“‘L’invitation à la valse?’” She smiled lightly.
“I don’t know—but you cannot be cross with me because I ask you for one single little kiss—on a day like this. I am only telling you what I am longing for, and, after all, why could you not do it?”
She did not move.
“Is there any reason why not?—I shall not try to kiss you, but I cannot see why you should not bend down for a second and give me a tiny little kiss as you sit there with the sun right on your lips. It is no more to you than when you pat a bambino on the head and give him a soldo. It is nothing to you, Jenny, and to me it is all I wish for—just this moment I long for it so much,” he said, smiling.
She bent suddenly down and kissed him. Only for a second did he feel her hair and lips brush his cheek, and he saw the movement of her body under the black silk as she bent down and rose again. Her face, he noticed, which was smiling serenely as she kissed him, now looked embarrassed, almost frightened. He did not move, but lay still, musing contentedly in the sunshine. She became herself again.
“There, you see,” he said at last laughingly, “your mouth is exactly as before; the sun is shining on your lips, right into the blood. It was nothing to you—and I am so happy. You must not believe that I want you to think of me—I only want you to let me think of you, while you may sit and think of anything in the world. Others may dance—to me this is much better—if only I may look at you.”
They were both silent. Jenny sat with her face turned away, looking at the Campagna bathing in the sun.
As they walked back to the osteria, Helge chatted merrily about all sorts of things, telling her about the learned Germans he had met in the course of his work. Jenny stole a glance at him now and again; he used not to be like that, so free and easy. He was really handsome as he walked, looking straight ahead, and his light brown eyes were radiant like amber in the sun.