The husband had just gone into another room to open a cabinet.
'Remember—remember!' murmured Andrea, turning towards her.
'I do remember.'
'Then when may I see you?'
'Ah, when?'
'But you promised me——'
Lord Heathfield returned. They passed on into an adjoining room, making the tour of the apartments. Everywhere they met workmen hanging papers, draping curtains, carrying furniture. Each time Elena asked his opinion, Andrea had to make an effort before answering her, in order to disguise his ill-humour and his impatience. At last, he managed to seize a moment when her husband was occupied with one of the men to say to her in a low voice, unable any longer to conceal his chagrin—
'Why inflict this torture upon me? I expected to find you alone.'
Passing through one of the doors, Elena's hat caught in the portière and was dragged out of place. She laughed and called to Mumps to come and unfasten her veil. And Andrea was forced to look on while those odious hands touched the hair of the woman he desired, ruffling the little curls at the back of her neck, those curls which under his caresses had seemed to breathe out a mysterious perfume, unlike any other, and sweeter and more intoxicating than all the rest.
He hurriedly took his leave under pretext of being due at lunch with some one else.