As far as any clear thought had been in his mind, or
any power of thinking possible to him, his latest idea in reference
to her had been a desperate resolve that he would never speak to her
again. And now, again, as he saw her, in a new avatar of loveliness,
he once again knew that to keep such a resolution was above his
power.
What he had to do at the moment was to be done, in any case, with
the best grace he might. Taking the huge mass of skilfully-arranged
flowers in both hands, as her carriage came opposite to his, he
leaned out as far as he could, and Quinto Lalli, who sat on the side
nearest to him, stretched out to meet him, and then handed the
offering to the Goddess. She smiled brilliantly and bowed low,
sending a coquettish, sidelong glance of private thanks under
eyelashes as she bent her graceful neck.
The carriages rolled on, and passed each other; and there rushed
into the Marchese's head a sudden pulse of blood, which turned his
previous pallor into a dusky crimson, and seemed to make all the
scene swim before his eyes. Partly to hide the evidences of the
emotion of which he was conscious, and partly because he felt as if
he needed the support, he threw himself back into the corner of the
carriage, turning himself away from the scene in front of it as
though to shelter his face from the sun that was then so low in the
sky as to begin to throw its slanting rays under the hoods of the
carriages.
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