She clung passionately to my lips.
“Oh, if I only could, as I would, give you all of my soul in a kiss—thus—but now come.”
She slipped into a simple black velvet coat, and put a dark bashlyk5 on her head. Then she rapidly went through the gallery, and entered the carriage.
[Footnote 5: A kind of Russian cap.]
“Gregor will drive,” she called out to the coachman who withdrew in surprise.
I ascended the driver’s seat, and angrily whipped up the horses.
In the Cascine where the main roadway turns into a leafy path, Wanda got out. It was night, only occasional stars shone through the gray clouds that fled across the sky. By the bank of the Arno stood a man in a dark cloak, with a brigand’s hat, and looked at the yellow waves. Wanda rapidly walked through the shrubbery, and tapped him on the shoulder. I saw him turn and seize her hand, and then they disappeared behind the green wall.
An hour full of torments. Finally there was a rustling in the bushes to one side, and they returned.
The man accompanied her to the carriage. The light of the lamp fell full and glaringly upon an infinitely young, soft and dreamy face which I had never before seen, and played in his long, blond curls.
She held out her hand which he kissed with deep respect, then she signaled to me, and immediately the carriage flew along the leafy wall which follows the river like a long green screen.