Afterwards she remembered that she had found in his presence relief from something that had distressed her in her friend.
“Signora, the storm is coming. Look at the sea!” said Gaspare. He pointed to the white line which was advancing in the blackness.
“I told the Signorina, and that Signore—”
A fierce flash of lightning zigzagged across the window-space, and suddenly the sound of the wind was loud upon the sea, and mingled with the growing murmur of waves.
“Ecco!” said Gaspare. “Signora, you ought to start at once. But the Signor Marchese—”
The thunder followed. Hermione had been waiting for it, and felt almost relieved when it came crashing above the Scoglio di Frisio.
“The Signor Marchese, Gaspare?” she asked, putting on the cloak he was holding for her.
“He only laughs, Signora,” said Gaspare, rather contemptuously. “The Signor Marchese thinks only of his pleasure.”
“Well, he must think of yours now,” said Artois, decisively, to Hermione. “You will have a rough voyage to the island, even as it is.”
They were walking towards the entrance. Hermione had noticed the pronoun, and said quietly: