all are travelling: her mother, Gaspare, Giulia, with her plump and
swarthy face; Monsieur Emile, to whom she had drawn so pleasantly,
interestingly near in these last days; the Marchesino (strutting from
the hips and making his bold eyes round), Peppina, Ruffo. They went by
and returned, gathered about her, separated, melted away as people do
in our musings. Her eyes were fixed on the low roof of the cave. The
lilt of the water seemed to rock her soul in a cradle. "Madre--Ruffo!
Madre--Ruffo!" The words were in her mind like a refrain. And then the
oddity, the promiscuity of life struck her. How many differences there
were in this small group of people by whom she was surrounded! What
would their fates be, and hers? Would her life be happy? She did not
feel afraid. Youth ran in her veins. But--would it be? She saw the red
cross on Peppina's cheek. Why was one singled out for misery, another
for joy? Which would be her fate? Ruffo seemed to be standing near
her. She had seen him several times in these last days, but only at
evening, fugitively, when he came in the boat with the fishermen. He
was stronger now. He had saluted her eagerly. She had spoken to him
from the shore. But he had not landed again on the island. She felt as
if she saw his bright and beaming eyes. And Ruffo--would he be happy?
She hoped so. She wanted him to be happy. He was such a dear, active
boy--such a real boy. What must it be like to have a brother? Gaspare
approved of Ruffo now, she thought; and Gaspare did not like
everybody, and was fearfully blunt in expressing his opinion. She
loved his bluntness. How delightfully his nose twitched when he was
pleased! Dear old Gaspare! She could never feel afraid of anything or
anybody when he was near. Monsieur Emile--the poems--the Marchesino
singing. She closed her eyes to think the better.

"Signorina! Signorina!"