It was now half-past twelve. She rose and rang the bell; and her maid appeared.
They left the drawing-room and went into Anna's bedroom, which was lighted by a big lamp with a shade of pink silk.
Her maid helped her to undress, thinking that she was going to bed; but presently Anna asked for her tea-gown of cream-coloured crape, and put it on, as if she meant to sit up. She had loosened her hair, and it fell down her back in a single rich black tress.
The maid asked if she might go to bed. Anna said, "Yes." Cesare had given orders that no servant should ever sit up for him; he had a curiously wrought little key, a master-key, which he wore on his watch-chain, and which opened every door in his house. Thus he could come in at any hour of the night he liked, without being seen or heard. The maid went softly away, closing the door behind her.
Anna sat down in an easy chair, beside her bed. She still had the volume of Adolphe in her hand. She sat still there, while she heard the servant moving about the apartment, shutting the windows. Then all was silent.
Anna got up, and opened the doors between her room and her husband's. So she would be able to hear him when he returned. He could not delay much longer. He had promised her to come home early; he knew that she would wait for him. And, as she had been doing through the whole evening, but with greater intensity than ever, she longed for the presence of her loved one. Was not every thing empty and colourless when he was away? And this evening he had been so merry and so kind. His promise resounded in her soul like a solemn vow. She thrilled with tremulous emotion. The softness of the spring night entered into her and exhilarated her.
She lay back in her easy-chair, with closed eyes, and dreamed of his coming. She felt an immense need of him, to have him there beside her, to hold his hand in hers, to lean her head upon his shoulder in sweet, deep peace, listening to the beating of his heart, supported by his arms, while his breath fell upon her hair, her eyelids, her lips. A dream of love; vivid and languid, full of delicate ardour and melancholy desire.
She surprised herself murmuring his name. "Cesare, Cesare," she said, trembling with love at the sound of her own voice.
Suddenly it seemed to her that she heard a noise in her husband's room. Then he had come!