Elena and Eva leaned
over her to read the music, while Ludovico stood behind them smoking a
cigarette. The Prince had disappeared.
But Lord Heathfield kept firm hold of Andrea. He had drawn him into a
window and was discoursing to him on certain little Urbanese '_coppette
amatorie_' which he had picked up at the Cavaliere Davila's sale, and
the rasping voice with its aggravating interrogative inflections, the
gestures with which he indicated the dimensions of the cups, and his
glance--now dull and fishy, now keen as steel under the great prominent
brow--in short, the whole man was so unendurably obnoxious to Andrea
that he clenched his teeth convulsively like a patient under the
surgeon's knife.
His one absorbing thought was how to get away. His plan was to rush to
the Pincio in the hope of finding Donna Maria and taking her, after all,
to the Villa Medici. It was about two o'clock. He looked out of the
window at the glorious sunshine; he turned back into the room, and saw
the group of pretty women at the piano, bathed in the red glow struck
out of the velvet cover by a strong golden ray. With this red glow the
smoke of the cigarette mingled lightly as the talking and laughter
mingled with the chords Barbarella Viti struck haphazard on the keys.
Ludovico whispered a word or two in his cousin's ear, which the Princess
forthwith communicated to her friends, for there was a renewed burst of
laughter, ringing and deep, like a string of pearls dropping into a
silver bowl.
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