There came at this moment a knock at his door.
"Avanti!" he said.
The waiter of the hotel came in.
"Signore," he said. "The poor signora is here."
"In the hotel?"
"Si, signore. They have taken the body of the signore to the hospital. Everybody was in the street to see it pass. And now the poor signora has come here. She has taken the rooms above you on the little terrace."
"The signora is going to stay here?"
"Si, signore. They say, if the Signor Pretore allows after the inquiry is over, the funeral will be to-morrow."
Artois looked at the man closely. He was a young fellow, handsome and gentler-looking than are most Sicilians. Artois wondered what the people of Marechiaro were saying. He knew how they must be gossiping on such an occasion. And then it was summer, when they have little or nothing to do, no forestieri to divide their attentions and to call their ever-ready suspicions in various directions. The minds of the whole community must undoubtedly be fixed upon this tragic episode and its cause.
"If the Pretore allows?" Artois said. "But surely there can be no difficulty? The poor signore fell from the rock and was drowned."