“Good-night. Shall I turn down the light?”
“As you like.” Cæsar turned down the light and stretched himself out. He couldn’t sleep in trains and he got deep into a combination of fantastical plans and ideas. When they stopped at stations and the noise of the moving train was gone from the silence of the night, Cæsar could hear Laura’s gentle breathing.
A little before dawn, Cæsar, tired of not sleeping, got up and started to take a walk in the corridor. It was raining; on the horizon, below the black, starless sky, a vague clarity began to appear. Cæsar took out his Proudhon book and immersed himself in it.
When it began to be day they were already getting near Rome. The train was running through a flat, treeless plain of swampy aspect, covered with green grass; from time to time there was a poor hut, a hay-stack, on the uninhabited, monotonous stretch.
The grey sky kept on resolving itself into a rain which, at the impulse of gusts of wind, traced oblique lines in the air.
Laura had waked and was in the dressing-room. A little later she came out, fresh and hearty, without the least sign of fatigue.
They began to see the yellowish walls of Rome, and certain big edifices blackened by the wet. A moment more and the train stopped.
“It’s not worth the trouble to take a cab,” said Laura. “The hotel is here, just a step.”
They gave a porter orders to attend to the luggage. Laura took her brother’s arm, they went out on the Piazza Esedra, and entered the hotel.