CHAPTER XLI
In the train, in the scorching morning heat, they were silent; and they found Rome as it were bursting out of its houses in the blazing sunshine. The studio, however, was cool, solitary and peaceful.
“Cornélie,” said Duco, “tell me what happened between you and the prince. Why did you strike him?”
She pulled him down on the sofa, threw herself on his neck and told him the incident of the camera degli sposi. She told him of the thousand lire and the bracelet. She explained that she had said nothing about it before, so as not to speak to him of financial worries while he was finishing his water-colour for the exhibition in London:
“Duco,” she continued, “I was so frightened when I saw Gilio draw that knife yesterday. I felt as if I was going to faint, but I didn’t. I had never seen him like that, so violent, so ready to do anything.... It was then that I really felt how much I loved you. I should have murdered him if he had wounded you.”
“You ought not to have played with him,” he said, severely. “He loves you.”
But, in spite of his stern voice, he drew her closer to him.
Filled with a certain consciousness of guilt, she laid her head coaxingly on his chest:
“He is only a little in love,” she said, defending herself feebly.
“He is very passionately in love. You ought not to have played with him.”