Andrea recalled one serene February night when, on coming away from a
ball at the English Embassy, he and Elena had met a flock of sheep in
the Via Venti Settembre which obliged their carriage to stop. Elena, her
face pressed to the window, watched the sheep crowding against the
carriage wheels, and pointed to the little lambs with childish delight;
and he with his face close to hers, his eyes half closed, listened to
the pattering hoofs, the bleating, the tinkling bells.
Why should these recollections of Elena come back to him just now?--He
resumed his way slowly up the steps, his feet heavy with fatigue, his
knees giving way beneath him. Suddenly the thought of death flashed
across his mind. 'What if I were killed, or received such a wound as to
maim me for life?' But his thirst for life and pleasure caused his whole
being to revolt against such a sinister possibility. 'I _must_ come off
victorious!' he said to himself. And he began reviewing all the
advantages that would fall to him from this second victory: the prestige
of his success, the fame of his prowess, Ippolita's kisses, new loves,
new pleasures, the gratification of new whims.
Presently, however, he bethought him of the necessary precautions for
insuring his bodily vigour. He went to bed and slept soundly till he
was awakened by the arrival of his seconds; took his customary
shower-bath; had a strip of linoleum laid down and invited Santa
Margherita and then Barbarisi to exchange a few passes with him, during
which he executed with precision several stop thrusts.
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