“But some troubles, some disasters can be avoided.”
“It’s possible.”
“Gaspare”—Artois looked at him steadily, searchingly even, and spoke very gravely—“I respect you for your discretion of many years. But if you know of any trouble, any danger that is near to the Signora, and against which I could help you to protect her, I hope you will trust me and tell me. I think you ought to do that.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Signore.”
“Are you quite sure, Gaspare? Are you quite sure that no one comes to the island who might make the Signora very unhappy?”
Gaspare had dropped his eyes. Now he lifted them, and looked Artois straight in the face.
“No, Signore, I am not sure of that,” he said.
There was nothing rude in his voice, but there was something stern. Artois felt as if a strong, determined man stood in his path and blocked the way. But why? Surely they were at cross purposes. The working of Gaspare’s mind was not clear to him.
After a moment of silence, he said:
“What I mean is this. Do you think it would be a good thing if the Signora left the island?”