‘I understand,’ Leone answered. ‘Where have you been?’
Castiglione smiled at the direct question and the unhesitating tone.
‘I have been in many cities. I am a soldier, and have to go where I am sent.’
At this intelligence Leone felt sure that he had found a new friend. He looked upon all soldiers as his friends, from the poor little infantryman in his long grey woollen coat to the King when he appeared in uniform. He at once laid his hand on Castiglione’s arm and looked up into his face.
‘Are you a bersagliere?’ the boy asked.
Maria still leant against the table, and as she watched the two, the man and the boy, and saw their bright blue eyes and their short and thick brown hair, the room began to move, as if it were going slowly round her. She had never fainted in her life, but she realised that unless she made a great effort she must certainly faint now. She did not hear Castiglione’s answer to the boy’s last question, but she raised her hand to her mouth, and set her small teeth upon her forefinger and bit it till a tiny drop of blood came, and the pain brought her back.
When she could speak steadily she sat down near the closed fireplace, before which there was a glass screen; she pointed to an arm-chair opposite, and Castiglione took it.
Leone had been taught that when visitors came in the afternoon he was to go away after a few minutes without being told to do so. Accordingly, as soon as he saw that his mother and Baldassare were going to talk, he went up to the latter and held out his hand.
‘Good-bye,’ he said gravely. ‘The next time you come, please wear your uniform.’
‘If I come again, I’ll wear it,’ answered Castiglione, smiling.