"I don't know what to do; I'm too tormented, I'm too ashamed!"
she continued with vehemence. Then turning away from me and burying
her face in her hands she burst into a flood of tears. If she did
not know what to do it may be imagined whether I did any better.
I stood there dumb, watching her while her sobs resounded in the great
empty hall. In a moment she was facing me again, with her streaming eyes.
"I would give you everything--and she would understand, where she is--
she would forgive me!"
"Ah, Miss Tita--ah, Miss Tita," I stammered, for all reply.
I did not know what to do, as I say, but at a venture I made a wild,
vague movement in consequence of which I found myself at the door.
I remember standing there and saying, "It wouldn't do--it wouldn't do!"
pensively, awkwardly, grotesquely, while I looked away to the opposite
end of the sala as if there were a beautiful view there.
The next thing I remember is that I was downstairs and out of the house.
My gondola was there and my gondolier, reclining on the cushions,
sprang up as soon as he saw me. I jumped in and to his usual
"Dove commanda?" I replied, in a tone that made him stare,
"Anywhere, anywhere; out into the lagoon!"
He rowed me away and I sat there prostrate, groaning softly
to myself, with my hat pulled over my face. What in the name
of the preposterous did she mean if she did not mean to offer me
her hand? That was the price--that was the price! And did she
think I wanted it, poor deluded, infatuated, extravagant lady?
My gondolier, behind me, must have seen my ears red as I wondered,
sitting there under the fluttering tenda, with my
hidden face, noticing nothing as we passed--wondered whether
her delusion, her infatuation had been my own reckless work.
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