"Yes," he said, almost passionately. "It's true! Ah, Maddalena--"

But at this moment a group of people from Marechiaro suddenly appeared

upon the road beside them, having descended from the village by a

mountain-path. There were exclamations, salutations. Maddalena's gown was

carefully examined by the women of the party. The men exchanged

compliments with Maurice. Then Salvatore and Gaspare, seeing friends,

came galloping up, shouting, in a cloud of dust. A cavalcade was formed,

and henceforth Maurice was unable to exchange any more confidences with

Maddalena. He felt vexed at first, but the boisterous merriment of all

these people, their glowing anticipation of pleasure, soon infected him.

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His heart was lightened of its burden and the spirit of the careless boy

awoke in him. He would take no thought for the morrow, he would be able

to take no thought so long as he was in this jocund company. As they

trotted forward in a white mist along the shining sea Maurice was one of

the gayest among them. No laugh rang out more frequently than his, no

voice chatted more vivaciously. The conscious effort which at first he

had to make seemed to give him an impetus, to send him onward with a rush

so that he outdistanced his companions. Had any one observed him closely

during that ride to the fair he might well have thought that here was a

nature given over to happiness, a nature that was utterly sunny in the

sun.

They passed through the town of Cattaro, where was the station for

Marechiaro. For a moment Maurice felt a pang of self-contempt, and of

something more, of something that was tender, pitiful even, as he thought

of Hermione's expectation disappointed. But it died away, or he thrust

it away. The long street was full of people, either preparing to start

for the fair themselves or standing at their doors to watch their friends

start. Donkeys were being saddled and decorated with flowers. Tall,

painted carts were being harnessed to mules. Visions of men being

lathered and shaved, of women having their hair dressed or their hair

searched, Sicilian fashion, of youths trying to curl upward scarcely born

mustaches, of children being hastily attired in clothes which made them

wriggle and squint, came to the eyes from houses in which privacy was not

so much scorned as unthought of, utterly unknown. Turkeys strolled in and

out among the toilet-makers. Pigs accompanied their mistresses from

doorway to doorway as dogs accompany the women of other countries. And

the cavalcade of the people of Marechiaro was hailed from all sides with

pleasantries and promises to meet at the fair, with broad jokes or

respectful salutations. Many a "Benedicite!" or "C'ci basu li mano!"

greeted Maurice. Many a berretto was lifted from heads that he had never

seen to his knowledge before. He was made to feel by all that he was

among friends, and as he returned the smiles and salutations he

remembered the saying Hermione had repeated: "Every Sicilian, even if he

wears a long cap and sleeps in a hut with the pigs, is a gentleman," and

he thought it very true.




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