In the midst of the fever of excitement
into which he had been thrown by these books, these pictures, the
maddening discourses of his host, a furious instinct rose out of the
blind depths of his being, the same brutal impetus which he had already
experienced on the race-course after his victory over Rutolo amid the
acrid exhalations of his steaming horse. The phantasm of a crime of love
tempted and beckoned to him: to kill this man, take the woman by force,
wreak his brutal will upon her, and then kill himself. But it passed
rapidly as it had come.
'No, I am not alone,' answered the husband, without opening the door.
'In a few minutes I shall have the pleasure of bringing Count Sperelli
to you--he is here with me.'
He replaced the book in the book-case, closed the portfolio and carried
it back into the next room.
Andrea would have given all he possessed not to have to undergo the
ordeal that awaited him, and yet it attracted him strangely. Once more,
he raised his eyes to the crimson wall and the dark frame out of which
Elena's pallid face looked forth, that face with the haunting eyes and
the sibylline mouth. A penetrating and continuous fascination emanated
from that imperious image. That strange pallor dominated tragically the
whole crimson gloom of the apartment. And once again he felt that his
miserable passion was incurable.
Pages:
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363