“But then, per Dio, go and talk to her.  Are you going to begin giving her the gold before you have spoken?”

From which question it will be clear to the unsophisticated foreigner that a regular series of presents in jewelry is the natural accompaniment of a well-to-do courtship in the south.  The trinkets are called collectively “the gold.”

Ruggiero did not find a ready answer to so strong an argument.  Little guessing that his brother was almost as much in love with Teresina as he himself was with her mistress, he saw no reason for undeceiving him concerning his own feelings.  Since Bastianello had discovered that he, Ruggiero, was suffering from an acute attack of the affections, it had become the latter’s chief object to conceal the real truth.  It was not so much, that he dreaded the ridicule—­he, a poor sailor—­of being known to love a great lady’s daughter; ridicule was not among the things he feared.  But something far too subtle for him to define made him keep his secret to himself—­an inborn, chivalrous, manly instinct, inherited through generations of peasants but surviving still, as the trace of gold in the ashes of a rich stuff that has had gilded threads in it.

“If I did begin with the gold,” he said at last, “and if she would not have me when I spoke afterwards, she would give the gold back.”

“Of course she would.  What do you take her for?” Bastianello asked the question almost angrily, for he loved Teresina and he resented the slightest imputation upon her fair dealing.

Ruggiero looked at him curiously, but was far too much preoccupied with his own thoughts to guess what the matter was.  He turned away and went towards the fire where the Gull was already tasting a slippery string of the macaroni to find out whether it were enough cooked.  Bastianello shrugged his shoulders and followed him in silence.  Before long they were all seated round the huge earthen dish, each armed with an iron fork in one hand and a ship biscuit in the other, with which to catch the drippings neatly, according to good manners, in conveying the full fork from the dish to the wide-opened mouth.  By and by there was a sound of liquid gurgling from a demijohn as it was poured into the big jug, and the wine went round quickly from hand to hand, while those who waited for their turn munched their biscuits.  Some one has said that great appetites, like great passions, are silent.  Hardly a word was said until the wine was passed a second time with a ration of hard cheese and another biscuit.  Then the tongues were unloosed and the strange, uncouth jests of the rough men circulated in an undertone, and now and then one of them suffered agonies in smothering a huge laugh, lest his mirth should disturb the “excellencies” at their table.  The latter, however, were otherwise engaged and paid little attention to the sailors.