"No; it is not yet midnight."
"Is mother in bed?"
"No, not yet."
After a pause:
"And you—are you not going to bed? You must be tired."
I knew not what to answer. Should I reply that I would remain? Ask her permission to stay? Repeat to her the tender words that I had spoken in the armchair, in our room, at the Lilacs? But, if I remained, how would I pass the night? There, on the chair, watching her, or else in the bed, near her? What attitude should I take? Should I be able to dissimulate to the end?
She went on:
"You had better go, Tullio—to-night.... I need nothing. All I want is rest. If you remain, it would not do me any good. You had better go, Tullio, to-night."
"But you might want something."
"No. And, besides, Cristina stays with me."