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"Is that window
shut, Riccardo? One can't hear one's self speak!"
Gemma looked round. "Yes," she said, "the
window is quite shut. I think there is a variety
show, or some such thing, passing."
The sounds of shouting and laughter, of the
tinkling of bells and trampling of feet, resounded
from the street below, mixed with the braying of
a villainous brass band and the unmerciful banging
of a drum.
"It can't be helped these few days," said Riccardo;
"we must expect noise at Christmas time. What were you
saying, Sacconi?"
"I said it would be interesting to hear what is
thought about the matter in Pisa and Leghorn.
Perhaps Signor Rivarez can tell us something; he
has just come from there."
The Gadfly did not answer. He was staring out
of the window and appeared not to have heard
what had been said.
"Signor Rivarez!" said Gemma. She was the
only person sitting near to him, and as he remained
silent she bent forward and touched him on the
arm. He slowly turned his face to her, and she
started as she saw its fixed and awful immobility.


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