And she gave me a quick glance of mischievous amusement from under the languid lids of her dreamy dark eyes. I saw it, but answered, stiffly:
“You are aware, contessa, and I am also aware that I am not a ‘lover’ according to the accepted type, but that I am impatient I readily admit.”
“And why?” she asked.
“Because,” I replied, speaking slowly and emphatically; “I desire you to be mine and mine only, to have you absolutely in my possession, and to feel that no one can come between us, or interfere with my wishes concerning you.”
She laughed gayly. “A la bonne heure! You are a lover without knowing it! Your dignity will not allow you to believe that you are actually in love with me, but in spite of yourself you are—you know you are!”
I stood before her in almost somber silence. At last I said: “If you say so, contessa, then it must be so. I have had no experience in affairs of the heart, as they are called, and I find it difficult to give a name to the feelings which possess me; I am only conscious of a very strong wish to become the absolute master of your destiny.” And involuntarily I clinched my hand as I spoke. She did not observe the action, but she answered the words with a graceful bend of the head and a smile.
“I could not have a better fortune,” she said, “for I am sure my destiny will be all brightness and beauty with you to control and guide it!”
“It will be what you desire,” I half muttered; then with an abrupt change of manner I said: “I will wish you goodnight, contessa. It grows late, and my state of health compels me to retire to rest early.”
She rose from her seat and gave me a compassionate look.
“You are really a great sufferer then?” she inquired tenderly. “I am sorry! But perhaps careful nursing will quite restore you. I shall be so proud if I can help you to secure better health.”