'You are not dancing, Sperelli?' asked Gabriella Barbarisi, a girl brown
as the _oliva speciosa_, as she passed him on the arm of her partner,
fanning herself and smiling to show a dimple she had at the corner of
her mouth.
'Yes--later on,' Andrea responded hastily--'later on.'
Heedless of introductions or greetings, his torment increased with every
moment of this fruitless expectation, and he roamed aimlessly from room
to room. That 'perhaps' made him sadly afraid that Elena would not come.
And supposing she really did not? When was he likely to see her again?
Donna Bianca Dolcebuono passed, and, almost without knowing why, he
attached himself to her side, saying a thousand agreeable things to her,
feeling some slight comfort in her society. He had the greatest desire
to speak to her about Elena, to question her, to reassure himself; but
the orchestra struck up a languorous mazurka and the Florentine countess
was carried off by her partner.
Thereupon, Andrea joined a group of young men near one of the
doors--Ludovico Barbarisi, the Duke di Beffi, Filippo del Gallo and Gino
Bomminaco. They were watching the couples, and exchanging observations
not over refined in quality. One of them turned to Andrea as he came up.
'Why, what has become of you this evening? Your cousin was looking for
you a moment ago. There she is dancing with my brother now.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68