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She kept her eyes, which
she had opened very wide, fixed upon the black figure. It remained
standing. The head moved. He was certainly looking up. She realized
that he was not sleepy, despite that yawn,--that he would like to
speak to her--to let her know that he knew she was there.
Perhaps he did not dare to--or, not that, perhaps fishermen's
etiquette, already enshrined in his nature, did not permit him to come
ashore. The boat was so close to the land that he could step on to it
easily.
She leaned down.
"Pescator!"
It was scarcely more than a whisper. But the night was so intensely
still that he heard it. Or, if not that, he felt it. His shadow--so it
seemed in the shadow of the cliff--flitted out of the boat and
disappeared.
He was coming--to have that talk about the sea.

CHAPTER IX
"Buona sera, Signorina."
"Buona sera, Ruffo."
She did not feign surprise when he came up to her.
"So you fish at night?" she said. "I thought the divers for /frutti di
mare/ did not do that.


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