"That is a very jolly song," said Ragna.
"Si, signora," said Maria showing her even white teeth in a broad smile.—"It is sung all through Ciociaria and everywhere!" She ran down to the kitchen and reappeared bearing a large bowl of steaming gnocchi and two cobwebby bottles of gold-coloured wine.
"Come," said Mirko, "your Ladyship is served."
Ragna laughingly took her place at the table and they both fell to with healthy appetites. Mirko saw that Ragna's glass was kept replenished with the wine. "Proprio di dietro i fagotti," the hostess had declared it. After the gnocchi came stewed chicken and potatoes, then the famous frittata with artichokes and a salad, then cheese, and finally, Maria having asked if the Signori wished anything more, retired, closing the door after her.
The wine was singing in Ragna's ears, and her face was flushed, it seemed to her that she was in a dream in which she had become two distinct persons,—one a long way off, watching as at a play, what the other Ragna did. Mirko rose from his chair and led her to the couch where he seated himself beside her. He drew her head down on his shoulder and holding her close to him murmured his love in her ear. His nearness, his kisses and the low, passionate vibration of his voice overpowered her; she felt all power of resistance slip from her, his personality, his desire dominated her entirely; her lips parted, she closed her eyes, her senses swam. As in a dream, his lips found hers, she felt the heat of his breath scorching her face, a wild flame surged through her veins,—a brief almost unconscious struggle and she lay unresisting in his arms.
When she came to herself again a sudden gloom pervaded the place. Large drops of rain splashed on the window-sill. She watched them idly a moment, then her eyes wandered to the other window where Mirko stood leaning, pulling at his moustache, then down to herself. Suddenly a gulf of realization and shame overwhelmed her. With a hasty hand she straightened out her skirts, then flung herself down, sobbing, her burning face hidden in the cushion.
At the sound Mirko turned and came towards her, an exceedingly sheepish expression on his handsome face.
"Don't, love!" he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. She writhed away from him.
"Don't, dear," he repeated awkwardly, and as the girl paid no attention, he knelt at her side and kissed all that was visible of one ear. She sat up, wild-eyed and disheveled.
"Oh, how could you?" she sobbed, "oh, why did you do it? Oh, how can I ever look anyone in the face again!"