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"Good-evening, Gaspare," he said.
"Good-evening, Signore."
"I hear there's a new-comer in the house."
"Signore?"
"A new servant."
Gaspare lifted his large eyes towards heaven.
"Testa della Madonna?" said Artois.
"Signore?"
"Have a cigar, Gaspare?"
"Grazie, Signore."
"Is she a good sort of girl, do you think?"
"Who, Signore?"
"This Peppina."
"She is in the kitchen, Signore. I have nothing to do with her."
"I see."
Evidently Gaspare did not mean to talk. Artois decided to change the
subject.
"I hear you had that boy, Ruffo, sleeping in the house the other
night," he said.
"Si, Signore; the Signorina wished it."
Gaspare's voice sounded rather more promising.
"He seems popular on the island."
"He had been ill, Signore, and it was raining hard. Poveretto! He had
had the fever. It was bad for him to be out in the boat."
"So Ruffo's getting hold of you too!" thought Artois.
He pulled at his cigar once or twice. Then he said:
"Do you think he looks like a Sicilian?"
Gaspare's eyes met his steadily.


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