"Yes, once," Nera rejoined. "Once—long ago." She gave an airy laugh that grated on Nobili's ears. "But we meet so seldom."
"True, true," he answered hurriedly, "too seldom." His manner was most constrained. It was plain his mind was running upon some unspoken thought.
"Yes," Nera said. "Spite of your absence, however you make yourself remembered. You give us so much to talk of! Such a succession of surprises!"
One by one Nera's phrases dropped out, suggesting so much behind.
Nobili, greatly excited, felt he must speak or flee.
"I must confess," she added, giving a stealthy glance out of the corners of her eyes, "you have surprised me. When do you bring your wife home, Count Nobili?" As Nera asked this question she bent over Nobili, so that her breath just swept his heated cheek.
"Never, perhaps!" cried Nobili, wildly. He could contain himself no longer. His heart beat almost to bursting. A desperate seduction was stealing over him. "Never, perhaps!" he repeated.
Nera gave a little start; then she drew back and leaned against the sofa, gazing at him.
"I am come to you, Nera"—Nobili spoke in a hoarse voice—his features worked with agitation—"I am come to tell you all; to ask you what I shall do. I am distracted, heart-broken, degraded! Nera, dear Nera, will you help me? In mercy say you will!"
He had grasped her hand—he was covering it with hot kisses. He was so heated with wine and beauty, and a sense of wrong, he had lost all self-command.