After a moment's silence--'Good-bye!' he said, but that one word
contained all the bitterness of the words he refrained from saying.
'Good-bye,' she answered gently, 'forgive me.'
They both felt the necessity of putting an end, at least for that
evening, to this perilous conversation. Andrea affected an almost
over-strained courtesy. Elena became even gentler, almost humble. A
nervous tremor shook her continually.
She took her cloak from the chair and Andrea hastened to assist her. As
she did not succeed in finding the armholes, Andrea guided her hand to
it but scarcely touched her. He then offered her her hat and veil.
'There is a looking-glass in the next room if you would like----'
'No, thank you.' She went over beside the fireplace, where on the wall
hung a quaint little old mirror in a frame surrounded by little figures,
carved in so airy and vivacious a style that they seemed rather to be of
malleable gold than of wood. It was a charming thing, the work doubtless
of some delicate artist of the fifteenth century and designed to reflect
the charms of some Mona Amorrosisca or some Laldomine. Many a time in
the old happy days Elena had put on her veil in front of this dim, lack
lustre mirror. She remembered it again now.
On seeing her reflection rise out of its misty depths she was stirred by
a singular emotion.
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