"But," I thought, "was she really convinced, this time, of my repentance? Has she not always been a little sceptical concerning my good impulses?" And I saw once more that weak and unbelieving smile that, on former occasions, I had already noticed on her lips. "If in the secret recesses of her heart she had not believed, or, again, if her illusion had suddenly faded away, then perhaps my retraction would be less serious, would not greatly wound her or offend her. There would merely have been an episode without consequence, and I should resume my former liberty. The Lilacs would still be a dream to her." But then I saw the other smile, that new, unexpected, credulous smile which had appeared on her lips at the mention of the Lilacs. What could I do? What should I decide? What attitude should I take? Teresa Raffo's letter had the same effect on me as a severe burn.
When I reëntered Juliana's room, I noticed at once that she was waiting for me. She seemed pleased. Her eyes shone brilliantly. Her cheeks had more color.
"Wherever have you been?" she asked, laughing.
"Signora Talice drove me away," I replied.
She laughed again, a limpid and young laugh which transfigured her. I held out to her the books and the box of sweetmeats.
"For me?" she cried joyously, like a greedy child.
And she hastened to open the box with graceful little gestures, which aroused in my mind fragments of distant memories.
"For me?"
She took a bonbon, made a motion as if about to carry it to her mouth, hesitated a little, let it fall back, thrust aside the box, and said:
"Later, later——"