“So soon! But I thought he had not been tried.”
“No, Signora. But he is to be let out now. Perhaps he will be put back again. But now he is let out because”—he hesitated—“because—well, Signora, he has such friends, he has friends who are powerful for him. And so he is let out just now.”
“I understand.”
“Well, Signora, and after the white wine we were feeling happy, and we were going to see everything: the Madonna, and Masaniello, and the fireworks, and the fire-balloon. Did you see the fire-balloon, Signora?”
“Yes, Ruffo. It was very pretty.”
His simple talk soothed her. He was so young, so happy, so free from the hideous complexities of life; no child of tragedy, but the son surely of a love that had been gay and utterly contented.
“Si, Signora! Per dio, Signora, it was wonderful! It was just before the fire-balloon went up, Signora, that I saw the Signorina with the Neapolitan Signorino. And close behind them was Don Gaspare. I said to my mamma, ‘Mamma, ecco the beautiful Signorina of the island!’ My mamma was excited, Signora. She held on to my arm, and she said: ‘Ruffino,’ she said, ‘show her to me. Where is she?’ my mamma said, Signora. ‘And is the Signora Madre with her?’ Just then, Signora, the people moved, and all of a sudden there we were, my mamma and I, right in front of Don Gaspare.”
Ruffo stopped, and Hermione saw a change, a gravity, come into his bright face.
“Well, Ruffo?” she said, wondering what was coming.
“I said to my mamma, Signora, ‘Mamma, this is Don Gaspare of the island.’ Signora, my mamma looked at Don Gaspare for a minute. Her face was quite funny. She looked white, Signora, my mamma looked white, almost like the man at the circus who comes in with the dog to make us laugh. And Don Gaspare, too, he looked”—Ruffo paused, then used a word beloved of Sicilians who wish to be impressive—“he looked mysterious, Signora. Don Gaspare looked mysterious.”