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"It belongs to Madre."
"It was bought for me."
"I like you better with a pipe. You are too big for cigarettes. And
besides, artists always smoke pipes."
"Allow me to forget that I try to be an artist when I come to the
island, Vere."
"Yes, yes, I will," she said, with a pretty air of relenting. "You
poor thing, here you are a king incognito, and we all treat you quite
familiarly. I'll even go first, regardless of etiquette." And she went
off to the steps that led upward to the house.
Artois followed her. As he went he said to Ruffo in the Neapolitan
dialect:
"It's a good cigarette, isn't it? You are in luck this morning."
"Si, Signore," said the boy, smiling. "The Signorina gave me ten."
And he blew out a happy cloud.
There was something in his welcoming readiness of response, something
in his look and voice, that seemed to stir within the tenacious mind
of Artois a quivering chord of memory.
"I wonder if I have spoken to that boy in Naples?" he thought, as he
mounted the steps behind Vere.


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