dinary appearance, but by her manner. Like the people about her
she was vivacious, but her vivacity was tragic--she had not come here
to be gay. Evidently she was in the excitement of some great grief or
passion. She was speaking vehemently to Ruffo, gesticulating with her
dark hands, on which there were two or three cheap rings, catching at
her shawl, swaying her body, nodding her head, on which the still black
hair was piled in heavy masses. And her face was distorted by an emotion
that seemed of sorrow and anger mingled. In her ears, pretty and almost
delicate in contrast to the ruggedness of her face, were large gold
rings, such as Sicilian women often wear. They swayed in response to her
perpetual movements. Artois watched her lips as they opened and shut,
were compressed or thrust forward, watched her white teeth gleaming. She
lifted her two hands, doubled into fists, till they were on a level
with her shoulders, shook them vehemently, then dashed them down on the
table. The coffee-cup was overturned. She took no notice of it. She was
heedless of everything but the subject which evidently obsessed her.

The boy, Ruffo, sat quite still listening to her. His attitude was calm.
Now and then he sipped his wine, and presently he took from his pocket a
cigarette, lighted it carefully, and began to smoke. There was something
very boyish and happy-go-lucky in his attitude and manner. Evidently,
Artois thought, he was very much at home with this middle-aged woman.
Probably her vehemence was to him an every-day affair. She laid one
hand on his arm and bent forward. He slightly shrugged his shoulders
and shook his head. She kept her hand on his arm, went on talking
passionately, and suddenly began to weep. Tears rushed out of her eyes.
Then the boy took her hand gently, stroked it, and began to speak
to her, always keeping her hand in his. The woman, with a despairing
movement, laid her face down on the table, with her forehead touching
the wood. Then she lifted it up. The paroxysm seemed to have passed. She
took out a handkerchief from inside the bodice of her dress and dried
her eyes. Ruffo struck the table with his glass. An attendant came. He
paid the bill, and the woman and he got up to go. As they did so Ruffo
presented for a moment his full face to Artois, and Artois swiftly
compared it with the face of the woman, and felt sure that they were
mother and son.

Artois moved on towards the hill of Posilipo, but after tak