“Than for what?” she murmured duskily.
“Than for you—to be with me.”
And again she was afraid. Was she to be conquered by this? She cowered close to him, very close to him. They sat perfectly still, listening to the great, heavy, beating sound of the town, the murmur of lovers going by, the footsteps of soldiers.
She shivered against him.
“You are cold?” he said.
“A little.”
“We will go and have some supper.”
He was now always quiet and decided and remote, very beautiful. He seemed to have some strange, cold power over her.
They went to a restaurant, and drank chianti. But his pale, wan look did not go away.
“Don’t leave me to-night,” he said at length, looking at her, pleading. He was so strange and impersonal, she was afraid.