Miss Lilian Temple looked at him an instant, furtively.
"Oh, yes, Signor; I pardon you willingly."
And gracefully, with a spontaneous, youthful gesture, she again offered him her hand, as if rancour could not exist in her gentle soul. At such ingenuous kindness the man, over whose mind had passed such fearful tempests, leaving their ineffaceable traces, felt a tremor of complacency, as he pressed that little hand, which was given him without hesitation and so sincerely.
It grew darker. A pungent breath of wind arose, whirling and causing the trees to rustle. The two ladies wanted to put on their coats, which up to then they had carried on their arms, and Lucio performed the gallant duty of helping both of them, then he exchanged some words with Miss May Ford, the elderly lady who kept silent with such English dignity.
He, however, with his constant desire of conquest, instead of returning her speech in French, as he had done with Miss Temple, had the politeness to speak in English, a tongue that he spoke slowly, but with certainty and some elegance.
Upon the rather severe and purposely impassive face of Miss Ford, there appeared for the first time a gracious expression. Now the three walked together, Lucio having Miss Ford on his right and Lilian Temple on the other side of her friend: all three talked English. A sudden wind that was becoming rough revolved in whirling circles. On the road by which they were pursuing their return, and on which they still more hurried their steps, there was a continuous returning of all the equipages which three hours previously had left the Dorf for Sils, Fexthal, the Maloja, and which to get home more quickly were returning at a lively trot from the Campfer road towards the Dorf. In the carriages the women had put on their large, dark cloaks, and the white and light dresses of the early hours of the afternoon, all joyous in the sun, had vanished: cold and silent, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks. Some had buried their necks in thick fur stoles, and the large, flowing veils had been closed round the hats, and tied round the neck in ample knots, like large handkerchiefs or scarves.
The men had put on their overcoats, raising the collars, and they had lowered the flaps of their soft felt hats. In many of the carriages the broad rugs, some white and soft, others striped like tiger skins, had been spread. On all who were returning there was seemingly a feeling of weariness. The women lolled well back in the seats of the carriage, some with the head thrown back a little as if to repose, others with bowed forehead, but all were silent, with their white-gloved hands lost in the large sleeves of their cloaks or hidden beneath the carriage rug; the men had that air of weariness and boredom that ages the physiognomy of the youngest. All were weary through having once again chattered vainly of vain things, through having flirted with trite and cold words, with accustomed and banal actions; they were tired of all this, but without wishing to confess it and attributing their weariness to the open air, in which they were unaccustomed to live for so many hours. They were ready, when they had passed along the road now beaten by the strong, gelid evening wind, and had reached the warmth of their hotels, amidst the shining lights, to resume the same conversations, and begin again the same flirtations, till the night was advanced.
Now all were silent and bored: the women were almost pallid beneath their veils, the tints of which were becoming uniform in the rapidly increasing dusk.
The men, no longer gracious, were glad to be silent, being desirous of arriving quickly at their hotels. Thus they passed at a brisk trot, and the three wayfarers had repeatedly to avoid them. Suddenly the carriage of Madame Lawrence, that year's beauty, passed, followed by four or five others. She had placed over her white dress a large, round cloak without sleeves, of a very dark red cloth, and to be original she had taken off the immense hat covered with a large green veil, and had drawn over her head the dark red hood trimmed with old silver lace. From the back of this hood appeared her calm and thoughtful beauty, the large eyes, clear and penetrating, gleamed, and the blond tresses, braided round the head in Florentine fashion, caused her in that red cloak, so like a soldier's tunic of olden times, and beneath that hood, to look like the woman whom the Italian poet loved. Miss Temple followed her with a long stare and then glanced at Lucio Sabini.
"Do you like Madame Lawrence?" asked Miss Ford.