“Has my Nino had bad news this morning?” she asked in a sympathetic tone, bending and extending her hand until it touched his.
Its contact thrilled him. In her clear blue eyes he could distinguish the light of unshed tears.
“Yes,” he answered—“news which makes it necessary that I should be in Paris at the earliest possible moment.”
“And how long shall you remain?” she inquired.
“I shall not return to Italy,” he replied decisively, his eyes still upon hers.
“You will not come back to me?” she cried blankly. “What have I done, Nino? Tell me, what have I done that you should thus forsake me?”
“I do not intend to forsake you,” he answered, grasping her hand. “I will never forsake you; I love you far too well.”
“You love me!” she echoed, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Then why go away and leave me alone? You must have seen how fondly I love you in return.”
“I shall not go alone,” he answered her, rising and placing his arms tenderly about her neck. “That is, if you will go with me.”
“With you?” she exclaimed, her face suddenly brightening. “With you, Nino?”