he had seen Ruffo.

Vere had on a white dress.

The heart of the Marchesino leaped. He was sure it was the girl of the
white boat. Then the inhabitants of the house on the islet were not
asleep, were not even in bed. They--she at least, and that was all he
cared for--were out enjoying the moon and the sea. How favorable was the
night! But who was with her?

The Marchesino had very keen eyes. And now he used them with almost
fierce intensity. But Ruffo was on the far side of Vere. It was not
possible to discern more than that he was male, and taller than the girl
in the white dress.

Jealousy leaped up in the Marchesino, that quick and almost frivolous
jealousy which, in the Southerner, can so easily deepen into the
deadliness that leads to crime. Not for a moment did he doubt that the
man with Vere was a lover. This was a blow which, somehow, he had not
expected. The girl in the white boat had looked enchantingly young. When
he had played the seal for her she had laughed like a child. He--even
he, who believed in no one's simplicity, made sceptical by his own
naughtiness so early developed towards a fine maturity!--had not
expected anything like this. And these English, who pride themselves
upon their propriety, their stiffness, their cold respectability! These
English misses!

"Ouf!"

It was out of the Marchesino's mouth before he was aware of it, an
exclamation of cynical disgust.

"What's the matter, amico mio?" said Artois, in a low voice.

"Niente!" said the Marchesino, recollecting himself. "Are not you going
to sleep?"

"Yes," said Artois, throwing away his cigar end. "I am. And you?"

"I too!"

The Marchesino was surprised by his friend's reply. He did not
understand the desire of Artois not to have his sense of the romance of
their situation broken in upon by conversation just then. The romance of
women was not with Artois, but the romance of Nature was. He wanted to
keep it. And now he settled himself a little lower in the boat, under
the shadow of its side, and seemed to be giving himself to sleep.

The Marchesino thanked the Madonna, and made his little pretence of
slumber too, but he kept his head above the gunwale, leaning it on his
arm with a supporting cushion beneath; and though he really did shut
both his eyes for a short time, to deceive caro Emilio, he very soon
opened them again, and gazed towards the islet. He could not see the
two figures now. Rage seized him. First the two men at