In the tender shadow of the half-darkened room, his eyes filled hers till she could not look away, and his speech grew softer and was broken by little silences. Aliandra was falling under the spell of his voice, of the hour, of her own warm youth, and of his abundant vitality.
The blinds, hooked together against the bars, shook a little, perhaps with the sultry afternoon breeze, and all at once there was less light in the room. Aliandra moved a little, realising that she was falling under the man's influence.
'But Tebaldo!' she exclaimed. 'Tebaldo!' she repeated, still clinging to her long-cherished hope, as though she owed it a sort of allegiance for its own sake.
Francesco laughed softly, and pressed the hand he held.
'Tebaldo is going to marry the American girl with the great fortune,' he said quietly. 'You need not think of Tebaldo any more.'
Again the blind creaked a little on its hinges. But Aliandra started at what Francesco said, and did not hear the window. She sat upright on the sofa.
'What American girl?' she asked. 'I never heard of her. Has this been going on a long time?'
'About two months—' The blind creaked a third time as he spoke.
'There is someone under the window!' cried Aliandra, lowering her voice and looking round.
'It is the wind,' said Francesco, indifferently. 'The south-east wind blows up the street and shakes the blinds.'