"Isn't it splendid? Emile may leave at once. But there is no good boat till the tenth. We shall take that, and be at Cattaro on the eleventh at five o'clock in the afternoon...."
"Isn't it splendid?"
For a moment he sat quite still in the glare of the sun, mentally repeating to himself these words of his wife. So the inevitable had happened. For he felt it was inevitable. Fate was against him. He was not to have his pleasure.
"Signorino! Come sta lei? Lei sta bene?"
He started and looked up. He had heard no footstep. Salvatore stood by him, smiling at him, Salvatore with bare feet, and a fish-basket slung over his arm.
"Buon giorno, Salvatore!" he answered, with an effort.
Salvatore looked at Maurice's cigarette, put down the basket, and sat down on the seat by Maurice's side.
"I haven't smoked to-day, signore," he began. "Dio mio! But it must be good to have plenty of soldi!"
"Ecco!"
Maurice held out his cigarette-case.