Madame Scarabelli seemed struck with his attitude.
"Don't you see," I said, "he can't read the riddle?"
"You yourself," she answered, "said he was incapable of thinking evil. I
should be sorry to have him think any evil of _me_."
And she looked straight at me--seriously, appealingly--with her beautiful
candid brow.
I inclined myself, smiling, in a manner which might have meant--"How
could that be possible?"
"I have a great esteem for him," she went on; "I want him to think well
of me. If I am a puzzle to him, do me a little service. Explain me to
him."
"Explain you, dear lady?"
"You are older and wiser than he. Make him understand me."
She looked deep into my eyes for a moment, and then she turned away.
26th.--I have written nothing for a good many days, but meanwhile I have
been half a dozen times to Casa Salvi. I have seen a good deal also of
my young friend--had a good many walks and talks with him. I have
proposed to him to come with me to Venice for a fortnight, but he won't
listen to the idea of leaving Florence. He is very happy in spite of his
doubts, and I confess that in the perception of his happiness I have
lived over again my own. This is so much the case that when, the other
day, he at last made up his mind to ask me to tell him the wrong that
Madame de Salvi had done me, I rather checked his curiosity.
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