“Nothing, dearest.” Vittorio rose and peered over the parapet, into the black pit that was the garden, “Nothing at all. It must have been a fallen branch.”
“For a moment I thought it was Alexis,” she breathed, hand on bounding heart.
He strolled back to her. “Ah, you see, he frightens you already. He is in the back of your mind constantly. Give him up before it is too late, cara. If you don’t, I shall have to go to him myself and tell him the truth. If he doesn’t release you then, he is a cad.”
She stood up and faced him. “If you do that, I shall never see you again. It would be the act of a fiend. It would kill every spark of love that I ever felt for you.”
“Anne, Anne, are you asking me to give you up again?” He stretched famished arms towards her.
She wrung her hands against a sudden, smiting anguish, that left her weak and trembling. “Yes——” she whispered. “Vittorio!”
She slipped into his outstretched arms with a strangled cry. Their lips met, lingered, then parted unsatisfied.
Only a few words, a woman’s smothered cry, but sufficient to quench forever Alexis’ joy. Only a few words in fewer moments, but enough to send tottering the entire foundation of his being, which less than a minute before had towered to the limitless heavens.
A pæan upon the lips, nectar in his veins, he had approached the terrace as if on air. Anne’s head was better, so Regina had told him. She had gone out into the garden, was sitting alone under the scattered stars. How surprised she would be when the notes of his violin stole upon her through the night! He would play the Canzonetta from Tchaikowsky’s Concerto, the one they both loved the best. It was just the thing for a night like this. A heavy, mysterious night. A night weighted with warm perfume and the promise of hidden rapture. A quivering, mischievous smile upon his lips, he had tiptoed to the bottom of the terrace. Violin tucked beneath his chin, bow raised, ready to sweep the strings, he had suddenly paused. From the terrace above a man’s voice had cut into the silence. Alexis held his breath. So Anne was not alone after all? A caller, some unknown man had chosen to-night of all nights to make her a visit. How annoying! And yet how absurd of him to be upset. Why shouldn’t Anne have a visitor? It was the most natural thing in the world. Only a monopolist like himself could possibly grudge it her. Besides, it would be a good opportunity to become acquainted with one of Anne’s friends. He decided to mount the steps and meet the intruder as cordially as possible, when the sound of Anne’s voice, vibrant and agitated, had reached his ears, and he had listened in spite of himself.