She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. "I had one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, I have one still. Dinner was served at 5:30.
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