"Demon!" he muttered, still more softly.
She kissed him quickly. Then she gave him her hand:
"And now that's over. The incident is closed."
"Angel! She-devil!" he hissed after her.
She looked over the balustrade at the lake. Evening had fallen and the lake lay shimmering in mist. She regarded him as a young boy, who sometimes amused her and had now been naughty. She was no longer thinking of him; she was thinking of Duco:
"How lovely he will think it here!" she thought. "Oh, how I long for him!..."
There was a rustle of women's skirts behind her. It was Urania and the Marchesa Belloni.
[1] The nineteenth century.