"Is that you, Ruggiero," she asked, for she had seen him with his back turned and had not recognised him at first.
"Yes, Excellency," he answered in a hoarse voice, touching his cap.
"What a beautiful night it is!" said the young girl. She often talked with the men in the boat, and Ruggiero interested her especially at the present moment.
"Yes, Excellency," he answered again.
"Is the weather to be fine, Ruggiero?"
"Yes, Excellency."
Ruggiero was apparently not in the conversational mood. He was probably thinking of the girl he loved—in all likelihood of Teresina, as Beatrice thought. She stood still a couple of paces from him and looked at the sea. She felt a capricious desire to make the big sailor talk and tell her something about himself. It would be sure to be interesting and honest and strong, a contrast, as she fancied, to the things she had just heard.
"Ruggiero—-" she began, and then she stopped and hesitated.
"Yes, Excellency."
The continual repetition of the two words irritated her. She tried to frame a question to which he could not give the same answer.