CHAPTER XXI.
Giovanni came home late in the afternoon and found Corona sitting
by the fire in her boudoir. She had known that he would return
before long, but had not anticipated his coming with any pleasure.
When he entered the room she looked up quietly, without a smile,
to assure herself that it was he and no one else. She said
nothing, and he sat down upon the other side of the fireplace.
There was an air of embarrassment about their meetings, until one
or the other had made some remark which led to a commonplace
conversation. On the present occasion neither seemed inclined to
be the first speaker and for some minutes they sat opposite to
each other in silence. Giovanni glanced at his wife from time to
time, and once she turned her head and met his eyes. Her
expression was cold and grave as though she wished him to
understand that she had nothing to say. He thought she had never
been so beautiful before. The firelight, striking her face at an
upward angle, brought out clearly the noble symmetry of her
features, the level brow, the wide, delicate nostrils, the even
curve of her lips, the splendid breadth of her smooth forehead,
shaded by her heavy black hair. She seemed to feel cold, for she
sat near the flames, resting one foot upon the fender, in an
attitude that threw into relief the perfect curves of her figure,
as she bent slightly forward, spreading her hands occasionally to
the blaze.
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