“He said, ‘You shall wish me back, but I will not come.’  I think those were his last words.”

“You have broken my boy’s heart!” cried the Signora Corbario, turning her face away.

Maddalena, whose heart had really been broken long ago, could not help smiling.

“I am sure I did not mean to,” cried Aurora, contritely.  “And after all, though I daresay it was my fault, he called me a miserable little flirt, and I only called him a baby.”

Maddalena would have laughed if her friend had not been in such real distress.  As for Aurora, she did not know whether she would have laughed or cried if she had not felt that her girl’s dignity was at stake.  As it was, she grew preternaturally calm.

“You have driven him away,” moaned the Signora piteously.  “You have driven away my boy!  Was he not good enough for you?”

She asked the question suddenly and vehemently, turning upon poor Aurora with something like fury.  She was quite beside herself, and the Contessa motioned the girl away.  Aurora rose and disappeared round the corner of the house.

Alone with her friend, Maddalena did her best to comfort her.  There were arguments enough:  it was barely noon, and Marcello had not been gone four hours; he was used to taking long walks, he had probably gone as far as the tower, and had rested there before coming back; or he had gone to meet Ercole on the road to Porto d’Anzio; or he had gone off towards the Nettuno woods to get over his anger in solitude; it was natural enough; and after all, if he had gone to Rome as Aurora thought, no harm could come to him, for he would go home, and would surely send a telegram before evening.  It was unlike him, yes; but just at his age boys often did foolish things.

“Marcello is not foolish!” objected the Signora indignantly.

She could by no means listen to reason, and was angry because her friend tried to argue with her.  She rose with an energy she seldom displayed, and began to walk up and down the verandah.  Her face was very pale, her lip quivered when she spoke, and there was an unnatural light in her eyes.  There was room for much moderate affection in her gentle nature; she had loved her first husband; she loved Corbario dearly; but the passion of her life was her son, and at the first presentiment of real danger to him the dominant preoccupation of her heart took violent possession of everything else in her, regardless of reason, friendship, consideration for others, or common sense.

Maddalena walked up and down beside her, putting one arm affectionately round her waist, and doing the best she could to allay the tempest.

It subsided suddenly, and was followed by a stony silence that frightened the Contessa.  It was time for luncheon, and Aurora came back, hoping to find that she had been forgiven during her absence, but the Signora only looked at her coldly once or twice and would not speak.  None of the three even pretended to have an appetite.