"Listen to me," he said, indignant again, but with an indignation different from the first—deeper, more scornful—"listen to me! Are you not ashamed of yourself?"
"Walk on," she said moving, but not trying to take his arm this time; "don't let us make a scene in the middle of the street."
And she walked on, blind, all involved again in the fearful shadow from which she had thought herself freed. The momentary hope was over. Why? She did not know. Can one know why the sky becomes suddenly covered with cloud?
Antonio's attitude was that of a man who is offended. He followed her scarcely a step behind, and repeated, mechanically—
"You ought to be ashamed——"
She was no longer able to abandon herself to her ardent desire of believing him innocent. She could not!—could not!
"Every one believes it?" repeated Antonio, walking by her side, but not touching her. "And you tell me in this way, in the street, suddenly, as if it were a joke! And you, you believe it yourself! And you speak of it like this!"
"How would you have me speak of it?"
"At least you should have spoken sooner."
"Perhaps I heard it to-day, a little while ago, for the first time."