"Au revoir."
The two windows are closed simultaneously, but this time Signora Evelina does not disappear. She is sitting there, close to the window, and it snows so lightly now that her wonderful profile is outlined as clearly as possible against the pane. Good heavens, how beautiful she is!
Signer Odoardo walks up and down the room, in the worst of humors. He feels that it is wrong not to go and see the fascinating widow, and that to go and see her would be still more wrong. The cloud has settled again upon Doretta's forehead, the same cloud that darkened it in the morning.
Not a word is said of La Fontaine's fable. Instead, Signor Odoardo grumbles irritably:
"This blessed room is as cold as ever."
"Why shouldn't it be," Doretta retorts with a touch of asperity, "when you open the window every few minutes?"
"Oho," Signer Odoardo says to himself, "it is time to have this matter out."
And, going up to Doretta, he takes her by the hand, leads her to the sofa, and lifts her on his knee.
"Now, then, Doretta, why is it that you are so disagreeable to Signora
Evelina?"
The little girl, not knowing what to answer, grows red and embarrassed.