"Bambina mia!" he said.
"I am not a bambina," she said, turning towards him again.
"Yes you are."
"Then you are a bambino."
"Why not? I feel like a boy to-night, like a naughty little boy."
"Naughty, signorino?"
"Yes, because I want to do something that I ought not to do."
"What is it?"
"This, Maddalena."
And he kissed her. It was the first time he had kissed her in darkness, for on his second visit to the sirens' house he had only taken her hand and held it, and that was nothing. The kiss in the dawn had been light, gay, a sort of laughing good-bye to a kind hostess who was of a class that, he supposed, thought little of kisses. But this kiss in the night, on the sea, was different. Only when he had given it did he understand how different it was, how much more it meant to him. For Maddalena returned it gently with her warm young lips, and her response stirred something at his heart that was surely the very essence of the life within him.