"Of course not," I replied, annoyed at her frivolity. "They are too sensible."
"Let us make some excuse, and go over to them," she pleaded. "I am tired of sitting still."
There was nothing for it but to obey her whim. I took her across the grassy space which divided us from the two under the tree, and she began to chatter about the fireworks. What did Signor Boy think of them? Was not Aix a charming place?
But abruptly, in the midst of her babble, Paolo di Nivoli swept her away from the Boy and me, in his best "whirlwind" manner, which doubtless thrilled her with mingled terror and delight.
"Nice night, isn't it?" I remarked brilliantly.
"Yes," said the Boy.
"Did the Contessa give you a good dinner?"
"No—yes—that is, I didn't notice."
"Perhaps that was natural."
The Boy did not answer, but I heard him swallow hard. He was on his feet now, having risen at Gaetà's coming, and he stood kicking the grass with the point of his small patent-leather toe. Then, suddenly, he looked up straight into my face, with big dilated eyes.