Nella should
have liked any one to dare to say that she had married an ignorant man!
And so forth. And so on.
Marietta heard the voice without listening to the words, and the gentle,
half-complaining, half-reproving tone was rather soothing than
otherwise. She sat by the half-closed window with her bead work, while
Nella talked, and brushed, and moved about the room, making imaginary
small tasks in order to talk the more. But Marietta threaded the red and
blue beads and fastened them in patterns upon the piece of stuff she was
ornamenting, and when Nella looked at her every now and then, she seemed
quite calm and indifferent. There had always been something inscrutable
about her.
She was wondering why she had submitted to be betrothed to Contarini,
when she loved Zorzi; and the answer did not come. She could not
understand why it was that although she loved Zorzi with all her heart
she had been convinced that she hated him, during four long, miserable
days. Then, too, it was very strange that she should feel happy, that
she should know that she was really happy, her heart brimming over with
sunshine and joy, while Zorzi, whom she loved, was lying on that
uncomfortable bench in dreadful pain. It was true that when she thought
of his wound, the pain ran through her own limbs and made her move in
her seat.
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