The blank places were filled up with
pencil-writing, which looked as if it might be lines of poetry:
which in truth it was--Spanish improvisations breathing burning love
and passionate longing. He would have understood or guessed their
meaning even if Pilar had not translated them with kisses and
caresses.
"Now, you see, you bad boy," she went on, "those were my thoughts
while I was away from you. I had not thought it would be so
difficult to enjoy myself without you. It was impossible. It is only
three, but I could not stand it any longer. I escaped before the
cotillion. If you only knew how hollow and stupid it all seemed to
me! How dull I thought the men's conversation, how ludicrous the
affectations of the women! What are all these people compared to
you! No, I will never go out again without you. Come, Wilhelm, and
help me to undress. I will not have Anne about me now--nobody--only
you."
Had she been drinking champagne at the ball? Had the lights, the
music, the dancing, the perfumes, her own verses gone to her head?
Whatever was the cause, her nerves were certainly very highly
strung, and only calmed down when the morning was well advanced, and
she had exhausted herself in a thousand fond extravagances.
During the next few days Wilhelm noticed something odd in Pilar's
manner which he failed to understand.
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