get out of here.” And when another woman drew close, he found himself giving her such a vicious look that she backed off, affronted. He had turned, stumbling into an empty supper room with a large table set for some hundred persons it seemed, with sumptuous plate and fresh-cut flowers.
And far down the wall, in one of the deep-set arched windows, stood a lone young woman watching him.
For just one second he thought she was the little prima donna of the opera, and a wave of despair came over him. He heard the richness of her voice, its lusty peaks, and saw again those little breasts, heaving with her untrained breaths, and felt the despair agitated to panic.
But this was not the prima donna. This was another young woman with the same fair hair and blue eyes, only she was tall and slight of build and her eyes were very dark, almost smoky. She wore only a plain dress of violet-colored silk, with none of those frills and ribbons he’d seen on the stage, and this dress molded her arms and her shoulders exquisitely. It appeared she’d been watching him for a long time as he stood there, and that before he had come in, she’d been crying.
He knew he must leave this room. But gazing at her, he felt an anger mingling in him with some drunken passion. She was lithesome, this girl, her hair full of lovely little wisps that softened its calculated curls, giving her an aureole in the candlelight.
And without meaning to, he was approaching her. It was not only that prettiness that drew him, however. There was something abandoned and uncaring about her. Crying, crying, he thought, why is she crying? He stumbled. He was very drunk. Before him a candle teetered on the tablecloth and then fell over. It went out with a fragrant wick of smoke rising straight to the ceiling.
And he found himself before her, marveling that those dark smoky-blue eyes seemed to hold no fear of him.
No fear. No fear. And why in God’s name should she be afraid of him! He felt his teeth clench. He had not meant to touch her. And yet he had reached out.
And all of a sudden, without reason, fresh tears appeared in her eyes. She was crying helplessly.
And it was she who laid her head against his shoulder.
It was an anguishing moment. It was full of terror. Her soft yellow hair smelled like rain against his face, and in the gaping ruffle of her dress, he saw her bosom as it rested against him. He knew that if he did not get away from her, he would strike her, do her some appalling violence, and yet he was holding her so tight surely he was hurting her.
He lifted her chin. He closed his mouth on hers, and then heard her cry out. She was struggling.
It seemed he’d fallen backwards. She was far, far away from him, and the look on her face in those shadows was so innocent and so stricken that turning he all but ran out of this room until he found himself in the very middle of the ball, and its great confusion of dancers.
“Maestro,” he murmured, turning this way and that, and when suddenly Guido took his arm he insisted that he had to get out of here.
An elderly woman was nodding to him. The man beside him was explaining to him that the Marchesa wanted to dance with him. “I cannot…” He was shaking his head….
“Oh, yes, you can,” Guido’s low voice rumbled in his ear. He felt Guido’s hand in the small of his back.
“Damn you,” he whispered. “I have to get out of here…. You must help me…get back to the conservatorio.”
But he was bowing to this ancient woman, kissing her hand. There was such a sweetness in her expression, the ruin of a lovely face, and a grace even to the withered arm outstretched to him.
“No, Maestro—!” he whispered.
She turned lightly in her white slippers. He felt the room going round and round. He must not see that fair-haired girl. He must not see her! He would go mad if she suddenly appeared, and yet somehow if he could only make it known to her…
But what?
That he wasn’t to blame, she wasn’t to blame.
They were facing each other, the Marchesa and he, the music was full into the quadrille and by some miracle he came forward, bowed to his partner, breaking to move down the long