Girolamo's eyes moved about here and there, never resting a moment, from Checco to me, from me to Matteo, and on to his wife, and then on again, with extraordinary rapidity—it was quite terrifying.
'One would think you were afraid of leaving Checco in our hands,' said the Countess, smiling.
'No,' returned Matteo; 'but I look forward to having some of your attention now that Checco is otherwise occupied. Will you let me languish?'
She laughed, and a rapid glance passed between her and the Count.
'I shall be only too pleased,' she said, 'come and sit by me, one on each side.'
The Count turned to Ercole.
'Well, good-night, my friend,' he said. 'Good-night!'
Ercole left us, and Girolamo, taking Checco's arm, walked up and down the room, speaking. The Countess and Matteo commenced a gay conversation. Although I was close to them I was left alone, and I watched the Count. His eyes fascinated me, moving ceaselessly. What could be behind them? What could be the man's thoughts that his eyes should never rest? They enveloped the person they looked at—his head, every feature of his face, his body, his clothes; one imagined there was no detail they had not caught; it was as if they ate into the very soul of the man.
The two men tramped up and down, talking earnestly; I wondered what they were saying. At last Girolamo stopped.
'Ah, well, I must have mercy on you; I shall tire you to death. And you know I do not wish to do anything to harm you.'