He said nothing, but put his mouth quickly to the child’s.
“Yes, yes; bravo; give me a kiss and then go away directly, for I am busy—I have a devil in every hair and a thousand anxieties in my mind ... yes ... yes, so ... good-by, good-by.”
And he almost pushed away mother and child with his two nervous, angry, almost threatening hands. The poor mother had not expected such a reception, and could not reconcile herself to it.
“Do you know that Carlino has just said Mamma for the first time, really, just now when he woke?”
The father was silent and fretted, angry with himself because he could not and did not know how to call up a single affectionate word to his lips or a sole caress to his hands; all was dark before him, and everything so bitter that absinthe would have seemed honey to him.
And to be obliged to be so hard with that touching picture before him! Oh, why had that woman come at such a moment? Why had he not locked himself in his office?
The mother could not give in. She drew her lips to his scowling forehead, but he did not draw down those lips to his; he simply touched her cheek coldly. That kiss was an insult; he was ice; he was brutal.
She felt a lump in her throat, which broke into a sob.
“Yes, yes, let us go away. We will not come again to trouble you.”
He got up hurriedly and went to the window, but did not open it. He put his hands through his hair and exclaimed aloud: