hand hanging loosely at his side, pressed it firmly upon the hand of Barbara. But then, discovering that she had thereby concealed his fianceéeâs battery of rings, she hurriedly plucked it away, and blushed as if she had committed a gaffe. From time to time he heard voices speaking into his ear from over his shoulder, uttering tender whispers, such as âPut on your hat!⦠Donât catch cold now!⦠Silly of you not to bring your topcoat!⦠Now donât go staring around at the balconies, remember youâre ENGAGED!⦠I think the Prefect gave you a smile just then: smile back for goodnessâ sake!⦠And, why ever is the mayor not among us today?â
Brusquely the notary thrust his way forward between Antonioâs parents and stationed himself at the young manâs side.
âI want you to write to Count K!â he hissed in an undertone.âThe mayor must have a really guilty conscience where Iâm concerned, since he didnât have the face to show up!â
âIâll write tomorrow, papa. But please donât run away with the idea that Iâmâ¦â
Signor Alfio, eavesdropping behind the backs of the pair, here gave Antonio a pinch on the bum that shut him up at once.
âThis son of yours,â he proceeded in a mutter to his wife, âis his own worst enemy. If I hadnât been right on his heels heâd have gone and told the notary that he scarcely knows the minister.â
âHeâs just modest,â murmured the good lady.
âHeâs a cretin!â declared the father, waving his arms so wrathfully that he dropped his hat.
âDo behave yourself. Every eye is upon us,â said the signora, halting beside him as he bent to pick it up. Fatal hesitation! A phalanx of Puglisi females overtook them and, stiff and wooden as a rank of Madonnas in procession, formed a palisade between parents and son.
âMaybe you had better write to him this very day,â continued the notary, clinging to Antonioâs side. âWeâll send an express registered letter, and I shall post it with my own hands at the railway station. You know his home address, of course?â
âI know where he lives because heâs asked me to lunch a couple of times.â
âWhat!â exclaimed the notary, taken aback. âDid you not dine with him practically every evening?â
âWell, noâ¦â
âAh, then I imagine he came to your place?â¦â
âWe met in various places,â said Antonio, to put an end to this discussion. And he took a deep breath.
The cortège had halted in a small piazza near Porta Garibaldi, where an orator was already to be seen erect upon the church steps in the act of hauling a hanky from his pocket to dab his lips with. The costermongers flogging prickly-pears trundled away their barrows heaped with empty husks, hefting them inclose against the walls to make room for the mourners irrupting among them. A tram came to a halt, crammed with passengers thronging the railings of the platforms and bulging with parcels, shopping-baskets and suckling infants.
âWho is the speaker?â enquired Antonio of his father-in-law.
âAvvocato Bonaccorsi, a friend of my fatherâs.â
âWhy âave the old baron seen off by an anti-Fascist?â came an unknown voice.
âBecause heâs the number-one lawyer in Catania, and a gentleman who has never given the least bother to any living soul!â was the notaryâs spirited reply.
ââe wos a Socialist!â was the voiceâs comeback.
âHe was⦠he was⦠We were all⦠Dammit, you have to look at what a man
is
, not what he
was
!â
âTwenty years it is, since the baron of Paternò decided to take leave of his friendsâ¦â began the orator meanwhile.
âIâm surprised,â went on the other voice, âto âear a Socialist pronouncing the word
Brusquely the notary thrust his way forward between Antonioâs parents and stationed himself at the young manâs side.
âI want you to write to Count K!â he hissed in an undertone.âThe mayor must have a really guilty conscience where Iâm concerned, since he didnât have the face to show up!â
âIâll write tomorrow, papa. But please donât run away with the idea that Iâmâ¦â
Signor Alfio, eavesdropping behind the backs of the pair, here gave Antonio a pinch on the bum that shut him up at once.
âThis son of yours,â he proceeded in a mutter to his wife, âis his own worst enemy. If I hadnât been right on his heels heâd have gone and told the notary that he scarcely knows the minister.â
âHeâs just modest,â murmured the good lady.
âHeâs a cretin!â declared the father, waving his arms so wrathfully that he dropped his hat.
âDo behave yourself. Every eye is upon us,â said the signora, halting beside him as he bent to pick it up. Fatal hesitation! A phalanx of Puglisi females overtook them and, stiff and wooden as a rank of Madonnas in procession, formed a palisade between parents and son.
âMaybe you had better write to him this very day,â continued the notary, clinging to Antonioâs side. âWeâll send an express registered letter, and I shall post it with my own hands at the railway station. You know his home address, of course?â
âI know where he lives because heâs asked me to lunch a couple of times.â
âWhat!â exclaimed the notary, taken aback. âDid you not dine with him practically every evening?â
âWell, noâ¦â
âAh, then I imagine he came to your place?â¦â
âWe met in various places,â said Antonio, to put an end to this discussion. And he took a deep breath.
The cortège had halted in a small piazza near Porta Garibaldi, where an orator was already to be seen erect upon the church steps in the act of hauling a hanky from his pocket to dab his lips with. The costermongers flogging prickly-pears trundled away their barrows heaped with empty husks, hefting them inclose against the walls to make room for the mourners irrupting among them. A tram came to a halt, crammed with passengers thronging the railings of the platforms and bulging with parcels, shopping-baskets and suckling infants.
âWho is the speaker?â enquired Antonio of his father-in-law.
âAvvocato Bonaccorsi, a friend of my fatherâs.â
âWhy âave the old baron seen off by an anti-Fascist?â came an unknown voice.
âBecause heâs the number-one lawyer in Catania, and a gentleman who has never given the least bother to any living soul!â was the notaryâs spirited reply.
ââe wos a Socialist!â was the voiceâs comeback.
âHe was⦠he was⦠We were all⦠Dammit, you have to look at what a man
is
, not what he
was
!â
âTwenty years it is, since the baron of Paternò decided to take leave of his friendsâ¦â began the orator meanwhile.
âIâm surprised,â went on the other voice, âto âear a Socialist pronouncing the word
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