“Every one, my friend.”
“They will look at you,” he said, bitterly; although the words “my friend” delighted him.
“And if they do, we must provide against it; this is a scurrilous province. It hides its own bourgeois vices and slanders the innocent.”
“Listen,” murmured Andrea, taking her arm in his. “Why don’t you come with me to the English Garden?”
“No....”
“It is so beautiful. The great trees cast their shadows over it, the paths rise, fall, and lose themselves among the roses; under the water-lilies lies the still crystal water; under the reeds, the water murmurs as it flows; there is no one there, and it is so cool....”
“Do not speak to me like that,” she whispered, faintly.
“Come, Lucia, come. That is the frame for your beauty. You are like a rose to-day; come, and take your place among the roses.”
“Do not talk to me like that, for pity’s sake, or you will kill me....” Her teeth chattered as if from ague.
He felt that she was losing consciousness, that she was going to faint. People were passing to and fro; he was seized with a fear of ridicule.