For a single instant both paused, and then came forward to
pass each other. Veronica held her head high and looked straight before
her, for they had met already on that day, and there was no reason why
she should speak to him. But Taquisara could not help looking into her
face, and he saw how hard it tried to be and yet how, in spite of
herself, it softened almost before she had passed him. He turned and
glanced at her retreating figure, and her head was bent low, and her
right hand, hanging by her side, opened and shut twice convulsively, in
his sight.
He had not dared to suggest to himself until then that she might
possibly love him, but in the flash of that quick passing he almost knew
it. Then, before he had closed the door behind him and entered the next
room, the knowledge was gone, and he cursed himself for the thought, as
though it had been an insult to her. If he should have to pass her alone
again, he would rather cut off his right hand than turn and look at her.
But that one moment, past and gone, had life in it to torment him night
and day.
Gianluca was no better, and no worse. He wheeled himself about the great
rooms, and on fine mornings Veronica took him to drive. She read to him,
played besique with him, fenced with Taquisara to amuse him; she devoted
herself to him in every way; but as day followed day, she invented all
sorts of occupations and games which should take the place of
conversation. Anything was better than talking with him, now; anything
was better than to hear him say that he loved her, expecting her to
pronounce the words.
Pages:
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528