"What is the Ideal?" she thought further, still watching the slow passing of the cloud; and she copied the old Senator's smile, remembering how he also imagined he had such lofty ideals!
CHAPTER IV
On Christmas Eve Regina went early to bed, complaining of an indisposition which made Signora Anna thoughtful, but was not suggestive to Antonio. He knew, or thought he knew, the subtle malady which was consuming his wife. He knew its name: Nostalgia; and he left to time the responsibility of its cure.
Regina was no sooner in bed than she began to remember and to meditate. Christmas in Rome! She saw over again the carts of live fowls being drawn through the streets; the ladies passing quickly along with parcels in their hands; the fat pork-butchers looking out from their nauseating shops with the importance of Roman emperors; his Excellency an Under-Secretary of State standing in front of Dagnino's window with a visage of terrible perplexity.
She reflected upon the quarrel which had broken out among Signora Anna, Gaspare and the maid about wax candles. Marina had gone up and down the stair at least twenty times, each time coming back with parcels, but each time forgetting something. During the whole of lunch and the whole of dinner the brothers, their mother and the girl had discussed the supplies of food.
Well! it had all produced in Regina a sort of spiritual indigestion. Alone in the great bed, shivering, crumpled up, she was conscious of an unspeakable depression. She felt like a little snail which hears the rain pattering on its shell. And she thought continually of the distant hearth, the grey night illumined by the snow. Behind the voices and the laughter which vibrated from the dining-room, behind the painful screech of the trams, behind the buzz of the merry-making city, she heard the whistling of trains in the station. Some of the whistles laughed, some wept; one, faint and tender, seemed the voice of a questioning child; one was like a zigzag on a black sky; one mocked at Regina. "Are you ready to go? Not you! not you! It's your own fault. Here you've come, and here you stay! Good-bye! Good-bye!"
She worked herself into a passion. She was angry even with his Excellency, who had looked in at Dagnino's window, fixing his gold eye-glasses. She asked, exasperated, who were all those strange people laughing and joking in the dining-room?
Antonio soon joined her. She pretended to sleep. He was solicitous and touched her gently. Feeling her very cold, he drew nearer to warm her. She was moved, but did not open her eyes.
The hours passed. The city became silent. It slept, like a greedy child to whom dainties are promised. Regina could not sleep, but she was not insensible to the kindness and the warmth. The little snail had looked out from the window of its shell and seen the sun shining on the grass. Melodious sound of bells trembled and oscillated on the quiet night. One seemed to come from beyond a river, grave, sonorous, nostalgic. To her surprise Regina found herself repeating certain lines of Prati's, which she was not conscious of having known before. Whence did they arise? Perhaps from the depths of her subconsciousness, evoked by the nostalgic song of the bells on that first Christmas of exile.