'At last!' cried Andrea, gathering her into his arms, and drinking the
breath from her panting lips.
He took one of her hands and held it against his breast.
'Feel my heart. If you had stayed away a minute longer, it would have
broken.'
But instead of her hand, she laid her cheek upon it. He kissed the white
nape of her neck.
'Do you hear it beat?'
'Yes, and it speaks to me.'
'What does it tell you?'
'That you do not love me.'
'What does it tell you?' repeated the young man, biting her neck softly
and preventing her from raising her head.
She laughed.
'That you love me.'
She removed her cloak, her hat and her gloves, and then went to smell
the bouquets of white lilac that filled the high Florentine vases like
those of the _tondo_ in the Borghese Gallery. Her step on the carpet was
extraordinarily light, and nothing could exceed her grace of attitude as
she buried her face in the delicate tassels of bloom.
She bit off the end of a spray, and holding it between her lips--
'Take it,' she said.
They exchanged a long, long kiss in among the perfume.
He drew her closer and said with a tremor in his voice, 'Come.'
'No, Andrea--no; let us stay here. I will make the tea for you.'
She took her lover's hand and twined her fingers into his. 'I don't know
what is the matter with me. My heart is so full of love that I could
almost cry.
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