“Perhaps you are right,” he said, his self-love overcoming doubt.
“Right? Let us reflect. She realises what a narrow escape she had from that sickness. Still, a woman does not surrender too easily. Our Hera is no fool. How can she, in the light of reason—in any light—prefer Mario Forza to Antonio Tarsis? The idea is absurd.”
At dinner Hera, queenly in a gown that effected the complement of her own beautiful coloring, was gracious, kindly, captivating. Like an actress who had played a rôle many times, she was settling into her part. To the land of self-conceit where Tarsis dwelt the voice of this human heart did not penetrate; he heard only its delusive echo. Even the clear admonition she had sounded at Paris failed to weigh now against his self-exaltation and the false notion that Donna Beatrice had planted in his mind. Thus it fell out that when Don Riccardo and his sister had taken themselves away he said to her, while they lingered at the window, looking upon the lights of the Corso:
“It affords me infinite pleasure, my wife, to see you so happy.”
“All the worldly means are at hand,” she responded, in the manner of one conceding a point, “and I should be lacking in a sense of values if I were not content. You can do no more, Antonio.”
“It is all paltry enough,” he declared, in a sudden burst of feeling, “when I reflect that it is done for you. There is nothing that I would not do for your sake.”
With the words he caught up her hand and kissed it fervidly. She did not turn her eyes from the window or withdraw her hand; for a moment he stood holding it, looking into her averted face, like one who had asked a question and was awaiting the answer.
“The dinner was delightful,” she said, at length, moving from him. “There is much to do to-morrow, and I shall retire early. You have your occupations, no doubt. For your many kindnesses I thank you.”
She disengaged her hand and wished him good-night, all with an admirable effect of significance, tempered by well-bred dignity: but the peasant cunning that was in his blood asserted itself. Even while she spoke he bowed again and again, with an insinuating air of comprehension, and instead of returning her good-night he offered an “Au revoir, eh?” to which Hera gave no response.