“Will the tax-collector be there?” said Caterina, brushing away the crumbs with one finger, with her instinctive love of order.
“Where?”
“At Caserta?”
“Who knows?”
“We can inquire of lawyer Marini, who does the legal part of the business; he is sure to know. Shall I send Giulietta!”
“Send Giulietta.”
She left the room, without noticing that anything was wrong. Andrea became calmer, knowing that Lucia must soon appear; it was unreasonable to expect her before half-past nine. He still longed for her presence, but with a gentler longing. He drummed a march on the window-pane, recalling the moment when she had entreated him not to embrace her “for her love’s sake,” and he, obedient as a child, had desisted. Lucia, his Lucia, should be loved in so many ways; with passion, but with the utmost tenderness; with youthful ardour, but with reverence. Oh! all these things were in his heart. He would wait patiently for her coming, without any perilous, fiery outbursts. Lucia might be late, he who loved her would refrain from breaking in doors and damaging china or furniture.
Enter Caterina.
“Lawyer Marini says that the tax-collector will be there between nine and twelve to-day.”
“What does that prove?”