At the end of the week a telegram came from Madame, asking Antonio to go to Albano.
"She can't live without him," thought Regina, assailed by a spasm of real jealousy. "I feel scruples at having merely gone into her house in her absence, but she has no scruples, none! I won't allow him to go!"
She was unreasonable, and she knew it; but the delirium, the quiet madness of doubt, had become habitual with her.
As usual, however, she was unsuccessful in carrying out her proud intention. When Antonio suggested she should accompany him to Albano, she said "Yes."
She said "Yes" up to the last moment, but on Sunday morning changed her mind.
"Don't you go either," she said. "If Madame wants you, why can't she come to Rome? Are you her slave?"
"Regina!" he said, reprovingly.
"I am not Regina, not a queen—not even a princess! I'm sick to death of this life we are leading! All through the week we see each other only for a minute at a time, and now you are going away even on Sunday!"
"Just for once. Why won't you come too?"