"Until to-night," she murmured lightly, hardly moving her lips. "I shall see you later…. Expect me."
Oh, what happiness!… The eyes, the smile, the pressure of her hand were telling him much more than that.
Never did he take such an agreeable stroll as when walking beside Kaledine through the streets of Chiaja toward the shore. What was that man saying?… Insignificant things in order to avoid silence, but to him they appeared to be observations of most profound wisdom. His voice sounded musical and affectionate. Everything about them seemed equally agreeable,—the people who were passing through the streets, the Neapolitan sounds at nightfall, the dark seas, the entire life.
They bade each other good-by before the door of the hotel. The count, in spite of his offers of friendship, went away without mentioning his address.
"It doesn't matter," thought Ferragut. "We shall meet again in the doctor's house."
He passed the rest of his watch agitated alternately by hope and impatience. He did not wish to eat; emotion had paralyzed his appetite…. And yet, once seated at the table, he ate more than ever with a mechanical and distraught avidity.
He needed to stroll around, to talk with somebody, in order that time might fly by with greater rapidity, beguiling his uneasy wait. She would not return to the hotel until very late…. And he therefore retired to his room earlier than usual, believing with illogical superstition that by so doing Freya might arrive earlier.
His first movement upon finding himself alone in his room, was one of pride. He looked up at the ceiling, pitying the enamored sailor that a week before had been dwelling on the floor above. Poor man! How they must have made fun of him!… Ulysses admired himself as though he were an entirely new personality, happy and triumphant, completely separated from that other creature by dolorous periods of humiliations and failures that he did not wish to recall.
The long, long hours in which he waited with such anxiety!… He strolled about smoking, lighting one cigar with the remnant of the preceding one. Then he opened the window, wishing to get rid of the perfume of strong tobacco. She only liked Oriental cigarettes…. And as the acrid odor of the strong, succulent Havana cigar persisted in the room, he searched in his dressing-case and sprinkled around the contents of various perfumed essences which he had long ago forgotten.
A sudden uneasiness disturbed his waiting. Perhaps she who was going to come did not know which was his room. He was not sure that he had given her the directions with sufficient clearness. It was possible that she might make a mistake…. He began to believe that really she had made a mistake.