"No; don't go. Wait a moment, Gaspare. Don't leave me like this!"
She detained him.
"Why, what's the matter? What—what are you afraid of?"
Instantly there came into his face the ugly, obstinate look she had already noticed, and wondered at, that day.
"What are you afraid of, Gaspare?" she repeated.
Her voice vibrated with a strength of feeling that as yet she herself scarcely understood.
"Niente!" the boy replied, doggedly.
"Well, but then"—she laughed—"why shouldn't the padrone be a few minutes late? It would be absurd to go down. You might miss him on the way."
Gaspare said nothing. He stood there with his arms hanging and the ugly look still on his face.
"Mightn't you? Mightn't you, Gaspare, if he came up by Marechiaro?"