But when she looked at Ruffo she could not believe that. And then several times he had spoken with great affection of his mother.
She left things as they were, taking her cue from the boy in despite of her desire. And here, as in some other directions, she was secretly governed by Gaspare.
Only sometimes did she see in Ruffo’s face the look that had drawn her to him. The resemblance to Maurice was startling, but it was nearly always fleeting. She could not tell when it was coming, nor retain it when it came. But she noticed that it was generally when Ruffo was moved by affection, by a sudden sympathy, by a warm and deferent impulse that the look came in him. And again she thought of the beautiful obedience that springs directly from love, of Mercury poised for flight to the gods, his mission happily accomplished.
She wondered if Artois had ever thought of it when he was with Ruffo. But she felt now that she could never ask him.
And, indeed, she cherished her knowledge, her recognition, as something almost sacred, silently shared with Gaspare.
To no one could that look mean what it meant to her. To no other heart could it make the same appeal.
And so in those few days between Hermione and the fisher-boy a firm friendship was established.
And to Hermione this friendship came like a small ray of brightly golden light, falling gently in a place that was very dark.