He took hold of his arm with one hand, and made the motion of shaking himself.
"Sole," he said. "Quando c'è il sole."
The girl laughed and nodded.
"Si, signore—non dubiti!"
Delarey climbed up on to the mountainous bed.
"Buona notte, Maddalena!" he said, smiling at her from the pillow like a boy.
"Buon riposo, signorino!"
That was the last thing he heard. The last thing he saw was the dark, eager face of the girl lit up by the candle-flame watching him from the farther room. Her slight figure was framed by the doorway, through which a faint, sad light was stealing with the soft wind from the sea. Her lustrous eyes were looking towards him curiously, as if he were something of a phenomenon, as if she longed to understand his mystery.
Soon, very soon, he saw those eyes no more. He was asleep in the midst of the Madonnas and the saints, with the blessed palm branch and the crucifix and Maria Addolorata above his head.
The girl sat down on a chair just outside the door, and began to sing to herself once more in a low voice: