Did she feel a pressure of his hand? Did she imagine a sharp breath through his whole body, like an outcry, like a pledge? Under his guide's disapproving glance his face was merely sulky and she could only gape wistfully after him as he was swallowed up into the dusky loft.
At any rate it was with these words in his ears that he found himself standing, facing the light, and between it and him a blurred sea of faces. The air, heavy from so many lungs, was thick with cigarette smoke and the odors of cheese, garlic and cheap scent; here and there the cruder and uglier features, expressions of gutter enmity or degenerate glee, sprang out like exclamations; here and there a jaunty pose, a bright tie, the treasurer's carnation or a pair of earrings reassured him of a peaceful and joyous gathering. No! As he stood there, facing that assemblage, there crept through his nerves a sense of being on trial, of being a satisfaction to its lust and fear. The poor fellow looked from one to the other of those fervid, luscious faces, great-eyed and full-mouthed, smiling a little, festivally decked, oiled and curled; he was groping for some unguessed doom in their amusement, as if he were thrown into an arena which they watched, pleasantly; surrounding him not with harsh horrors but with that horror of softness which hardness can never equal. A nausea, a blind faintness, crept in upon him; where were the hopes of Mrs. Pascoe, now?—A satisfied, panting breath, full of heat, rose from the crowd.
"Filippi Alieni?"
"Suor servitor, signor."
He did not deny it!
"Filippi Alieni, are you duly grateful that you, an outsider, are admitted to the Council of the Arm of Justice?"
"Si, Signor."
"Filippi Alieni, twelve years ago was it not you who were admitted to another council? You, who were brother in the law to Nicola Ansello, were not you in Naples received into the bosom of the Honorable Society?"
"Si, signor."
"He admits it, he admits it!" The cry broke forth, quickening dead wires and releasing muffled sparks. The old murmur swelled and grew and beat in little waves of angry, of fearful sound, trembling about the name of Alieni. Black looks, shudders of repulsion and denial began to translate themselves into the curses of a dozen dialects; against Alieni all the accents of the south crossed fingers. Then there was a low whistle from somewhere without. Every one started on guard. The lid of the hatch was softly lifted. The voice of Mrs. Pascoe was heard, dryly bargaining. It was only some one come in to buy gasoline. The baited guest still stood sulky and utterly bewildered, searching their faces.