"They are coming, signora, they are coming! Don't you hear them?"

Lucrezia was by the terrace wall looking over into the ravine. She could
not see any moving figures, but she heard far down among the olives and
the fruit trees Gaspare's voice singing "O sole mio!" and while she
listened another voice joined in, the voice of the padrone: "Dio mio, but they are merry!" she added, as the song was broken by a
distant peal of laughter.

Hermione came out upon the steps. She had been in the sitting-room
writing a letter to Miss Townly, who sent her long and tearful effusions
from London almost every day.

"Have you got the frying-pan ready, Lucrezia?" she asked.

"The frying-pan, signora!"

"Yes, for the fish they are bringing us."

Lucrezia looked knowing.

"Oh, signora, they will bring no fish."

"Why not? They promised last night. Didn't you hear?"

"They promised, yes, but they won't remember. Men promise at night and
forget in the morning."

Hermione laughed. She had been feeling a little dull, but now the sound
of the lusty voices and the laughter from the ravine filled her with a
sudden cheerfulness, and sent a glow of anticipation into her heart.

"Lucrezia, you are a cynic."

"What is a cinico, signora?"

"A Lucrezia. But you don't know your padrone. He won't forget us."