The boy turned and looked him full in the face.
"Why do you stay?"
For a moment Artois did not speak. He was considering rapidly what to say, how to treat Gaspare. He was now sure that there had been a tragedy, with which the people of the sirens' house were, somehow, connected. He was sure that Gaspare either knew or suspected what had happened, yet meant to conceal his knowledge despite his obvious hatred for the fisherman. Was the boy's reason for this strange caution, this strange secretiveness, akin to his—Artois's—desire? Was the boy trying to protect his padrona or the memory of his padrone? Artois wondered. Then he said:
"Gaspare, I shall only stay a few minutes. We must have no gossip that can get to the padrona's ears. We understand each other, I think, you and I. We want the same thing. Men can keep silence, but girls talk. I wish to see Maddalena for a minute."
"Ma—"
Gaspare stared at him almost fiercely. But something in the face of Artois inspired him with confidence. Suddenly his reserve disappeared. He put his hand on Artois's arm.
"Tell Maddalena to be silent and not to go on crying, signore," he said, violently. "Tell her that if she does not stop crying I will come down here in the night and kill her."
"Go, Gaspare! The Pretore is wondering—go!"
Gaspare went down over the edge of the land and disappeared towards the sea.
"Ecco, signore!"