He drew her slender, trembling figure towards him, pressed her hands as if to crush them, and said, in a stifled voice: "I will believe you! Indeed I will believe you!" But Luisa, gazing at him through her tears, was not satisfied. "I will believe you?" she said. "I will believe you?"
"I do believe you, I do believe you!"
Indeed he did believe her; but where there is anger there is always pride as well. He did not wish to surrender entirely, and at once, and his tone was rather condescending than convinced. Both were silent, holding each other's hands, and then with a slow, almost imperceptible movement they began to draw apart. It was Luisa who at last gently drew away completely. She felt this silence must be broken; he could find no glowing words, and cold words she would not speak, so she began to tell him how she had heard of the unfortunate journey to Lodi from Gilardoni himself. Seated at the table opposite her husband, she spoke in a calm voice that was not precisely cold, but rather grieved. While she was relating the Professor's disclosures Franco again took fire, and often interrupted her. "And did you not say that to him?—And did you not say this to him?—Did you tell him he was a fool?—Did you not call him an ass?" At first Luisa ignored these exclamations, but finally she protested. She had already said that Gilardoni's blunder had filled her with indignation, but now it would almost seem as if her husband doubted this. Franco was reduced to unwilling silence.
Her story finished, he once more stormed against that blockhead of a philosopher, and Luisa was moved to take his part. After all he was their friend; he had indeed made a terrible mistake, but with the best of intentions. Where were all Franco's maxims about charity, and forgiving injuries, if he was not willing to forgive one whose only wish had been to benefit him? And here thoughts came to her which she did not utter. She reflected that Franco was ready enough to forgive great things when there was glory and sometimes even folly in forgiving, while he would not now forgive a slight offence when there were the best of reasons for doing so. When she spoke of charity Franco became exasperated; he did not venture to say he felt he did not deserve a similar attack, but returned the blow somewhat roughly. "Ah! Indeed!" he exclaimed, with a reticence that was full of insinuations. "So you defend him! Oh, of course!"
Luisa's shoulders twitched nervously, but she held her peace.
"And why did you not speak!" Franco continued. "Why did you not tell me everything at once?"
"Because when I reproached Gilardoni he entreated me not to tell. Besides, I thought—and I was perfectly correct—that the thing being done, it was useless to cause you such great annoyance. The last day of the year, when you were so angry, I wished to tell you, to relate all Gilardoni had confided to me. Do you remember? But you absolutely refused to listen. I did not insist, especially as Gilardoni had told your grandmother we knew nothing about the matter."
"She did not believe him. Naturally!"
"And what good would it have done if I had spoken? As it is, Pasotti must have seen plainly that you knew nothing."
Franco did not answer. Then Luisa asked him to repeat the conversation to her, and she listened to his recital with breathless attention. She guessed, her intuition sharpened by hatred, that if Franco had accepted the proffered position, a further condition would have been imposed: separation from her uncle, from an official who had been dismissed from service for political reasons. "Certainly," she said, "she would have demanded this also. Canaille!" Her husband started, as if he also had been cut to the quick by that lash. "Steady," said he. "Be careful of your expressions! In the first place, that is only a supposition of yours, and then——"