Gaspare’s voice was calling him from somewhere in the darkness.
“Signore.”
“I am coming.”
There had been a thrill of emotion in the appeal sent out to him. He hurried towards the house. He crossed the bridge. When he was on it he heard the splash of oars below him in the Pool, but he took no heed of it. What were the fishermen to him to-night? Before the house door he met Gaspare and Ruffo.
“What is it?”
“The Signora is not in her room, Signore.”
“Not—? How do you know? Is the door open?”
“Si, Signore. The Signora has gone! And the fattura della morte has gone.”
“The fattura della morte has gone!” repeated Ruffo.
The repetition of the words struck a chill to the heart of Artois. Again he was beset by superstition. He caught it from these children of the South, who stared at him now with their grave and cloudy eyes.