The boy looked surprised, but met fearlessly the eyes that were gazing into his.
“Va bene, Ruffo.”
Artois released his arm, and Ruffo put on his cap.
“I heard you talking of the fattura della morte,” Artois said.
Ruffo reddened slightly.
“Si, Signore.”
“Your mother made it?”
Ruffo did not answer. Gaspare stood by, watching and listening with deep, half-suspicious attention.
“I heard you say so.”
“Si, Signore. My mamma made it.”