Andrea Sperelli lit a cigarette. In spite of all his efforts, he could
not bring himself to swallow a mouthful of food, and with the wine
Secinaro poured out for him, he seemed to be drinking poison.
There came a moment at last, when the prince, in spite of his
obtuseness, had a qualm of doubt, and he looked sharply at Elena's
former lover. Except his want of appetite, Andrea gave no outward sign
of inward agitation; with the utmost calm he puffed clouds of smoke into
the air, and smiled his habitual, half-ironical smile, at his jocund
companion.
The prince continued: 'She is coming to see me to-day for the first
time.'
'To you--to-day?'
'Yes, at three o'clock.'
The two men looked at their watches.
'Shall we go?' asked Andrea.
'Let us,' assented Galeazzo rising. 'We can go up the Via de' Condotti
together. I want to get some flowers. As you know all about it, tell
me--what flowers does she like best?'
Andrea laughed. An abominable answer was on the tip of his tongue, but
he restrained himself and replied unmoved--
'Roses, at one time.'
In front of the Barcaccia they parted.
At that hour the Piazza di Spagna had the deserted look of high summer.
Some workmen were repairing a main water-pipe, and a heap of earth dried
by the sun threw up clouds of dust in the hot breath of the wind. The
stairway of the Trinita gleamed white and deserted.
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