Guiseppone look pitiful. From the table
where the canzonettiste were established came peals of laughter, which
obviously upset the seven large and respectable women who had been
eating oysters, and who now sat staring heavily at the gay revellers,
while the two thin middle-aged men with bright eyes 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, and
we can run the boat into the Pool of San Francesco, and have some sleep
there, if the Signori like. We others generally take a nap there, and
go to work further on in the night. But of course it is as the Signori
prefer."

"They want to keep us out all night to get more pay," said the
Marchesino to Artois, in bad French.

He had divined the suspicion that had suddenly risen up in his friend,
and was resolved to lay it to rest, without, however, abandoning his
purpose, which had become much more ardent with the coming of the night.
The voices of the laughing women were ringing in his ears. He felt
adventurous. The youth in him was rioting, and h