"I needn't scold if you have upbraided yourself and repented."
"Repented? No; the serious thing is, I haven't repented! Look here. The day you ran away last year I got dragged by a friend of mine into a gambling-house——"
"Ah——!" cried Regina.
"Don't be frightened. It was the one only time. I was irritated, naturally; infuriated—almost desperate. But, you know (I never spoke of it, but I want to tell you now once and for all) I was far angrier with myself than with you. You were perfectly right. I had been imprudent, improvident. I hadn't properly forewarned you of all the little annoyances of middle-class life in a big town. We needn't go over it. It's enough that I was furious with myself for not having the sense to find some way out of my subordinate position. Well, I went with the fellow, and I played. You remember I had 100 lire? I put them all on the green table. I saw I was still a great baby, fancying I understood others and myself, while, on the contrary—why, I saw two or three of my colleagues there, and I even observed one of them cheating! Another had that day gone down from our Department into that of the Intendance, and the man who superseded him had paid him 2000 lire. He (my colleague) had three children and another coming. His wife hadn't been out for two months because she hadn't a decent frock. He had made the exchange because he wanted to get away from Rome, pay his debts, provide for his wife's confinement. That night he had his 2000 lire in his pocket, and, would you believe it, he lost them all! As for me, I began by winning. I got up to 1800 lire; then I lost till I was down to 50. I won and lost again. That's how it always is. Towards morning I had made about 2000 lire. I was worn out, sleepy, nauseated. I thought of you. I thought: 'If Regina only knew!' All at once a quarrel burst out between one of the players and my colleague, who had been cheating. They came to blows. The manager of the house intervened. There was pandemonium! I got up and came away with my fine 2000 lire."
Regina listened, seated by the window, against which Antonio was leaning. It was almost night. From the beautiful hushed street, where the lamps shone pale in the last rosiness of the long twilight, from the gardens of the opposite houses, from near, from far, came that warm and grateful perfume of the spring evenings in Rome. The new moon, pale green like a slice of unripe orange, was going down in a violet-pink sky, above the already darkened houses in the far part of the street. Regina remembered the night when she had leaned against the window of their first Apartment and complained that she could not see the stars. What changes within and around her! That night she had formulated to herself the plan of flight and separation. Now—now all that seemed a dream. Why does life change one in this way? And neither was Antonio what he had been that evening. He confessed it himself. He said, "I was a great baby and did not know it."
Now—now he was telling her a story, and Regina was listening, but with an inexplicable conviction that it was not true. Why should he say what was not true? She did not know, did not try to explain her incredulity. She just felt that the story Antonio was telling her was an invention. She was vaguely distressed. She would much rather have thought Antonio had really been gambling, had lost or won—it mattered little which—so long as he were not telling her lies.
He went on—
"Now hear the best of it. When I found myself with the 2000 lire I formed at least two thousand projects. I thought of going to you. I thought of gambling again. What I did was to hand the money over to Arduina and tell her to get me a post as secretary. Then came the days in which I was going to the Exchange about the Princess's matter, and presently I purchased five shares in the Carburo Italiano Company. They were at 300 lire just then. Do you know what they are worth now? Do you know, Regina?"
In spite of herself, Regina was excited. Antonio was bending over her, and though his voice was calm, almost indifferent, she felt in him some unaccustomed agitation.
She forgot the doubts which had assailed her. No; Antonio was no longer lying. The expression of his eyes, brilliant in the light of the window, was truly a sincere expression, on fire with audacity. His eyes, once so soft, so amorous, were now those of a man intent on making a fortune at all costs.