And Bastianello was not in a much better case, though his was less hard to bear.  The pretty Teresina had seated herself on a smooth rock in the moonlight, not far from the table, and as the dishes came back, the young sailor waited on her and served her with unrelaxed attention.  Since Ruggiero would not take advantage of the situation, his brother saw no reason for not at least enjoying the pleasure of seeing the adorable Teresina eat and drink as it were from his hand.  Why Ruggiero was so cold, and stood there against his rock, silent and glowering, Bastianello could not at all understand; nor had he any thought of taking an unfair advantage.  Ruggiero was first and no one should interfere with him, or his love; but Bastianello, judging from what he felt himself, fancied that she might have given him some good advice.  Teresina’s cheeks flushed with pleasure and her eyes sparkled each time he brought her some dainty from the master’s table, and she thanked him in the prettiest way imaginable, so that her voice reminded him of the singing of the yellow-beaked blackbird he kept in a cage at home—­which was saying much, for the blackbird sang well and sweetly.  But Bastianello only said each time that “it was nothing,” and then stood silently waiting beside her till she should finish what she was eating and be ready for more.  Teresina would doubtless have enjoyed a little conversation, and she looked up from time to time at the handsome sailor beside her, with a look of enquiry in her eyes, as though to ask why he said nothing.  But Bastianello felt that he was on his honour, for he never doubted that the little maid was the cause of Ruggiero’s disease of the heart and indeed of all that his brother evidently suffered, and he was too modest by nature to think that Teresina could prefer him to Ruggiero, who had always been the object of his own unbounded devotion and admiration.  Presently, when there was nothing more to offer her, and the party at the table were lighting their cigarettes over their coffee, he went away and going up to Ruggiero drew him a little further aside from the group of sailors.

“I want to tell you something,” he began.  “You must not be as you are, a man like you.”

“How may that be?” asked Ruggiero, still looking towards the table, and not pleased at being dragged from his former post of observation.

“I will tell you.  I have been serving her with food.  You could have done that instead if you had wished.  You could have talked to her, and she would have liked it.  It is easy when a woman is sitting apart and a man brings her good food and wine—­you could have spoken a word into her ear.”

Ruggiero was silent, but he slowly nodded twice, then shook his head.

“You do not say anything,” continued Bastianello, “and you do wrong.  What I tell you is true, and you cannot deny it.  After all, we are men and they are women.  Are they to speak first?”

“It is just,” answered Ruggiero laconically.