"Let the Signor Dottore come to him, Beppe! What do you know? Let the—"
"Sure enough he is dead! Why, he must have been in the water a good hour. He is all swollen with the water and—"
"It is his head, Signor Dottore! If it had not been for his coming against the rocks he would not have been hurt. Per Dio, he can swim like a fish, the povero signorino. I have seen him swim. Why, even Peppino—"
"The signora wants us all to go away, Signor Dottore. She begs us to go and leave her alone with the povero signore!"
"Gaspare is in such a state! You would not know him. And the povera signora, she is all dripping wet. She has been into the sea, and now she has carried the head of the povero signore all the way up the mountain. She would not let any one—"
A succession of cries came out of the darkness, hysterical cries that ended in prolonged sobbing.
"That is Lucrezia!" cried one of the fishermen. "Madonna! That is Lucrezia!"
"Mamma mia! Mamma mia!"
Their voices were loud in the night. The doctor pushed his way between the men and came onto the terrace in front of the steps that led into the sitting-room.
Gaspare was standing there alone. His face was almost unrecognizable. It looked battered, puffy, and inflamed, as if he had been drinking and fighting. There were no tears in his eyes now, but long, violent sobs shook his body from time to time, and his blistered lips opened and shut mechanically with each sob. He stared dully at the doctor, but did not say a word, or move to get out of the way.