‘Of course you know,’ said the small boy, who had perfect confidence in his mother’s facts. ‘I didn’t. I’ll tell Gianluca to-morrow. All the same, this would be a good place for a castle. I wonder whose the fields are.’
‘I don’t know, dear. You may run down to the carriage and ask Telemaco if you like, and then come back and tell me. He knows all about the Campagna.’
Telemaco was Maria’s coachman, who had followed her when she had left the Montalto palace—a grey-haired, placid, corpulent man of great weight and overpowering respectability.
Leone jumped up and ran away at a steady trot, with his elbows well in, his fists close to his chest, and his head back, as he had seen soldiers run in drilling. Maria was left alone for a few minutes, for the carriage was on the other side of the ruins and two hundred yards away. She leaned on one elbow and looked westward at the distant broken aqueduct, far away under the sun. She was thinking of what she should say to the old monk in the Capuchin church later in the afternoon, and the moments passed quickly. Before she had determined upon the opening sentence, the boy came trotting back to her up the little hill. He stopped just before her, his legs apart and his face beaming with pleasure.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘what do you think? Shall I build a castle here or not?’
‘I think not,’ answered his mother, smiling.
‘But I think I shall when I am big. It all belongs to me!’
Maria opened her eyes in surprise.
‘To you, child? What do you mean?’
‘I asked Telemaco whose this land was. He said, “It belongs to your most excellent house.” I said just what you said—“What do you mean?” He said, “It is as I say, Signorino, for the land here belongs to his Excellency your papa, and if you see one of the mounted watchmen in blue about here, he will have the arms of your house on his badge.” That was what Telemaco said. So you see, when I am big I shall build a castle here. Why do you look sorry, mama?’