“I know it is not the fault of either of us, we love each other so much. But do not worry any more about it; we can be happy even if we are only two.”
And from that day they had never referred again to the third being, who was to be a span long, and was to share their felicity.
But both of them thought of it constantly. It was not a cloud which covered the sun, but a light mist which dimmed it.
One day when he was in his study busy writing she ran in as if she had something very urgent to say to him; then instead, when halfway in the room, she stood still.
“What is it, Teresa?”
“I have good and delightful news for you.”
“Really?”
She smiled and blushed, and with little timid, hesitating steps, as if she had some fault to confess, she came close to the writing table, embraced Carlo, and hid her head on his shoulder. She still kept silence and her face was hidden.
In vain he endeavoured to move her away that he might see her face. He thought he guessed, but still feared he might be deceiving himself.
“Is it true, then, really true, my dear, dear Teresa?”