A tourist addressed him, and received a reply in broad patois which he could not understand.
The youth was very voluble, despite the irresponsiveness of the audience; he waved his hand indicating the beauties of the island with an air of ownership. Now and then he punctuated his speech by rubbing his fustian arm across his nose in true plebeian fashion. The tourists were delighted, and, before departing, dropped a silver coin into his grimy but exquisitely shaped palm.
When Ralph returned she met him, dancing and rubbing the mud from her cheeks.
"See," she said, tossing the coin in the air, "this is the first wedding present we have had. I will cut Cezambre upon it and wear it for ever. But first you will come with me."
She took his hand and led the way to a curious cave carved in the rocks, in the centre of which was a cross. The walls were frescoed with common shells, the offerings, she explained, of poor pilgrims who had been worshippers at this primitive shrine.
With unconscious grace she prostrated herself in prayer.
He watched her in silence, his artist eye greedily tracing the picturesque in every line of this innocent devotion, though his panting heart longed to intrude on the sanctity of her worship. Presently she lifted her hand to his and drew him to his knees by her side.
Softly, like the sonorous gong from some grand cathedral belfry, she commenced to recite or chant in Latin.
"Speak with me," she whispered, repeating the melodious words with an accent of reverential appreciation.
He did as she bade. The fervour of her devotion communicated itself to him, he followed word for word to the end. The burthen, though not the absolute meaning of the sentences, inspired him—it was the ceremony of marriage they quoted, it was God's blessing they mutually invoked.