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"
"I am sure the Signora will not leave the island till October,
Signore. She says we are all to stay until the end of October."
"And now it's July."
"Si, Signore. Now it's July."
In saying the last words Gaspare's voice sounded fatalistic, and
Artois believed that he caught an echo of a deep-down thought of his
own. With all his virtues Gaspare had an admixture of the spirit of
the East that dwells also in Sicily, a spirit that sometimes, brooding
over a nature however fine, prevents action, a spirit that says to a
man, "This is ordained. This is destiny. This is to be."
"Gaspare," Artois said, strong in this conviction, "I have heard you
say, 'e il destino.' But you know we can often get away from things if
we are quick-witted."
"Some things, Signore."
"Most things, perhaps. Don't you trust me?"
"Signore!"
"Don't you think, after all these years, you can trust me?"
"Signore, I respect you as I respect my father."
"Well, Gaspare, remember this. The Signora has had trouble enough in
her life.


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