But he had not to undergo the shame of listening further.
A sharp knock, on his door this time, warned him that the calesino was ready.
"Hallo! Signor Francese."
There was profound silence in the adjoining room, then a hurried whispering. There was somebody close by, who was listening to them!—Paul de Géry rushed downstairs. He longed to be far away from that hotel parlor, to escape the haunting memory of the horrors that had been disclosed to him.
As the post-chaise started, he saw, between the cheap white curtains that hang at every window in the South, a pale face with the hair of a goddess and great blazing eyes, watching for him to pass. But a glance at Aline's portrait soon banished that disturbing vision, and, cured forever of his former passion, he travelled until evening through an enchanted country with the pretty bride of the breakfast, who carried away in the folds of her modest dress, of her maidenly cloak, all the violets of Bordighera.
The first night of "Révolte"