"Buona notte, signora," he said, gravely. "Buona notte, signorino. Buon riposo!"
"Buon riposo!" echoed Hermione. "It is blessed to hear that again. I do love the clock, Gaspare."
The boy beamed at her and went reluctantly away to find the donkeys. At that moment Maurice would have given almost anything to keep him. He dreaded unspeakably to be alone with Hermione. But it had to be. He must face it. He must seem natural, happy.
"Shall I put the clock down?" he asked.
He went to her, took the clock, carried it to the writing-table, and put it down.
"Gaspare was so happy to bring it to you."
He turned. He felt desperate. He came to Hermione and put out his hands.
"I feel so bad that we weren't here," he said.
"That is it!"
There was a sound of deep relief in her voice. Then she had been puzzled by his demeanor! He must be natural; but how? It seemed to him as if never in all his life could he have felt innocent, careless, brave. Now he was made of cowardice. He was like a dog that crawls with its belly to the floor. He got hold of Hermione's hands.