Page 147 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

projected harbour branch of the line in the least.
She stopped the carriage before the door to reassure at
once the old Genoese, who came out bare-headed and stood
by the carriage step. She talked to him in Italian, of course,
and he thanked her with calm dignity. An old Garibaldino
was grateful to her from the bottom of his heart for keeping
the roof over the heads of his wife and children. He was too
old to wander any more.
‘And is it for ever, signora?’ he asked.
‘For as long as you like.’
‘Bene. Then the place must be named, It was not worth
while before.’
He smiled ruggedly, with a running together of wrinkles
at the corners of his eyes. ‘I shall set about the painting of
the name to-morrow.’
‘And what is it going to be, Giorgio?’
‘Albergo d’Italia Una,’ said the old Garibaldino, looking
away for a moment. ‘More in memory of those who have
died,’ he added, ‘than for the country stolen from us sol-
diers of liberty by the craft of that accursed Piedmontese
race of kings and ministers.’
Mrs. Gould smiled slightly, and, bending over a lit-
tle, began to inquire about his wife and children. He had
sent them into town on that day. The padrona was better in
health; many thanks to the signora for inquiring.
People were passing in twos and threes, in whole parties
of men and women attended by trotting children. A horse-
man mounted on a silver-grey mare drew rein quietly in the
shade of the house after taking off his hat to the party in the

1 Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard