“No,” she replied.
“When do you count on doing it?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking of counter orders, of a prolonging of the journey, of delay. I don’t know,” she said, confused.
“We will telegraph, then, from Turin; we stop two hours there,” he added somewhat drily.
“Are we going straight on to Rome?” she asked a little timidly.
“Naturally, naturally. We arrive at Rome at ten to-morrow.”
“Ah.”
In spite of her intense power of dissimulation, she did not succeed in hiding an expression of fear.
“It seems to me, Vittoria,” said Marco, who had become very bad-tempered, “that you view with little pleasure our returning to Rome.”
“You are mistaken.”