"Do you imagine that this duet is pleasing?" he asked, drawing on his gloves. "For the rest, we've said all there is to say. I can't think you have any more insults to favour me with."
"You hate me, do you?"
"No, I don't hate you exactly."
"Don't go away. Don't go away. I must tell you something very serious."
"Good-bye, Anna," he repeated, moving towards the door.
"Cesare, if you go away, I shall do something desperate," she cried, convulsively tearing her hair.
"You'd be incapable. To do anything desperate one must have talent. And you're a fool," he replied, smiling ironically.
"Cesare, if you go away, I shall die."
"Bah, bah, you'll not die. To die one must have courage." And he opened the door and went out.
She ran to the threshold. He was already at a distance. She heard the street door close behind him. For a few minutes she stood there, fearing to move lest she should fall; then mechanically she turned back. She went to her looking-glass, repaired the disorder of her hair, and put on a hat, a black veil, and a sealskin cloak. She forgot nothing. Her pocket-handkerchief was in her muff; in her hand she carried her card-case of carved Japanese ivory.