"No, no," said Maurice. "Do come to-morrow."
"Thank you very much. I can't pretend that I do not wish to come. And, now that donkey-boy—has he climbed up, I wonder?"
"I'll go and see," said Maurice.
He was feverishly impatient to get rid of Artois. He hurried to the arch. A long way off, near the path that led up from the ravine, he saw a figure with a gun. He was not sure, but he was almost sure that it was Gaspare. It must be he. The gun made him look, indeed, a sentinel. If Salvatore came the boy would stop him, stop him, if need be, at the cost of his own life. Maurice felt sure of that, and realized the danger of setting such faithfulness and violence to be sentinel. He stood for a moment looking at the figure. Yes, he knew it now for Gaspare. The boy had forgotten tea-time, had forgotten everything, in his desire to carry out his padrone's instructions. The signora was not to know. She was never to know. And Salvatore might come. Very well, then, he was there in the sun—ready.
"We'll never part from Gaspare," Maurice thought, as he looked and understood.
He saw no other figure. The donkey-boy had perhaps forgotten his mission or had started late. Maurice chafed bitterly at the delay. But he could not well leave his guest on this first day of his coming to Monte Amato, more especially after the events of the preceding day. To do so would seem discourteous. He returned to the terrace ill at ease, but strove to disguise his restlessness. It was nearly six o'clock when the boy at last appeared. Artois at once bade Hermione and Maurice good-bye and mounted his donkey.
"You will come to-morrow, then?" Maurice said to him at parting.
"I haven't the courage to refuse," Artois replied. "Good-bye."
He had already shaken Maurice's hand, but now he extended his hand again.