Dona Rita looked inquisitively at me. I gave her a slight nod. We
remained looking into each other's eyes while we listened and
listened till the silence became unbearable. Dona Rita whispered
composedly: "Did you hear?"
"I am asking myself . . . I almost think I didn't."
"Don't shuffle with me. It was a scraping noise."
"Something fell."
"Something! What thing? What are the things that fall by
themselves? Who is that man of whom you spoke? Is there a man?"
"No doubt about it whatever. I brought him here myself."
"What for?"
"Why shouldn't I have a Jacobin of my own? Haven't you one, too?
But mine is a different problem from that white-haired humbug of
yours. He is a genuine article. There must be plenty like him
about. He has scores to settle with half a dozen people, he says,
and he clamours for revolutions to give him a chance."
"But why did you bring him here?"
"I don't know--from sudden affection . . . "
All this passed in such low tones that we seemed to make out the
words more by watching each other's lips than through our sense of
hearing. Man is a strange animal. I didn't care what I said. All
I wanted was to keep her in her pose, excited and still, sitting up
with her hair loose, softly glowing, the dark brown fur making a
wonderful contrast with the white lace on her breast.
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