How lonely our souls are!—something like that he thought. Circumstances were turning him away from his thoughtless youth. He had imagined it sinking down out of his sight into the purple sea, with the magic island in which it had danced the tarantella and heard the voice of the siren. But was it not leaving him, vanishing from him while still his feet trod the island and his eyes saw her legendary mountains?
Gaspare, he knew, was on the watch. That was why he was absent from his duties. But the hour was at hand when he would be relieved. The evening was coming. Maurice was glad. He was ready to face even violence, but he felt that he could not for much longer endure suspense and play the quiet host and husband.
Tea was over and Gaspare had not returned. The clock he had bought at the fair struck five.
"I ought to be going," Artois said.
There was reluctance in his voice. Hermione noticed it and knew what he was feeling.
"You must come up again very soon," she said.
"Yes, monsieur, come to-morrow, won't you?" Maurice seconded her.
The thought of what was going to happen before to-morrow made it seem to him a very long way off.
Hermione looked pleased.
"I must not be a bore," Artois answered. "I must not remind you and myself of limpets. There are rocks in your garden which might suggest the comparison. I think to-morrow I ought to stay quietly in Marechiaro."