Gaspare looked at him as if inquiring something of him.
“Sit down a minute,” said Artois, “and have something to drink. You must spend the night here, too. The porter will give you a bed.”
“Grazie, Signore.”
Gaspare sat down by the table, and Artois gave him some Nocera and lemon-juice. He would not have brandy or whiskey, though he would not have refused wine had it been offered to him.
“Where have you been?” Artois asked him.
“Signore, I have been all over the Piazza di Masaniello and the Mercato. I have been through all the streets near by. I have been down by the harbor. And the Signorina?”
He stared at Artois searchingly above his glass. His face was covered with perspiration.
“I only saw her for a moment. She went to bed almost immediately.”
“And that Signore?”
“He has gone home.”