Then Beatrice returned and sat down silently by the table.
"Have you been for a little walk, my angel?" enquired her mother.
"Yes, mamma, I have been for a little walk."
"You are not tired then, after our excursion, Donna Beatrice?" enquired
San Miniato.
"Not in the least," answered the young girl, taking up a book and
beginning to read.
"Beatrice!" exclaimed her mother in amazement. "My child! What are you
reading! Maupassant! Have you quite forgotten yourself?"
"I am trying to, mamma. And since I am to be married--what difference
does it make?"
She spoke without laying down the volume. San Miniato pretended to pay
no attention to the incident, and slowly rolled a fat cigarette between
his fingers to soften it before smoking. The Marchesa made gestures to
Beatrice with an unusual expenditure of energy, but with no effect.
"It seems very interesting," said the latter. "I had no idea he wrote so
well. It seems to be quite different from Telemaque--more amusing in
every way."
Then the Marchesa did what she had not done in many years. She asserted
her parental authority. Very lazily she put her feet to the ground, laid
her fan, her handkerchief and her cigarette case together, and rose to
her feet.
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