Antonio must have seen that some distress was clouding her spirit, for he began to talk volubly, trying to distract her. He complained of the Princess.
"What a nuisance she is! She made me take this journey all for the sake of that old fur. 'Beg pardon?'" he went on, mimicking her. "'It's not for its money value, but because it's a precious remembrance——' Perhaps Georges Sand gave it to her! She talked of nothing else. Even Marianna couldn't stand it, and proposed to skin the furrier if he didn't send it back at once."
"Did you sleep at the villa?" asked Regina, who was not listening.
"Well, she couldn't well send me anywhere else!"
"Oh, of course not!" said Regina, with evident sarcasm. And, without raising her eyes from her plate, she went on, "Is Madame a Russian?"
"Why, yes—didn't you know it?" answered Antonio, quickly.
He said no more, but his voice had shaken with a scarce perceptible vibration, which Regina did not fail to observe.
Without a look, without a sign, at that moment they understood each other, and each knew it. Regina thought Antonio's face darkened, but she did not dare to look at him. She went on eating, and only after a minute raised her head and laughed. Why at that moment she laughed she never knew.
"I was awake all night," she said; "I felt just like a widow."
"Well, wouldn't you like to be a widow? I know quite well you don't love me any longer," he answered, half fun, whole earnest.