Giulia came in at this moment with tea. She smiled again broadly on Artois, and received and returned his greeting with the comfortable and unembarrassed friendliness of the Italian race. As she went out she was still smiling.
“Addio to the German gentleman with the unaesthetic ailments!” said Artois.
An almost boyish sensation of sheer happiness invaded him. It made him feel splendidly, untalkative. And he felt for a moment, too, as if his intellect lay down to sleep.
“Cara Giulia!” he added, after a rapturous silence.
“What?”
“Carissima Giulia!”
“Yes, Giulia is—”
“They all are, and the island, and the house upon it, and this clear yellow tea, and this brown toast, and this butter from Lombardy. They all are.”
“I believe you are feeling good all over, Monsieur Emile.”
“San Gennaro knows I am.”