"Upon my word, if you fail as a novelist it won't be for want of observation, my dear!"
They were standing all together at a short distance from their hostess. The latter suddenly turned and came towards them. In her small be-gemmed hands she held a plate and a silver fork. She was eating slowly, munching at a slice of tart, and she had smeared her mouth with chocolate. Never had she looked more hideous.
"Is your friend from Viadana?" she asked Antonio, pointing to Gabrie with her fork.
"From the country—from my home!" cried Regina, looking affectionately at the girl.
It seemed to her that Gabrie's little face wore a look of ineffable disgust.
The days and the months rolled on.
A morning came when Regina woke to see a thread of gold coming through the closed shutters and falling on the blue wall across the corner of her room. It was the sun beating on the window. Spring had come, and Regina felt a profound gladness. Time had run on, and she had not noticed it, so happy she thought herself. Sometimes she felt quite afraid of her happiness, and even this morning, after her quick joy at sight of the sunshine, she looked at the sleeping Antonio and thought—
"Suppose he were to die! Any one of us, I, or he, or baby, might die at any moment! This great light which shines in my soul might be put out in one instant."