"We must not quarrel these last days."
He had expected words of excuse, and pushed his wife's arm aside, answering dryly—
"I have not quarrelled. Perhaps you will tell me," he added, "what Professor Gilardoni confided to you that was such a great secret that he felt obliged to entreat you to be silent."
Luisa looked at him, amazed and pained. "You doubted me?" said she. "You questioned the child? Did you indeed do that?"
"Well," he cried, "and what if I did? Anyway, I am well aware you always think the worst of me. Listen now. I don't want to know anything." She interrupted him. "But I will tell you! I will tell you!" His conscience was pricking him a little on account of his questioning of the child, and now seeing Luisa ready to speak, he would not listen to her, and forbade her to explain. But his heart was full to overflowing with bitterness, for which he must find an outlet. He complained that since Christmas Eve she had not been the same to him. Why protest? He had seen it clearly. Indeed, something else had long been clear to him. What? Oh, something very natural! Perfectly natural! Was he, after all, worthy of her love? Certainly not. He was only a poor useless creature, and nothing more. Was it not natural that upon knowing him better she should love him less? For surely she did love him less than at one time!
Luisa trembled, fearful that this might be true.
"No, Franco, no!" she cried, but her very dread of not saying the words with proper conviction was sufficient to paralyze her voice. He had expected a violent denial, and murmured terrified: "My God!" Then it was her turn to be terrified, and she pressed him despairingly in her arms, sobbing: "No, no, no!" By means of some magnetic current they understood each other's every thought, and remained long united in a close embrace, speaking in a mute, spasmodic effort of their whole being, complaining one of the other, reproaching, passionately striving to draw together again, revelling in the sharp and bitter delight of being, for the moment, united by sheer force of will and of love, in spite of the secret disunion of their ideas, of their natures; and all this without a word, without a sound.
Franco once more started to go to church. He would not invite Luisa to accompany him, hoping she would do so of her own free will, but she did not, fearing he might not wish it.
On the morning of the seventh of January, shortly after ten o'clock, Uncle Piero sent for Franco.