Poor Arturo, thankful for any excuse to escape, lurched out of the room followed by the lupetto. He was one of those painfully shy men whose greatest intimacies are with animals, as dumb as they themselves would like to be. “Your husband--” I began. “No, no, my son!” she interrupted, laughing till the tears came to her eyes. “My son, the eldest; not a good son; he has married against my wishes. Children are nothing but vexations; to be happy one must be childless!” I tried to change the subject by asking Arturo’s profession. “He has no profession, no ambitions. His father was in the Legislature, as was my father. Arturo is satisfied to live in the country, to make wine, to raise sheep, goats, swine. That is very well, but it is not enough. He should see the world, pass a winter in Rome; but no, he thinks only of his vineyards and his sheep, Madonna Santa, his goats--_my son_!” Arturo returned, followed by a servant bringing refreshments. He poured the wine, held the glass to the light, handed it to me with a deep bow: “Your health!” “This is exquisite--so light--it’s like some Syracusan wine I had at Taormina;” I mentioned the name. “That is not an honest wine,” he was all alive now. “I should not advise you to take it. This now is pure; be not afraid, it cannot hurt you!” “It’s hard to get wine in Rome at any decent price nowadays,” I said. “What do you pay a flask?” “We are fortunate, we do not pay _forestieri_ prices, we have it from a friend for two francs--“ “If this suits the Signora, we can make an arrangement to send her a quantity, direct, not through the hands of an agent--they are all robbers!” When I thought I had stayed long enough, I rose to go. “It is early,” said my hostess, surprised at my haste, though we had talked for over an hour; there is more time in Syracuse than in some places. “My cab has come--“ “The Signora will drive in the Passeggiata Aretusa? Everybody goes there Sunday afternoon; there is music, it is just the time. Shall I accompany her?” “It would be most kind.” “No, no, a pleasure! Take my keys, Arturo, be sure you give them to none but me.” She bustled about briskly; in a few minutes was ready for our drive. “I will show you more people worth looking at in half an hour than you would see alone in a week.” Arturo helped us into the cab; as we drove off he bowed with a certain rustic awkwardness not without its charm; he pleased in spite of his plainness. He is not fitted for courts or capitals, but just for the country life he likes; I am sure his flocks flourish, I know his wine is good; even in Syracuse, mothers are not always the best judges of a son’s capacity. In the Passeggiata Aretusa the band was playing Cavalleria Rusticana. The pleasant [Illustration: SYRACUSE. CHURCH OF SAN GIOVANNI. _Page 354._] [Illustration: THEATRE, PALERMO.] [Illustration: ETRUSCAN SARCOPHAGUS, PALERMO MUSEUM.] [Illustration: IN THE MUSEUM, PALERMO.]