They sat in an oppressive silence; Ragna, her hands clasped on her knees, her eyes looking straight before her, her mouth set in a hard line, barely discernible through the thick veil. Mirko was most uncomfortable, and could think of nothing to say or do to relieve the situation. Finally, in desperation, he asked her permission to light a cigarette; she shrugged her shoulders in complete indifference and made no answer; he lit one and puffed away moodily, every now and again casting furtive glances at the girl's averted profile. She sat quite motionless, only shuddering slightly as they passed the ruined acqueduct. "The hare is run to earth," she thought bitterly. The drive seemed interminable; the carriage bumped on endlessly over the bad roads, the rain pattered unceasingly on the lowered hood, the driver urged on his steaming beasts in endless monotone—and so on and on and on. It was like a long bad dream.
As they came into the city, the rain stopped, but the air was heavy with a damp, soggy mist through which the street lamps glowed, each set in a luminous halo. The streets were full of a noisy merry crowd and the carriage made slow progress. Once it stopped altogether and a masked Pierrot climbed up on one step, a gay Harlequin on the other while a very masculine ballerina in draggled pink tarletan installed herself or himself beside the driver.
"Tò!" said the Pierrot, and blew out a long paper sausage that squeaked as it collapsed; the Harlequin emptied a shovelful of confetti over the silent pair.
"Who is the mysterious princess?" squeaked the Pierrot, "Unveil! unveil, fair one!"
As Ragna paid no attention he snatched her veil from her face and fell into a pose of ecstatic mock admiration. Ragna threw herself back, alarmed.
"Here!" said Mirko, starting up angrily, "I won't have this! Let the lady alone, will you? Get down!"
"Pray, be more courteous!" mouthed Arlecchino, "In carnevale ogni scherzo vale." The crowd shrieked approval.
"Here, then," said Mirko, diving into his pocket and bestowing a gold piece on each masker, "go and drink to the health of your 'carnevale' with this."
The ballerina poked a long red cardboard nose down under the hood, squeaking in high falsetto.
"And poor Colombina? Don't forget poor Colombina!"