“Good-night, Emile,” said Hermione. “Good-night, Marchese. Vere!”
Vere came in from the balcony.
“We are going to sleep here, Vere. Come!”
She went out.
“Good-night, Monsieur Emile,” Vere said to Artois, without looking at him.
She followed her mother without saying another word.
Artois looked after them as they went down the corridor, watched Vere’s thin and girlish figure until she turned the corner near the staircase, walking slowly and, he thought, as if she were tired and depressed. During this moment he was trying to get hold of his own violence, to make sure of his self-control. When the sound of the footsteps had died completely away he drew back into the room and shut the door.
The Marchesino was standing near the window. When he saw the face of Artois he sat down in an arm-chair and put his hat on the floor.
“You don’t mind if I stay for a few minutes, Emilio?” he said. “Have you anything to drink? I am thirsty after all this walking in the crowd.”
Artois brought him some Nocera and lemons.