“He took my hand,” the young man continued, his voice broken with emotion, “and while he held it and caressed it, he said these precise words: ‘I will not leave Rome. Do you wish me to come and die in your house?’ I was so deeply moved that I had not the strength to answer, for indeed I am not sure that he is not really in danger of arrest; perhaps this incredible act of the Senator’s may be a pretext to prevent the arrest taking place in his house. And how could he be carried to another place of safety, with the police watching for him? I embraced him, murmured a few meaningless words, and hastened away; hastened here to speak to this Signora Dessalle. Perhaps she will come and persuade the Senator.”
The Selvas had often interrupted di Leyni with exclamations of surprise and indignation. When he had finished his recital, they were speechless and amazed. The first to break the silence was Signora Maria.
“If Jeanne would only come!” she said softly.
She made an imperceptible sign to her husband, and proposed that they both go and see if by any chance she had returned and they had not been informed. While they were crossing the Jardin d’Hiver she said she thought di Leyni should be told who Jeanne really was. Signora Dessalle had not yet returned. Giovanni took the young man aside, and spoke to him in a low tone. Maria, who was watching him, saw him tremble and turn pale, his eyes dilate; saw him, in his turn, speak, asking something. Jeanne Dessalle entered hurriedly, smiling.
The porter had given her a note from a doctor. It said:
“I do not expect to be able to come back. This morning he was without fever. Let us hope the attack may not return.”
Jeanne saw at once that there was no question of removing the patient. She embraced Maria and shook hands with Selva, who presented di Leyni. Then she apologised to them all because she was obliged to leave them for five minutes. Her brother was waiting for her. As soon as she had left the room, promising to return at once, di Leynì drew Selva aside once more. Maria saw the look of anxiety he had worn before reappear on his face, saw that he was asking many questions, and that her husband’s answers seemed to be calming him. At last she saw her husband place his hands on the young man’s shoulders, and say something to him, she believed she knew what; it was something secret, not yet known to Jeanne. She saw emotion and profound reverence in the young man’s eyes.
A waiter came to say that Signora Dessalle was waiting for them in her apartment. There was much movement in the hotel. The rustling of long skirts, the muffled beat of footsteps mingled on the carpets of the corridors; subdued foreign voices, gay, plaintive, flattering or indifferent, came and went; the lifts were being taken by storm. Each member of the little silent group experienced the same bitter sense of all this indifferent worldliness. Jeanne was in her salon next to Carlino’s room, where he was accompanying Chieco’s violoncello on the piano. She came forward to meet her friends with a smile that, combined with the music—antique Italian music, simple and peaceful—made their hearts ache. She seemed rather surprised to see di Leynì, from whom she had not expected a visit. She had really asked them to come up stairs that they might speak more freely, but she told them she had wished to offer them a little of Chieco’s music, and now he would not allow the door to remain open. However, one could hear very well with the door closed. Giovanni at once informed her that the Cavaliere di Leynì had a message for her from, the Senator.
“While you are speaking together we will listen to the music,” he said.
He and his wife stepped aside from Jeanne, who had turned pale, and who, in spite of her violent effort to do so, could not entirely conceal her impatience to hear this message. Di Leynì sat down beside her, and began to speak in a low tone.