Then Hermione said:
"I should like to see your mother, Ruffo."
"Si, Signora."
"I must see her."
Hermione said the last words in a low and withdrawn voice, like one
speaking to herself. As she spoke she was gazing at the boy beside
her, and in her eyes there was a mystery almost like that of the
night.
"Ruffo," she added, in a moment, "I want you to promise me something."
"Si, Signora."
"Don't speak to any one about the little talk we have had to-night.
Don't say anything, even to Gaspare."
"No, Signora."
For a short time they remained together talking of other things.
Hermione spoke only enough to encourage Ruffo. And always she was
watching him. But to-night she did not see the look she longed for,
the look that made Maurice stand before her. Only she discerned, or
believed she discerned, a definite physical resemblance in the boy to
the dead man, a certain resemblance of outline, a likeness surely in
the poise of the head upon the strong, brave-looking neck, and in a
trait that suggested ardor about the full yet delicate lips.
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