“You are right, Contessina,” said he, “the decrystallization has commenced. It is a little too soon.”
“Yes, it is too soon,” replied Alba. “And yet it is too late. Would you believe that there are times when I ask myself if it would not be my duty to tell her the truth about her marriage, such as I know it, with the story of the weak man, the forced sale, and of the bargaining of Ardea?”
“You will not do it,” said Dorsenne. “Moreover, why? This one or another, the man who marries her will only want her money, rest assured. It is necessary that the millions be paid for here below, it is one of their ransoms.... But I shall cause you to be scolded by your mother, for I am monopolizing you, and I have still two calls to pay this evening.”
“Well, postpone them,” said Alba. “I beseech you, do not go.”
“I must,” replied Julien. “It is the last Wednesday of old Duchess Pietrapertosa, and after her grandson’s recent kindness—”
“She is so ugly,” said Alba, “will you sacrifice me to her?”
“Then there is my compatriot, who goes away tomorrow and of whom I must take leave this evening, Madame de Sauve, with whom you met me at the museum.... You will not say she is ugly, will you?”
“No,” responded Alba, dreamily, “she is very pretty.”.... She had another prayer upon her lips, which she did not formulate. Then, with a beseeching glance: “Return, at least. Promise me that you will return after your two visits. They will be over in an hour and a half. It will not be midnight. You know some do not ever come before one and sometimes two o’clock. You will return?”
“If possible, yes. But at any rate, we shall meet to-morrow, at the studio, to see the portrait.”
“Then, adieu,” said the young girl, in a low voice.