And his Padroncina had trusted him, had clung to him that day.
"What are you going to do here?"
"If there is trouble here, I want to help."
"How can you help, Signore?"
"First tell me,--there is great trouble?"
"Si, Signore."
"And you know what it is? You know what caused it?"
"No one has told me."
"But you know what it is."
"Si, Signore."
"Does--the Signorina doesn't know?"
"No, Signore."
He paused, then added:
"The Signorina is not to know what it is."
"You do not think I shall tell her?"
"Signore, how can I tell what you will do here? How can I tell what
you are here?"
For a moment Artois felt deeply wounded--wounded to the quick. He had
not supposed it was possible for any one to hurt him so much with a
few quiet words. Anger rose in him, an anger such as the furious
attack of the Marchesino had never brought to the birth.
"You can say that!" he exclaimed. "You can say that, after Sicily!"
Gaspare's face changed, softened for an instant, then grew stern
again.
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