"Can I help you?" he insisted in an insinuating voice, slightly moved.
"No, Signor," she replied simply.
As he stood beside her and hid her from those who were passing in the little path, he looked at her attentively. Her right hand was loaded with precious stones, the other wore on the ring finger a gold circlet, a love token.
"Have you lost someone—someone who was dear to you?"
Oh, what desolation there was in the woman's eyes as she raised them to him, so supplicatingly and so desperately.
"Is he dead?" he asked, disturbed.
"No," she said, "I have lost him, but he is not dead."
The pale mouth was twisted in sorrow, as if she wished to stifle a great cry, or a sob. Slightly pale, Lucio Sabini said in a low voice:
"I beg your pardon, Signora."
"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter," she replied, with sad sweetness, shaking her head.