IV
Three months had passed, Lulu’s marriage was still postponed. Every once in a while her mother, who did not understand this delay, would call her daughter aside and ask her the cause.
“I wish to wait,” Lulu always replied; “I need to know Roberto better.”
In fact, the girl had become observing. She went about as usual, sang as usual, laughed, joked, but often interrupted these pleasant occupations to study her sister, or to listen closely to Roberto’s every word. The former was often seen with lips compressed, her eyebrows drawn together with an air of great attention.
Then Lulu looked about her. And about her strange things were happening. Roberto was no longer serene and hilarious as usual, but thoughtful, pale, and agitated. He spoke briefly and absently; to many things in which he had formerly been interested he now seemed quite indifferent; sometimes with a great effort he succeeded in controlling himself, and becoming once more what he had been before, but only for a short time. He had never been accustomed to dissimulation, and succeeded badly; his passion and inner torment were revealed in his eyes.
A different Sofia, too, made her appearance at this time; that is to say, a nervous, restless Sofia, who at times embraced her sister with effusion, sometimes remained for hours without seeing her, rather avoiding her. Fleeting blushes rose to her cheeks, feverish flushes; a flame burned in her eyes; her voice was now deep and full of emotion, now dry and strident; her hands shook. At night she did not sleep. Lulu often rose, and went with bare feet to listen at her door and heard Sofia toss about and weep. If questioned, Sofia declared that there was nothing the matter; always the same reply.
When Roberto and Sofia met—and this happened every day—the change that had taken place in both of them became evident. Remarks were rare, replies were either too prompt or too vague, there were odd glances; sometimes for whole evenings they did not speak, but each studied the movements of the other. They never sat beside each other; yet Roberto always found an excuse for picking up the work or the book that Sofia had touched. Sometimes when she did not come into the room, Roberto, always more and more uneasy, stared at the closed door, answering absently to what was said. Sometimes only five minutes after Sofia’s appearance he would take his hat and leave. The girl was growing pale, black circles appeared under her eyes. Finally, she decided not to let herself be seen. Every evening for a week she shut herself in her room, trembling with impatience, trying to smother her unhappiness.
One evening Lulu entered her room. “Will you do me a favor?” she asked.
“What do you want?”
“I have a note to write,” said Lulu. “Roberto is alone, out on the terrace. Will you go and keep him company?”
“But I—”
“Do you wish to stay shut up here? Does it cost you so much to please me?”
“Will you come back soon?”
“I only want time to write four lines.”
Sofia turned toward the terrace, trying to summon courage for the ordeal. She paused on the threshold. Roberto was walking up and down; she went up to him.
“Lulu sends me,” she said in a low voice.
“You forced yourself to come?”
“Forced—no.”
She trembled throughout her whole frame; Roberto was near her, his face transfigured with passion.
“What have I done to you, Sofia?”
“Nothing, you have done nothing. Do not look at me like that,” she implored, terrified.
“You know then, Sofia, that I love you very dearly?”
“Oh! hush, Roberto, for pity’s sake hush! If Lulu were to hear us!”
“I do not love Lulu. I love you, Sofia.”
“That is treachery.”
“I know it, but I love you. I will go away—”
“Well?” cried Lulu in the distance, appearing from another door. “Well, have you two made peace?”
But there was no reply. Sofia fled, hiding her face in her hands; and Roberto remained motionless, silent, as though stunned.
“Roberto!” cried Lulu.
“Lulu.”
“What has happened?”
“Nothing; I am going.”
And without even taking leave of her, he too went away with a despairing gesture. Lulu followed him with her eyes, and stood there absorbed in thought.
“One here, the other there,” she murmured; “and previous to that? Enough! I must take a hand in it.”