Doubtless Antonio had thought of her while he was making love to the rich old woman; his disgust, shame, rancour, had been so violent as to project themselves to her, across space, in the very depths of her subconsciousness. Out of that same depth now rose the memory; and the inductions which accompanied it were some sort of comfort to Regina.
But what miserable comfort! Suppose he had sold himself with disgust, shame, rancour? Still he had sold himself. Suppose it had been for love of herself? Still he had sold himself; he had been capable of that! Regina pitied him, because she saw the pitiable side. But she felt that henceforth in her heart there was room for no other kindly sentiment.
All was ruined; and among the grey vestiges trembled only the yellow flowers of pity—too frail to survive among ruins.
But if not a word of it was true? In dark hours the strongest soul becomes the prey of superstition. The dream had been only a dream. In any case, it had knitted itself strangely to reality by the 10,000 lire, the beautiful Apartment, Marianna's laugh.
Marianna! Ah! She at any rate would know! For a space Regina thought of summoning her.
"I will make her speak—by violence if necessary! I will send the nurse and the maid out of the house! I'm stronger than Marianna!"
She closed her fist and looked at it to assure herself of her strength.
"If she won't speak, I'll crush her. I'll cry: 'Oh, you who always speak the truth, speak it now!'"
Already she heard her voice, echoing through the warm silence of her drawing-room.