“I don’t know.”
“Take away Gianni Provana too,” she suggested.
“But why?” he asked, with a little irony; “I don’t want you to remain alone.”
“Take him away; take him away,” she murmured, troubled and nervously.
“Are you afraid of him?” the husband asked mockingly.
“No,” she replied proudly, “I am not afraid of any one.”
She turned her back on him, greeting and kissing her friend, giving her hand to the men to kiss, and to her husband as well. Did not his lips seem to linger a little longer on her hand?
Gianni Provana remained as usual, the quiet and tenacious man, who allows nothing to disturb the plan he has formed for his existence. Without glancing at him, Maria threw herself into her favourite arm-chair, took a book with uncut leaves from a table, looked for a paper-knife, and, having found it, with the peculiar noise of cut paper, occupied her beautiful hands.
“I don’t bore you, Donna Maria?”
“No,” she replied, without raising her head.