"As soon as we're alone, I'll take him by the shoulders, shake him and cry, 'What on earth's the matter with you? Haven't you forgiven me? Don't let us have any more nonsense, please! There has been more than enough!'"
They were silent again. The chaise rolled on through the dark warm night, through the pungent perfume of the motionless vegetation. The young trees along the river were black in the darkness, blacker even than the darkness. Everything was silent, everything exhaled sweet odours. From the hot ground, from the damp wayside weeds, from the paths bathed in dew, rose an intoxicating scent, a silent breath, dreamy and voluptuous. Beside every bush seemed to stand a woman waiting for her lover, her desire and her joy filling the emptiness of the hot, rich night.
"To-morrow we'll go out by moonlight," said Regina, who could not keep quite silent. "The night I arrived there was a beautiful moon, wasn't there, Petrin?"
The driver made no reply.
"He's asleep. We shall be upset," said Antonio.
"Oh, no! The old horse is quite used to it," returned Regina, and sure now that Petrin was not listening, she added, softly, "How wretched I was that evening!"
"Were you?" said Antonio, as if remembering nothing of what had passed.
Regina turned round, astonished and trembling. She had no strength left.
"Antonio," she whispered, her arm round his neck, "Why are you like this? What is it? What's the matter?"
"Do you ask?" he murmured, not looking at her. His voice was hardly a breath, but a breath in which Regina felt the raging of a storm of resentment. Again she was afraid.