“Emilio!” she exclaimed, in complete amazement.
“Go away, go away. You cause me horror!” he yelled in her face like a madman.
She drew back, stupefied and terrified.
“You have pardoned me!” she exclaimed.
“It is true, it is true,” he yelled, “but I can’t forget. Go away, go away; I can’t forget.”
So she went, bent, defeated, and broken by the incomparable weight of the truth.
XIII
In one of the large reception-rooms of Casa Nerola, near a bank formed of an enormous group of Hortense roses, two young girls stand talking and smiling discreetly, slowly moving their little white fans. The one, Theresa Santacroce, is dressed in light blue, with a silver belt, her hair arranged high with a circlet of silver ivy leaves. The other, Stefania Farnese, is dressed in ivory silk, and two large red roses in her chestnut hair give her a Spanish appearance, although her beauty is delicate.
“We thought we were going to be late with mamma.”
“Oh, we dined at seven on purpose.”