Part 20 (1/2)
”We will go home,” Regina answered. ”I do not want any supper to-night.”
They reached their hotel. Regina tossed her hat upon a chair in the sitting-room and drew Marcello to the light, holding him before her, and scrutinising his face with extraordinary intensity. Suddenly her hands dropped from his shoulders.
”She was right; you are ill. Who is this lady that knows your face better than I?”
She asked the question in a tone of bitterness and self-reproach.
”The Contessa dell' Armi,” Marcello answered, with a shade of reluctance.
”And the girl?” asked Regina, in a flash of intuition.
”Her daughter Aurora.” He turned away, lit a cigarette, and rang the bell.
Regina bit her lip until it hurt her, for she remembered how often he had p.r.o.nounced that name in his delirium, many months ago. She could not speak for a moment. A waiter came in answer to the bell, and Marcello ordered something, and then sat down. Regina went to her room and did not return until the servant had come back and was gone again, leaving a tray on the table.
”What is the matter?” asked Marcello in surprise, as he caught sight of her face.
She sat down at a little distance, her eyes fixed on him.
”I am a very wicked woman,” she said, in a dull voice.
”You?” Marcello laughed and filled the gla.s.ses.
”I am letting you kill yourself to amuse me,” Regina said. ”I am a very, very wicked woman. But you shall not do it any more. We will go away at once.”
”I am perfectly well,” Marcello answered, holding out a gla.s.s to her; but she would not take it.
”I do not want wine to-night,” she said. ”It is good when one has a light heart, but my heart is as heavy as a stone. What am I good for?
Kill me. It will be better. Then you will live.”
”I should have died without you long ago. You saved my life.”
”To take it again! To let you consume yourself, so that I may see the world! What do I care for the world, if you are not well? Let us go away quickly.”
”Next week, if you like.”
”No! To-morrow!”
”Without waiting to hear Melba?”
”Yes--to-morrow!”
”Or Sarah Bernhardt in Sardou's new play?”
”To-morrow! To-morrow morning, early! What is anything compared with your getting well?”
”And your new summer costume that Doucet has not finished? How about that?”
Marcello laughed gaily and emptied his gla.s.s. But Regina rose and knelt down beside him, laying her hands on his.
”We must go to-morrow,” she said. ”You shall say where, for you know what countries are near Paris, and where there are hills, and trees, and waterfalls, and birds that sing, where the earth smells sweet when it rains, and it is quiet when the sun is high. We will go there, but you know where it is, and how far.”