"Come here."
In a moment a languid figure appeared round the corner. Maurice explained matters. Instantly Gaspare became a thing of quicksilver. He darted to help Hermione. Every nerve seemed quivering to be useful.
"And the signore?" he said, presently, as he carried a trunk into the room.
"The signore!" said Hermione.
"Is he going, too?"
"No, no!" said Hermione, swiftly.
She put her finger to her lips. Delarey was just coming into the room.
Gaspare said no more, but he shot a curious glance from padrona to padrone as he knelt down to lay some things in the trunk.
By dinner-time Hermione's preparations were completed. The one trunk she meant to take was packed. How hateful it looked standing there in the white room with the label hanging from the handle! She washed her face and hands in cold water, and came out onto the terrace where the dinner-table was laid. It was a warm, still night, like the night of the fishing, and the moon hung low in a clear sky.
"How exquisite it is here!" she said to Maurice, as they sat down. "We are in the very heart of calm, majestic calm. Look at that one star over Etna, and the outlines of the hills and of that old castle—"