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As they drove off Artois drew out some small square bits of paper.
"Here's your ticket for the enclosure," he said, giving one to the
Marchesino.
"Grazie. But we must walk about. We must show the ladies the fun in
the Mercato. It is very dull to stay all the evening in the
enclosure."
"We will do whatever they like, of course."
"Keep close to the other carriage! Do you hear?" roared the Marchesino
to the coachman.
The man jerked his head, cracked his whip, pulled at his horse's
mouth. They shot forward at a tremendous pace, keeping close by the
sea at first, then turning to the left up the hill towards the Piazza
del Plebiscito. The Marchesino crossed his legs, folded his arms, and
instinctively assumed the devil-may-care look characteristic of the
young Neapolitan when driving through his city.
"Emilio," he said, after a moment, looking at Artois out of the
corners of his eyes without moving his head, "when I was at the island
the other day, do you know whom I saw in the house?"
"No.


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