'
She looked about her a little hesitatingly.
'Have you forgotten anything?' asked Andrea.
She was looking at the flowers, but she answered, 'Ah--yes--my
card-case.'
Andrea sprang to fetch it from the table. '_A stranger here_?' he read
as he handed it to her.
'_No, my dear, a friend_----'
Her answer was quick, her voice eager. Then suddenly with a smile
peculiarly her own, half imploring, half seductive, a mixture of
timidity and tenderness, she said: '_Give me a rose._'
Andrea went from vase to vase gathering all the roses into one great
bunch which he could scarcely hold in his hands--some of them shed their
petals.
'They were for you--all of them,' he said without looking at her.
Elena hung her head and turned to go in silence followed by Andrea. They
descended the stairs still in silence. He could see the nape of her neck
so fair and delicate where the little dark curls mingled with the
gray-blue fur.
'Elena!' he cried her name in a low voice, incapable any longer of
fighting against the passion that filled his heart to bursting.
She turned round to him with a finger on her lips--a gesture of agonised
entreaty--but her eyes burned through the shadow. She hastened her
steps, flung herself into the carriage and felt rather than saw him lay
the roses in her lap.
'Good-bye! Good-bye!'
And when the carriage turned away she threw herself back exhausted and
burst into a passion of sobs, tearing the roses to pieces with her poor
frenzied hands.
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