"And do you remember afterwards?" Franco murmured, without turning his head. Luisa was also leaning against the parapet. She was silent for a moment, and then answered in an undertone:
"Yes, dear."
And in her "dear," there was a slight and hidden beginning of warmth, of affectionate emotion. Franco felt it, and thrilled with joy, but controlled himself.
"I am thinking," he went on, "of the letter I wrote you as soon as I got home, and of the three words you said to me next day, at Muzzaglio, when the others were dancing under the chestnut-trees, and you passed close to me on your way to get your shawl, which you had left on the grass. Do you remember?"
"Yes."
He took her hand and raised it to his lips.
"And do you also remember that I slipped before we reached the bridge, and that you said: 'My dear sir, it is your place to support me!'"
Luisa did not answer, but pressed his hands.
"I have been good for nothing," he added sadly. "I have not known how to support you."
"You have done all you could."