves."

"But then she is wicked, and the Madonna will not hear her when she
prays, signorino."

"Wouldn't you do anything for a man you really loved? Wouldn't you forget
everything? Wouldn't you forget even the Madonna?"

She looked at him.

"Non lo so."

It seemed to him that he was answered.

"Wouldn't you forget the Madonna for me?" he whispered, leaning towards
her.

There was a loud report close to them, a whizzing noise, a deep murmur
from the crowd, and in the clear sky above Etna the first rocket burst,
showering down a cataract of golden stars, which streamed towards the
earth, leaving trails of fire behind them.

The sound of the grinding organ and of the shepherd boy's flute ceased in
the dancing-room, and the crowd within rushed out into the market-place.

"Signorino! Signorino! Come with me! We cannot see properly here! I know
where to go. There will be wheels of fire, and masses of flowers, and a
picture of the Regina Margherita. Presto! Presto!"

Gaspare had hold of Maurice by the arm.

"E' finito!" Maurice murmured.

It seemed to him that the last day of his wild youth was at an end.

"E' finito!" he repeated.

But there was still an hour.

And who can tell what an hour will bring forth?

XVII

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when Maurice and Gaspare said
good-bye to Maddalena and her father on the road by Isola Bella.
Salvatore had left the three donkeys at Cattaro, and had come the rest of
the way on foot, while Maddalena rode Gaspare's beast.

"The donkey you bought is for Maddalena," Maurice had said to him.

And the fisherman had burst into effusive thanks. But already he had his
eye on a possible customer in Cattaro. As soon