'We are going. It is impossible to stay any longer in this perfume. Good-bye, Ugenta—console yourself!'
Andrea went to the auctioneer's table. The man recognised him.
'Does the Signor Conte wish for anything in particular?'
'I will see,' Andrea answered.
The sale proceeded rapidly. He looked about him at the low faces of the dealers, felt their elbows pushing him, their feet touching his, their horrid breath upon him. Nausea gripped his throat.
'Going—going—gone!'
The stroke of the hammer rang like a knell through his heart and set his temples throbbing painfully.
He bought the Buddha, a great carved cabinet, some china, some pieces of drapery. Presently he heard the sound of voices, and laughter, and the rustle of feminine skirts. He turned round to see Galeazzo Secinaro entering, accompanied by Lady Heathfield and followed by the Countess Lucoli, Gino Bomminaco and Giovanella Daddi. They were all laughing and talking noisily.
He did his best to conceal himself from them in the crowd that besieged the auctioneer's table. He shuddered at the thought of being discovered. Their voices and laughter reached him over the heads of the perspiring people through the suffocating heat. Fortunately the gay party very soon afterwards took themselves off.
He forced himself a passage through the closely packed bodies, repressing his disgust as well as he could, and making the most tremendous efforts to ward off the faintness that threatened to overcome him. There was a bitter and sickening taste in his mouth. He felt that from the contact of all these unclean people he was carrying away with him the germs of obscure and irremediable diseases. Physical torture mingled with his moral anguish.