They drew nearer. The girl got up, thinking them customers. She was half-a-foot taller than Gabrie. The couple went on dancing, black and light against the orange brilliance of the window, and Regina and Antonio passed on. They were speaking of Gabrie. From that instant Regina felt a vague perturbation; but she had no idea of beginning a hateful discussion. She said, almost involuntarily—
"One of these days I mean to bring that poor girl with us. I hardly ever see her, but I do so pity her. She coughs incessantly."
"She is a poor thing; consumptive, I fancy," said Antonio. "You shouldn't let her kiss Caterina. But why is it you don't see her?"
"Because she's ill-natured. She does nothing but observe people and take away their characters."
By force of old habit, Antonio held Regina's hand in his as they walked. Before them spread the Viale. Visions of depths of the Campagna, vivid in its pure spring green, appeared in the distance to right and left through the motionless plane-trees, against a pearl-grey sky shot with colours from the sinking sun. The gardens were overrun with roses and lilies, whose fragrance mingled with the scent of herbs and of strawberries. Now and then a carriage went by and vanished into the distance of the deserted Viale.
"Who was it told me the same thing of Gabrie?" asked Antonio.
"Marianna, perhaps?" suggested Regina, sharply.
"I believe it was."
"She's just the same herself. One's no better than the other; that's what makes them friends."
"Oh, there's no one like Marianna," said Antonio, and looked away into the distance.