She had gone away on that morning with a sort of
intimation that she would come back every day, but Nella did not so much
as hint that she ever meant to come back at all.
Zorzi went about on crutches, swinging his helpless foot as he walked,
for it still hurt him when he put it to the ground. He was pale and
thin, both from pain and from living shut up almost all day in the close
atmosphere of the laboratory. For a change, he began to come out into
the little garden, sometimes walking up and down on his crutches for a
few minutes, and then sitting down to rest on the bench under the
plane-tree, where Marietta had so often sat. Pasquale came and talked
with him sometimes, but Zorzi never went to the porter's lodge.
He felt that if he got as far as that he should inevitably open the door
and look up at Marietta's window, and he would not do it, for he was
hurt by her apparent indifference, after having allowed him to hold her
hand in his. She had not even asked through Nella what had become of the
beautiful glass. What he pretended to say to himself was that it would
be very wrong to go and stand outside the glass-house, where the porter
would certainly see him, and where he might be seen by any one else,
staring at the window of his master's daughter's room on the other side
of the canal.
Pages:
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238