“Dreadfully,” replied Chiara, with a sigh.
Maria’s hands, which were fixing her hat, fell back as if tired.
“Then why have I dressed?” she asked, as if to herself, with an accent of weariness and annoyance.
“Perhaps it will stop raining in a little while,” said the faithful creature timidly.
“You’ll see, it will rain the whole day!” exclaimed Maria, discouraged.
She threw herself into a chair as if a sudden fatigue had mastered her. Her face had the almost infantile sadness of disillusion, and with the sadness flowed the sense of a tedium ever greater, while the pattering rain beat upon the pavement, the marble balcony, and the windows. Chiara retired discreetly at a call from another part, and in a few minutes reappeared.
“The Principessa della Marsiliana is at the telephone, and is asking for Your Excellency.”
With a great effort Maria arose and crossed the room to her husband’s study. The study was deserted and gloomy with its almost black carved furniture and the dark maroon, green, and red leather of its chairs and sofas. The telephone was there in a corner.
“Well, Carolina, well?”
“No one is going to the races; they have been postponed. What a pity!” exclaimed the gentle, and always a little nervous, voice of the Principessa della Marsiliana.