“Good-bye till to-morrow. Say good-bye to your mother for me.”
I could hardly bear to let go of that hand which lay so trustfully in
mine. I felt that by going away then I was losing a unique opportunity,
for at that moment Ada was ready to treat me with the utmost courtesy
in order to make up for her sister’s unkindness. I followed the impulse
of the moment, bent down and touched her hand with my lips. Then I
hastily opened the door and went out, while Ada, whose left hand was
engaged in holding Anna, still clinging to her skirts, went on holding
out her right hand which my lips had touched, and gazing at it in
amazement as if she wanted to see if anything were written on it. I
don’t think Signora Malfenti saw what had taken place.
I stood a few moments on the steps, rather startled by what I had done,
which was quite unpremeditated. Was it still possible for me to go
back to the door I had shut behind me, ring the bell and ask to see
Ada, and speak the words she had looked for in vain on her hand? I did
not think so. I should have been lacking in dignity if I had shown too
much impatience. Besides, when I announced that I was coming back I had
really prepared her for my declaration of love. It only rested with
her to give me an opportunity to make it. At last I had stopped telling
stories to the three girls in a bunch and had kissed the hand of one of
them.
But the remainder of the day passed uneasily enough. I was restless
and anxious. I said to myself that my uneasiness was due only to my
impatience to get my adventure cleared up. I tried to persuade myself
that if Ada were to refuse me I should calmly set about looking for
another wife. My attachment to her was a deliberate resolve on my part,
and I had only to make another in order to cancel it completely. I did
not grasp the fact that there were no other women in the world for me
at that moment, that it was only Ada I wanted.
The night which followed seemed to me to be terribly long; I hardly
slept at all. Since my father’s death I had given up my night life, and
it would have been incongruous to return to it now that I had made up
my mind to get married. So I went to bed early, longing for sleep which
alone obliterates time.
By daylight I had placed the blindest confidence in Ada’s explanation
of her absence from the drawing-room on three successive occasions
during my visit, a confidence based on the sound conviction that the
serious young woman I had chosen would be incapable of a lie. But
during the night my faith in her diminished. I began to wonder whether
it was not I myself who had told her of the excuse Alberta had made
about her visit to her aunt, when Augusta had refused to answer. I
could not quite remember what I had said to her--my head had been in
such a whirl--but I thought it had probably been I who provided her
with an excuse. That was a pity. If I had not done so perhaps she would
have invented some other excuse and I, if I had caught her lying,
should have known exactly what to think.
I had occasion to discover the immense importance which Ada had assumed
for me, because in order to try and calm myself I found myself saying
that if she would not have me I would give up all idea of marrying.
So that her refusal would change the whole of my life. And I went on
dreaming, comforting myself with the thought that her refusal would
probably be a stroke of good luck for me. I called to mind the saying
of the Greek philosopher that repentance awaited the married man
as much as the unmarried. I had not yet quite lost the capacity for
laughing at my adventure; the only capacity I lacked was that of going
to sleep.
I fell asleep just as it was beginning to get light. When I woke up
it was already so late that only a few hours now divided me from the
moment when I might again present myself at the Malfentis. So there was
really no need for me to go on exercising my fancy on the question of
the state of Ada’s mind. But it is difficult to restrain oneself from
brooding on a matter which concerns one so nearly. Man would be a more
fortunate animal if he could. While I was occupied in dressing, which
I did that day with exaggerated care, I could think of only one thing:
Had I done well in kissing Ada’s hand, or had I done ill in not kissing
her also on the lips?
That very morning I had an idea which did me, I think, a good deal of
harm, in that it robbed me of the small amount of manly initiative
remaining to me in my queer adolescent condition. A painful doubt
occurred to me; supposing Ada were forced to marry me by her parents
without loving me at all, even perhaps disliking me? I was quite sure
that all the other members of her family, Giovanni, her mother, Augusta
and Alberta were very fond of me. It was only Ada about whom I was not
so sure. The usual popular novel began to take shape in my mind, about
the girl who is forced by her family to marry a man she hates. But of
course I should never have consented to that. That was another reason
why I must speak to Ada alone at once. The phrase I had prepared would
be no use at all. I must look into her eyes and say: “Do you love me?”
And if she said yes I should fold her in my arms, and should know by
the beating of her heart if she were telling the truth.
So it seemed to me that I was prepared for any emergency. Yet I was
suddenly to find myself confronted with an examination for which I had
forgotten to revise the very text I was to be examined on.
Signora Malfenti received me alone, and made me sit down in a corner
of the big drawing-room. She at once began a lively conversation, and
did not allow me a moment’s breathing space to ask for news of her
daughters. For this reason I was rather distrait and kept repeating
my lesson to myself so as to have it all ready at a favourable moment.
Suddenly I was called to attention as by a trumpet call. The Signora
was about to make a speech! She assured me of her and her husband’s
friendly feelings towards me, and of the affection all the family felt
for me, including little Anna. We had known each other for such a long
time. We had seen each other every day for the last four months.
“Five!” I hastened to correct her, for I had been counting them up
during the night, and remembered that my first visit had been in the
autumn, while now it was well on into the spring.
“Yes! Five!” said the lady, lingering over the words as if she were
trying to visualize my arithmetic. Then she added with an air of
reproach: “I feel that you are compromising Augusta.”
“Augusta?” I repeated, thinking I could not have heard correctly.
“Yes!” she said decidedly. “You are putting ideas into her head, and
compromising her.”