By the fierce joy that burst up in her heart Hermione measured her previous fear.
"It's he! It's the padrone!"
She put her face close to Gaspare's and whispered the words. He nodded. His eyes were shining.
"Andiamo!" he whispered back.
With a boy's impetuosity he wished to rush on and meet the truant pilgrim from the sea, but Hermione held him back. She could not bear to lose that sweet sound, the foot-fall on the stones, coming nearer every moment.
"No. Let's wait for him here! Let's give him a surprise."
"Va bene!"
His body was quivering with suppressed movement. But they waited. The step was slow, or so it seemed to Hermione as she listened again, like the step of a tired man. Maurice seldom walked like that, she thought. He was light-footed, swift. His actions were ardent as were his eyes. But it must be he! Of course it was he! He was languid after a long swim, and was walking slowly for fear of getting hot. That must be it. The walker drew nearer, the crunch of the stones was louder under his feet.
"It isn't the padrone!"
Gaspare had spoken. All the light had gone out of his eyes.