Coffee had evidently just been served. But what astonished Lily was the silence—not one of the three was speaking to the other. The Count and Countess, their heads bent forward, seemed to be listening intently—they had probably heard the sound of the drawing-room window, and of the door into the passage, opening and shutting.
Suddenly, as if moved by a common impulse, and still absolutely silent, as was also their strange guest, they both turned and gazed straight at the open door.
It was certain that they could see nothing, for Lily, standing in the passage, was shrouded in deep shadow. Yet on each of the faces now turned towards the hidden watcher was an awful expression of suspense and acute fear—more marked in the Countess’s strong-featured countenance than in that of the Count.
“There is no one there; it must have been Cristina.”
Uttering these words in a low tone, the Countess got up and shut the door, and, as she did so, the sleeve of Lily’s cloak was plucked by Cristina’s thin fingers, and she was gently and silently pushed towards the steep staircase.
Lily crept upstairs, opened her bedroom door, and lit a candle. She felt excited and ill at ease. She wished that horrible old man would go away. What could he have said or done to make his host and hostess look like that? Had he some hold over Beppo Polda? Lily’s heart was beating with a strange sense of vague disquiet and—yes—fear.
After she had got into bed she began to read one of her English magazines. Somehow she felt she could not go to sleep till the visitor had gone.
She had been reading for about a quarter of an hour when there came over her that peculiar sensation of being companioned which seems to have no reference to sight or sound. She looked up. The Countess was standing just inside the door, with a glass in her hand.
“Cristina has told me of this unfortunate thing that happened to-night. I’m so sorry,” she said in a low tone, “that you have missed the gala performance! I feel sad, too, to think of my beloved Beppo’s disappointment. I’ve brought you up a glass of Sirop and water. I remember that you liked it the other day.”
“Thank you so much, Aunt Cosy.”