The thing was perfectly natural, but
at that moment it appeared to Andrea most extraordinary.
He purposely stopped before the cabinet and gazed long at the precious
goblet on which the story of Venus and Anchises glittered as if cut in a
pure diamond.
'Niccolo Niccoli!' said Elena, pronouncing the name with an indefinable
accent in which the young man seemed to catch a note of sadness.
The husband had just gone into another room to open a cabinet.
'Remember--remember!' murmured Andrea, turning towards her.
'I do remember.'
'Then when may I see you?'
'Ah, when?'
'But you promised me----'
Lord Heathfield returned. They passed on into an adjoining room, making
the tour of the apartments. Everywhere they met workmen hanging papers,
draping curtains, carrying furniture. Each time Elena asked his opinion,
Andrea had to make an effort before answering her, in order to disguise
his ill-humour and his impatience. At last, he managed to seize a moment
when her husband was occupied with one of the men to say to her in a low
voice, unable any longer to conceal his chagrin--
'Why inflict this torture upon me? I expected to find you alone.'
Passing through one of the doors, Elena's hat caught in the portiere and
was dragged out of place. She laughed and called to Mumps to come and
unfasten her veil. And Andrea was forced to look on while those odious
hands touched the hair of the woman he desired, ruffling the little
curls at the back of her neck, those curls which under his caresses had
seemed to breathe out a mysterious perfume, unlike any other, and
sweeter and more intoxicating than all the rest.
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