“Oh! not as she used to be. She was not nearly so attractive before her marriage. Now she is another woman. Happiness....”
“Lucia is an angel,” declared Alberto, gravely. “I am not worthy of her.”
By this time they reached their places in the front row, opposite the platform.
There were two armchairs for the ladies, who took their seats, while the men remained standing; Andrea by the side of Lucia, Alberto by Caterina. Lucia’s train fell at her feet in a fluffy heap of silk and lace, just allowing a glimpse of a tiny foot shod in white, silver-worked leather; she fanned herself, for it was very hot. From time to time Andrea bent down to speak to her, and she raised her eyes as if to answer him in low tones, while a smile raised the corners of her lips and showed her teeth. Alberto, who was at a loss for a seat, was soon bored and wearied; he had a presentiment of a lengthy ceremony. Caterina, who had been elected a member of the jury for needlework, in the Didactic section, was somewhat preoccupied. The office appeared to her to be an onerous and important one; what would they expect of her, and what if she proved inadequate?
“Who is that immensely tall man, rather bald, with the long black whiskers, who has just entered? How tall he is? Who is he, Signor Andrea?”
“He is the Member for Santa Maria.”
“Dio mio! he is taller than you. I did not think that was possible. Will he speak?”
“I think not.”
“How sorry I am that you are not going to speak, Lieti. If I were your wife, I should have insisted on your speaking.”
Caterina started. “I did not think of it,” she murmured, her mind running absently on the meeting of the ladies of the jury.