Part 10 (2/2)

When it came to parting, Batis...o...b.. made some polite remark about the pleasure he had enjoyed.

”When do you go?” he asked, as he shook hands with Marcantonio.

”I think we will go to-morrow night,--n'est-ce-pas, Leonore?” He turned to his wife, as though inquiring. She looked up from her seat in her deep, cane arm-chair.

”To-morrow night? Oh yes--one day is like another--let us go then to-morrow night.”

She spoke indifferently enough, as was natural. Batis...o...b.. supposed she meant to go. He took his leave with many wishes to his hosts for a pleasant journey.

Marcantonio lighted a cigarette and stood looking out over the water, by his wife's side. She was quite silent, and fanned herself indolently with a little straw fan decked with ribbons.

”Will you really go to-morrow night?” asked Marcantonio at last. He had a way of dwelling on things that wearied Leonora. What possible difference could it make whether they went to-morrow, or the day after?

”Because,” he continued, ”if you will be ready, I will make arrangements.”

”What arrangements?” asked Leonora languidly.

”I will write to the cardinal to say I am coming,--one must do that.”

”You can telegraph.”

”What is the use, when there is time for writing? Why should one waste a franc in a telegram?” He had curious little economies of his own.

”A franc!” she exclaimed with a little laugh.

”And besides,” he continued, not heeding her remark, ”old gentlemen do not like to receive telegrams. It gives on their nerves.”

”Enfin,” said she, weary of the question, ”you can write that you will go to-morrow night, if you like.”

”And you--will you go then?” he asked.

”It depends,” she answered. ”I may be too tired.”

Marcantonio knew very well that his wife was not easily fatigued; but he said nothing, and by his silence closed the discussion. She was very changeable, he thought; but then, he loved her very much, and she had a right to be as changeable as she pleased. It was very good of her to have wanted to go at all, and he would not think of pressing her to it.

He was a very sensible and unimaginative man, not at all given to thinking about things he could not see, nor troubling himself about them in the least. So he did not press Leonora now, and did not make himself unhappy because she was a little changeable. The one thing he really objected to was her pursuance of what he considered fruitless objects of study; she had not opened a book of philosophy since their marriage, and he was perfectly satisfied. Before he went to bed he wrote a line to his uncle, Cardinal Carantoni, to say that he should arrive on the next day but one.

Batis...o...b.. strolled back to the town through the narrow lanes, fenced into right and left by high walls. His thoughts were agreeable enough, and he now and then hummed s.n.a.t.c.hes of tunes with evident satisfaction.

What a magnificent creature she was! And clever too,--at least she looked intelligent, and said very cutting things, as though she could say many more if she liked; and she knew about most things that were discussed, and was altogether exactly what her husband called her,--the most charming woman in the world. Besides, he thought he could make a friend of her. How foolish of him, he reflected, to suppose that very afternoon that he must needs fall in love with her! Where was the necessity? He had evidently been mistaken, too, about her relations with her husband. It was clear that they adored each other, could not be separated for a moment, since when he went to Rome on business she must needs accompany him,--in July, too! Would she go? Probably. At all events, he would not call for a week, when they would certainly have come back. This he thought as he walked home.

But when he sat in his room at the hotel he remembered what he had thought as he followed her out of the dining-room. He had not thought then as he had an hour later. The magnetism of her glorious vitality had been upon him, and he had envied Marcantonio with all his heart, right sinfully.

”Some people call women changeable,” he reflected as he blew out his candles; ”they are not half so changeable as we are, and some day I will write a book to prove it.”

CHAPTER VIII.

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