With a quick gesture she yielded herself wholly to him, drawing his face to hers and running her hands through his close, curly hair.
"Silvio," she whispered, "ah, Silvio! And it was I all the time! I thought—Mademoiselle Durand pretended that it was somebody else—some girl like me—and all the time I wondered why I cared—why I was angry—"
His arms were round her again, and he crushed her to him, while his lips blinded her eyes.
"Ah, Silvio mio," she sighed, "it is too much—you hurt me—ah, but it is sweet to be hurt by you—"
Suddenly she wrenched herself from him, crimson and trembling.
"God!" she exclaimed. "What have I done—what must you think of me? I did not know love was like that. It—hurts."
Silvio laughed aloud in the very intoxication of his joy.
"Beloved," he said, "that is only the beginning."
But Bianca shook her head. "I must be very wicked," she said. "I did not know I was quite so wicked. Silvio," she added, looking at him, shyly, "for the love of God, go! It is getting late. At any moment they may be coming to look for me. No—not again—"
"But I must speak with you here to-morrow—the day after," urged Silvio.