Salvatore looked away.
"If I had the money, signore, I would buy the tickets to-morrow. Here I can make nothing, and it is a hard life, always on the sea. And in America you get good pay. A man can earn eight lire a day there, they tell me."
"I have not seen your daughter yet," Artois said, abruptly.
"No, signore, she is not well to-day. And the Signor Pretore frightened her. She will stay in the house to-day."
"But I should like to see her for a moment."
"Signore, I am very sorry, but—"
Artois turned round in the chair and looked towards the house. The door, which had been open, was now shut.
"Maddalena is praying, signore. She is praying to the Madonna for the soul of the dead signore."
For the first time Artois noticed in the hard, bird-like face of the fisherman a sign of emotion, almost of softness.
"We must not disturb her, signore."