She stitched for five or six minutes. The silence of the room, the quiet, rather melancholy afternoon light, that same distant rumbling of the great shell, which reached her through the warm air, gave her something of the vague and soothing sweetness of dream. The trouble seemed laid.
More minutes passed.
But suddenly the door-bell sounded, and she sprang to her feet, shaken by the electric vibration which infected her nerves.
"Not at home!" she said, running to the maid, who was on her way to open.
Regina returned to her room and shut the door. She didn't even want to know who was seeking her. At that moment, on that day, she hated and despised the whole human kind.
But when the maid told her through the door that the visitor was Signorina Gabrie, Regina rushed to the window and called to the girl, who was just issuing from the house. Gabrie came back. Regina at once repented that she had recalled her. She saw she had been moved to do so by an impulse of despairing curiosity. The student, finding her note-books in disorder, probably suspected Regina had read them; now she had perhaps come in alarm to make excuses for the horrors she had written. A few questions would be enough——
But Regina quickly recovered her proud dignity. No, never! Neither of Gabrie nor of any one would she ask that which it concerned her to know.
Gabrie came in, colourless in her loose black jacket. She was not well; she coughed. Her eyes, however, had kept their cruel brilliance, sharp and shining like needles.
Regina felt afraid of this terrible girl. The future authoress seemed already mistress of a power of divination superior to every other human faculty. She would read her friend's thoughts through her forehead! But the fear only lasted a moment. Gabrie was nothing! Just a little tattler—despicable!