Pirovani, quite white by this time, and growing bolder under the marquesa’s smiles, tried to get possession of her hand. But Elena, with a malicious glance in her dark eyes, checkmated him at once.
“I know that this is a real present,” she said, “and that you are not like those vulgar men who sell their gifts.... You want nothing from me but appreciation, I am sure!”
Then, taking pity on the Italian’s embarrassment—alas! he had, as well he knew, laid himself open to the charge of vulgarity, according to the marquesa’s definition—she extended her right hand graciously toward his lips.
But he had not yet learned how to kiss a lady’s hand with the proper mixture of fervor and restraint; and Elena, abruptly putting an end to his homage, shook her finger at him....
They went on then to the other rooms of the house, and the contractor, as though repentant of his audacity, meekly followed his guest about; and yet there were moments when he wished he had been more audacious still; but above his conflicting sentiments persisted a sense of triumph. The marquesa’s white and fragrant hand had actually been offered to his lips, and with what a gesture!
Ah, what good fortune to be able to offer a woman like that a house, and servants, and the luxurious articles so indispensable to her comfort!... With a smile Pirovani contemplated his recent success, and dreamed of other successes to come....
CHAPTER VIII
PIROVANI’S house took on an entirely new appearance after the Torre Biancas moved in. The window panes shone now and through them could be seen new and gay-colored curtains. The servants no longer lolled about the verandah, unkempt and dirty, performing their household duties in full sight of the street. The presence of the beautiful and elegant new mistress of the house had inspired them all with a desire to present a somewhat less untidy appearance. Even the fat Sebastiana “wore her Sunday clothes every day,” as her friends put it.
The community around the Dam enjoyed other novelties too after Elena had taken possession of the contractor’s bungalow. There was in Pirovani’s parlor a grand piano of modest dimensions which until then had remained locked. It represented a purchase the Italian had made in Buenos Aires to oblige a friend who had invested too much money in his stock of musical instruments. Besides, the contractor had heard that no parlor was complete without a piano, but of course he had always thought he would have one with perpendicular strings and an upright case. However, on his friend’s recommendation, he had purchased the handsome instrument, although he had small hope that any one would ever come to the Dam who would prove capable of playing it.