"Si, si," said the Cancelliere.
Gaspare set his teeth, walked away to the edge of the plateau, and stood looking out to sea.
"Then no one saw you?" persisted the Pretore.
"Non lo so," said Salvatore. "I did not think of such things. I wanted to go to Messina, so I sent Maddalena to pass the night in the village, and I took the boat. What else should I do?"
"Va bene! Va bene!" said the Cancelliere.
The Maresciallo cleared his throat again. That, and the ceremony which invariably followed, were his only contributions to this official proceeding.
The Pretore, receiving no assistance from his colleagues, seemed doubtful what more to do. It was evident to Artois that he was faintly suspicious, that he was not thoroughly satisfied about the cause of this death.
"Your daughter seems very upset about all this," he said to Salvatore.
"Mamma mia! And how should she not? Why, Signor Pretore, we loved the poor signore. We would have thrown ourselves into the sea for him. When we saw him coming down from the mountain to us it was as if we saw God coming down from heaven."