"Bah!" she cried, with a bitter little laugh. "Words are silver, but silence—is very often nothing but silver-plated brass. Put a little more wood on the fire; you make me cold." Nino obeyed.
"How literal you are!" said the baroness petulantly. "There is fire enough on the hearth."
"Apparently, signora, you are pleased to be enigmatical," said Nino.
"I will be pleased to be anything I please," she answered, and looked at him rather fiercely. "I wanted you to drive away my headache, and you only make it worse."
"I am sorry, signora. I will leave you at once. Permit me to wish you a very good-morning." He took his hat and went towards the door. Before he reached the heavy curtain, she was at his side with a rush like a falcon on the wing, her eyes burning darkly between anger and love.
"Nino!" She laid hold of his arm, and looked into his face.
"Signora," he protested coldly, and drew back.
"You will not leave me so?"
"As you wish, signora. I desire to oblige you."
"Oh, how cold you are!" she cried, leaving his arm, and sinking into a chair by the door, while he stood with his hand on the curtain. She hid her eyes. "Nino, Nino! You will break my heart!" she sobbed; and a tear, perhaps more of anger than of sorrow, burst through her fingers, and coursed down her cheek.