“There, there, mamma, sweet as honey, you mustn’t think me cruel!”
The mother, a little thoughtful, was silent, but not convinced. This evening the absence of her son had worried her more than ever. She entered slowly the immense, solemn, gloomy dining-room of Casa Fiore just as Vittoria entered from the other side. The young woman read the pain on the good-natured old face.
“Isn’t Marco coming to dinner, mamma?” she asked indifferently, sitting down.
“No, dear. He has been kept at the club by friends.”
“Ah! and is he returning late?” and there was even greater indifference in this second remark.
“Perhaps yes, perhaps no,” added Donna Arduina, looking closely at her daughter-in-law.
Vittoria appeared not to have heeded her mother-in-law’s reply. The dinner proceeded in silence, slowly and peacefully, served by servants who made no noise in crossing the imposing space, where a single candelabra concentrated its light on the table, leaving the rest of the room obscure.
Donna Arduina Fiore had always had a holy terror of installing the electric light in the old palace full of carving, precious pictures, and objects of art. So the old aristocratic methods of illumination prevailed, large oil lamps and huge candelabra with wax candles.
“Where are you going this evening, Vittoria?” said Donna Arduina, interrupting the heavy silence.
“Nowhere, mother.”