She listened to him as formerly, bowing her head with its rebellious chestnut locks a little, as if the ardent breath of those words were caressing her face and soul. Then, suddenly, she said simply:
"Shall we have tea, Vittorio?"
"Yes, dear," he replied, enchanted with her. Just as formerly, she went to a little table where everything was ready to make tea. She accomplished quickly and gracefully the little operations, while he watched her, enchanted by that beloved presence, and by her action and words, which reminded him of, and brought to life again, his dream of love in the Engadine. Suddenly all Vittorio's ecstasy dissolved; he was again disturbed by a violent uneasiness.
"Why have you come to Rome, Mabel?" he asked, somewhat authoritatively.
"To learn the truth, Vittorio," she replied firmly, "and to tell it to you."
"To learn the truth, Mabel? Then you believed the infamies?"
"I did not believe them," she replied, shaking her head seriously.
"Did you believe that my mother was a martyr because of me, dying of hunger in her palace at Terni, mending silk stockings to let me live?" he cried, beside himself.
"I did not believe it. I went to Terni two days ago; I saw your mother, and I embraced her. She's a saint, and you are a good son."