“To me, too.”
“You are always of my opinion. That Alberto is such a wretched creature, he does not deserve a woman like Lucia.”
“True, I will write her ... that she is doing wrong.”
“Yes. Write to her. She won’t listen to you, but you will have warned her in time. Or rather ... wait until to-morrow to write.”
They said no more about it, but all that evening they were absent and preoccupied. They hardly spoke to each other. They went to the play, but did not stay for the last act. Andrea passed a disturbed night; between sleeping and waking, Caterina could hear him turn from side to side, drawing long breaths and tossing his coverings about. She called out sleepily to ask what was the matter with him.
“It’s the coffee! it was too strong,” he muttered.
Next morning, he took her aside out of her maid’s hearing, and made her the following short discourse:
“Listen, Nini. Don’t let us get entangled in other people’s affairs. We are not infallible, we mustn’t assume responsibilities that are too serious for us. Let the Altimare marry whom she will. She may be happy with Alberto. We have no charge of souls. We might give her bad advice. After all, no one can tell how a marriage may turn out. Write that it’s all right.”
She obeyed, for her whole business in life was to believe in the worth and wisdom of her husband.