At last the night came and I could shut myself up in my room. I thought with a bitter smile that it was the hour at which I was used to go to Giulia. And now I should never go to Giulia again. My unhappiness was too great for wrath; I felt too utterly miserable to think of my grievances, or of my contempt. I only felt broken-hearted. I could not keep the tears back, and burying my face in the pillows, I cried my heart out. It was years and years since I had wept, not since I was quite a boy, but this blow had taken from me all manliness, and I gave myself over to my grief, passionately, shamelessly. I did not care that I was weak; I had no respect for myself, or care for myself. The sobs came, one on the heels of another like waves, and the pain, as they tore my chest, relieved the anguish of my mind. Exhaustion came at last, and with it sleep.
But I knew I could not hide the change in me, and Matteo soon noticed it.
'What is the matter with you, Filippo?' he asked. I blushed and hesitated.
'Nothing,' I answered at last.
'I thought you were unhappy.'
Our eyes met, but I could not stand his inquiring glance and looked down. He came to me, and sitting on the arm of my chair, put his hand on my shoulder and said affectionately,—
'We're friends, aren't we, Filippo?'
'Yes,' I answered, smiling and taking his hand.
'Won't you trust me?'
After a pause I answered,—