“To Naples, Signorina, and nearly to the Antico Giuseppone coming back.”
“But we had to do a lot of tacking,” said Artois. “Mon Dieu! That boy is smoking one of my cigarettes! You sacrilegious little creature! You have been robbing my box!”
Gaspare’s eyes followed Artois’ to Ruffo, who was watching them attentively, but who now looked suddenly sleepy.
“It belongs to Madre.”
“It was bought for me.”
“I like you better with a pipe. You are too big for cigarettes. And besides, artists always smoke pipes.”
“Allow me to forget that I try to be an artist when I come to the island, Vere.”
“Yes, yes, I will,” she said, with a pretty air of relenting. “You poor thing, here you are a king incognito, and we all treat you quite familiarly. I’ll even go first, regardless of etiquette.” And she went off to the steps that led upward to the house.
Artois followed her. As he went he said to Ruffo in the Neapolitan dialect:
“It’s a good cigarette, isn’t it? You are in luck this morning.”