“But how, how? That is my question. You do not ask for it?” he added suddenly, his anger rising.
“And if I did, what is that to you?” she retorted, swinging away. “But I do not. They raise my wages.”
“Again?” said Cesare, still suspicious. “Per Bacco, and for what?”
“For what? For nothing. I tell you they fling their money, they have so much. To me, or to others, what does it matter? And so long as you want it and do not waste it on—the Cianchetti, for instance—”
Her breath came shortly; but Cesare, who had grown used to these hints, for which indeed Nina only was responsible, took no notice, and as her moods changed quickly and she was impressionable the soft stillness of the night calmed her.
“Cesare mio, what are you going to do? Do not be rash. There is danger with these cold-blooded English,” she went on, speaking very tenderly.
“I am not afraid. There is no danger here. And if there were, I do not know that I care. Now or then, what does it matter? But I am not afraid. I have friends.”
She swayed towards him whispering a word in his ear, and the next moment his hand was on her lips, and roughly.
“Mother of Heaven,” he exclaimed, “be quiet! I will not have you speak of that, do you hear? I will not!”
She pushed away his hand and laughed.