"How frightened they must be—!" said Alvina.
"Frightened—hu!" he made sudden gesticulations and ejaculations, which added volumes to his few words.
"And did you like it, your village?" she said.
He put his head on one side in deprecation.
"No," he said, "because, you see—he, there is nothing to do—no money—work—work—work—no life—you see nothing. When I was a small boy my father, he died, and my mother comes with me to Naples. Then I go with the little boats on the sea—fishing, carrying people—" He flourished his hand as if to make her understand all the things that must be wordless. He smiled at her—but there was a faint, poignant sadness and remoteness in him, a beauty of old fatality, and ultimate indifference to fate.
"And were you very poor?"
"Poor?—why yes! Nothing. Rags—no shoe
