Her eyes were burning and her eyelids were heavy. She went into her dressing-room and bathed her face in cold water. Then she combed her hair and fastened it up with a big gold pin. And then she put on a gown of black wool, richly trimmed with jet, a morning street costume. Was she going out? She did not know. She dressed herself in obedience to the necessity which women feel at certain hours of the day to occupy themselves with their toilets. But when she came to fasten her brooch, a clover leaf set with black pearls, that Laura had given her for a wedding-present, she discovered that one of the pearls was gone. The clover-leaf brings luck, but now this one was broken, and its power was gone.
Eleven o'clock struck, and somebody tapped discreetly at the door. She could not find her voice, to answer.
The knock was repeated.
"Come in," she said feebly.
Cesare entered, calm and composed, carrying his hat and ebony walking-stick in his hand.
"Good-morning. Are you going out?" he asked tranquilly.
"No. I don't know," she answered, with a vague gesture.
All her nerves were tingling, as she looked at the traitor's handsome, wasted face, a face so quiet and smiling.
"You had something to say to me?" he reminded her, wrinkling his brow a little.