“And he sent you to the station?”
“He sent me to the station.”
“It was useless.”
“Ought you to have found no one?”
“I ought to have found Emilio,” she said in a low voice, as if to herself. There was a heavy moment of silence.
“Such a meeting, Donna Maria, in public after what has happened! You understand?” he murmured.
“I understand; be silent,” she rejoined, with a decisive gesture.
For some time the carriage proceeded on its way without either speaking. Perhaps, in spite of his tenacity, hidden under an appearance of graciousness and indifference, the man repented of having been involved in that histoire intime, and perhaps the perverse conception he had of life counselled him to be quiet, to be patient, and to wait. It was Maria who resumed the conversation, as the carriage was drawing near its destination.
“Is Emilio in Rome?”
“Yes.”