He was working himself into a frenzy, and Diana was afraid he might go mad then and there. She tried to draw his mind to another part of the story. She was a woman of infinite tact and resource.
"Yes," said she, "I am sure you could. But how long was it before you telegraphed to me?"
"How long? I do not know," he said; and he seemed trying to recollect himself.
"Was it in the afternoon?" asked Diana, glad to fix his attention on a detail.
"Let me see—yes. I meant to send it from Castellamare—the dispatch, I mean; and instead I stopped the carriage at a little town on the way—I forget the name, but there was a telegraph office there—and so I sent it sooner."
"Yes," said Diana. "I got it at about seven o'clock. My husband was very quick and got a carriage, and brought me as far as Genoa."
"How good of him!" exclaimed Marcantonio. "How is he? And the children, dear little things; are they all well?"
His face changed again, and a pleasant smile showed that he had forgotten his troubles for a moment. Diana was surprised at the ease with which she could distract his attention, and she determined to make use of her power to the utmost. It would be something gained if she could keep him quiet during the journey. She began immediately to speak of her children, a boy and girl of four and three years old. She told him about their games, their appearance, their nursery maids, and their French governess. She branched off into a dissertation on the beauties of the Riviera, and still he listened and made intelligent answers, and talked as though nothing had happened to him and they were travelling for their amusement. Seeing that she was accomplishing her object, she went on from one subject to another, telling him all manner of details about her life in France, in Austria, and other places where her husband's official duties had called him, during the five years since her marriage. Only about Rome she would not speak, fearing lest the smallest reference to the scenes he had recently passed through might take his mind back to his great grief.
And all the while she marvelled at his calmness, and at the ease with which she could amuse him. For he was really amused, there could be no doubt. He laughed, talked in his natural way, and seemed enjoying himself very well, smoking a cigarette now and then, and commenting on the weather, which was abominably hot.
"Of course," said he, "we shall find it much cooler in Pegli."