rgon terms with which men are quite satisfied. They
find out that a fox has no tail, a wild boar no teeth, a boat no prow,
and a yacht no staircase; and this knowledge is better than none.

The Signora accepted the fact that there were no birds that morning, and
began to talk to Maddalena. Aurora got a book and pretended to read, but
she was really listening for Marcello's footsteps, and wondering
whether he would smile at her, or would still be cross when he came in.
Corbario finished his paper and went off to look at the weather from the
other side of the house, and the two women talked in broken sentences as
old friends do, with long intervals of silence.

The wind had moderated a good deal, but as the sun rose higher the glare
in the sky grew more yellow, the air was much warmer, and the trees and
shrubs and long grass began to steam as if they had been half boiled.
All manner of tiny flies and gnats chased each other in the lurid light.

"It feels as if there were going to be an earthquake," said Maddalena,
throwing back the lace from her grey hair as if even its light weight
oppressed her.

"Yes."

The women sat in silence, uneasy, their lips a little parted. Not that
an earthquake would have disturbed them much, for slight ones are common
enough in Italy, and could do no harm at all to a wooden cottage; it was
a mere physical breathlessness that they felt, as the gale suddenly
dropped and the heavy air became quite still on the sheltered side of
the cottage.

Aurora threw aside her book impatiently and rose from her chair.

"I am going to look for Marcello," she said, and she went off without
turning her head.

On the other side of the cottage, as she went round, she found Folco
sitting on the steps of the verandah, his elbows on his knees and his
chin resting on his folded hands, apparently in deep thought. He had a
cigar between his teeth, but it had gone out.

"I am going to look for Marcello," said Aurora, as she passed close
beside him.

He said nothing, and hardly moved his head. Aurora turned and looked at
him as she stepped upon the path.

"What is the matter?" she asked, as she saw his face. "Is anything
wrong?"

Corbario looked up quickly, as if he had been in a reverie.

"Anything the matter? No. Where did you say you were going?"

"To find Marcello. He has not come in yet."

"He has gone for a walk, I suppose. He often walks alone on off days. He
will be back before luncheon, and yo