"It is best to obey to–night," she whispered. "Sing for me, my bird, for I love you."
Marta's loving words appealed to Pappina as nothing else would have done. She rose quickly and sang the best she could. The poor little girl put no animation in the vivacious song she tried to sing; it might have passed for a funeral dirge.
After the long tramp it was hard for the child to stand and sing; to dance was impossible. There was a plaintiveness in her voice and in her manner. She was but a baby, forced beyond her strength; made to sing for her food.
Her face looked drawn and white, even her lips were colorless. At times her voice could scarcely be heard. When she staggered in her efforts to dance, as she did many times, she looked helplessly and appealingly at Marta.
Guiseppe's eyes were on the crowd only. He noticed their interest in the singer, and nothing more. When Pappina finished the song, he shouted: "Give! Give! Here, little one, pass your tambourine."
Marta knew and the people knew. The tambourine was passed.
"Fill, so the brute will take her home." Only Marta of our three wanderers understood these words, spoken in English.
Guiseppe quickly took possession of the money. "I am thirsty. Wine, wine!" he exclaimed, "I must have wine. Who wouldn't drink, with her—" He pointed to Pappina and left the sentence unfinished. "Wait for me here, and don't move or I'll kill you both."