Artois stopped at the door-sill.
“What is it?”
“What are you going to do here?”
At last Gaspare was frankly the watch-dog guarding the sacred house. His Padrona had cast upon him a look of hatred. Yet he was guarding the sacred house and her within it. Deep in the blood of him was the sense that, even hating him, she belonged to him and he to her.
And his Padroncina had trusted him, had clung to him that day.
“What are you going to do here?”
“If there is trouble here, I want to help.”
“How can you help, Signore?”
“First tell me,—there is great trouble?”
“Si, Signore.”