“Fabiano, Signore, Lari Fabiano, and my boat is the Stella del Mare.”
“Thank you, Fabiano.”
Artois put a lira into his hand.
“I shall take the Star of the Sea very soon.”
“This evening, Signore; it will be fine for sailing this evening.”
“If not this evening, another day. A rivederci, Fabiano.”
“A rivederci, Signore. Buon passeggio.”
The man went back to his companions, and, as Artois walked on began talking eagerly to them, and pointing after the stranger.
Artois did not know what he would do later on in the evening, but he had decided on the immediate future. He would walk up the hill to the village of Posilipo, then turn down to the left, past the entrance to the Villa Rosebery, and go to the Antico Giuseppone, where he could dine by the waterside. It was quiet there, he knew; and he could have a cutlet and a zampaglione, a cup of coffee and a cigar, and sit and watch the night fall. And when it had fallen? Well, he would not be far from the island, nor very far from Naples, and he could decide then what to do.
He followed out this plan, and arrived at the Giuseppone at evening. As he came down the road between the big buildings near the waterside he saw in the distance a small group of boys and men lounging by the three or four boats that lie at the quay, and feared to find, perhaps, a bustle and noise of people round the corner at the ristorante. But when he turned the corner and came to the little tables that were set out in the open air, he was glad to see only two men who were bending over their plates of fish soup. He glanced at them, almost without noticing them, so preoccupied was he with his thoughts, sat down at an adjoining table and ordered his simple meal. While it was being got ready he looked out over the sea.