"My dearest signora, you do not allow for the times. I remember"— Agostino peered upward through his eyelashes in a way that he had— "I remember seeing in a meadow a gossamer running away with a spider- thread. It was against all calculation. But, observe: there were exterior agencies at work: a stout wind blew. The ordinary reckoning is based on calms. Without the operation of disturbing elements, the spider-thread would have gently detained the gossamer."
"Is that meant for my son?" Countess Ammiani asked slowly, with incredulous emphasis.
Agostino and Laura, laughing in their hearts at the mother's mysterious veneration for Carlo, had to explain that 'gossamer' was a poetic, generic term, to embrace the lighter qualities of masculine youth.
A woman's figure passed swiftly by the window, which led Laura to suppose that the couple outside had parted. She ran forth, calling to one of them, but they came hand in hand, declaring that they had seen neither woman nor man. "And I am happy," Vittoria whispered. She looked happy, pale though she was.
"It is only my dreadful longing for rest which makes me pale," she said to Laura, when they were alone. "Carlo has proved to me that he is wiser than I am."
"A proof that you love Carlo, perhaps," Laura rejoined.
"Dearest, he speaks more gently of the king."
"It may be cunning, or it may be carelessness."
"Will nothing satisfy you, wilful sceptic? He is quite alive to the
Countess d'Isorella's character. He told me how she dazzled him once."
"Not how she has entangled him now?"