"For the present, a hundred lire a month; but a little later, you see, I'm to become her factotum. I must grind at the German," he repeated, seeming much pre-occupied with this question of the language. He talked on about it, but Regina was no longer listening.
"Let's go back!" she said, turning suddenly. "You must be tired! Toscana! Gigi! Shall we go in? Here they come! Antonio, it's a funny thing, but, do you know, I dreamt something very like this the first night I was here."
She told her dream of the ten thousand lire, Marianna, and the fireman.
"There's no doubt at all that dreams are very queer things!"
He made no reply.
"And why," asked Regina, after a moment of hesitation, "why didn't you write to me?"
"What was I to write to you? You had settled the question for yourself. I wished to settle it in another manner, and a discussion by letter seemed useless. Besides, I had decided to come to you here."
Antonio's explanation was rather lame, but Regina did not insist. He went on to describe his plans for the future.
"Next year I'll go up for the examination and pass at latest in October. Meantime, we can count on 325 lire the month, net and certain. You see, our position is already a little better. I have sub-let the Apartment, and I've seen a capital mezzanino, in Via Balbo, for 80 lire. Three first-rate rooms looking on the street, and one, a large one, on the courtyard; all very light and sunny. We can have two drawing-rooms."
Regina listened, but she felt something which was not joy. Antonio's news was not altogether cheering, and his voice seemed entirely changed. It was the monotonous, distant voice of one not the merry and happy Antonio of old. It moved her to positive pity.