began to look furtively cheerful, and even rather younger than they
were. The musicians passed round a small leaden tray for soldi, and
the waiter brought the Marchesino the bill, and looked inquiringly at
Artois, aware that he at least was not a Neapolitan. Artois gave him
something and satisfied the musicians, while the Marchesino disputed
the bill, not because he minded paying, but merely to prove that he
was a Neapolitan and not an imbecile. The matter was settled at last,
and they went towards the boat; the Marchesino casting many backward
glances towards the two angels, who, with their lovers, were becoming
riotous in their gayety as the moon came up.

"Are we going out into the Bay?" said Artois, as they stepped into the
boat, and were pushed off.

"Where is the best fishing-ground?" asked the Marchesino of the elder
of the two men.

"Towards the islet, Signorino Marchesino," he replied at once, looking
his interlocutor full in the face with steady eyes, but remaining
perfectly grave.

Artois glanced at the man sharply. For the first time it occurred to
him that possibly his friend had arranged this expedition with a
purpose other than that which he had put forward. It was not the
fisherman's voice which had made Artois wonder, but the voice of the
Marchesino.

"There are generally plenty of sarde round the islet," continued the
fisherman, "but if the Signori would not be too tired it would be best
to stay out the night. We shall get many more fish towards morning,