arm. She was yielding slightly, holding her head lifted high, indeed tilted slightly back, with her eyes half closed.
âWhen you were ascending these stairs, you were followed by my unknown admiration. Descending them, you are accompanied by my love, Andrea said to her, in a low, almost humble tone, placing a hesitant pause between the last words.
She did not respond. But she brought the bunch of violets to her nostrils and inhaled their scent. In the act, the wide sleeve of her mantle slipped back along her arm, beyond the elbow. The sight of that living flesh, emerging from the fur like a mass of white roses from snow, once again inflamed longing in the young manâs senses, even stronger than before, due to that strange provocative allure attained by the feminine nude when she is partly hidden by a thick, heavy garment. A small shiver moved his lips; and he could barely restrain his words of desire.
But the carriage was ready at the base of the stairs and the servant was at its door.
âThe Van Huffel residence, the duchess ordered, mounting the carriage, assisted by the count.
The servant bowed, leaving the door; and took his place. The horses were scraping the ground vigorously, raising sparks.
âWatch out! Elena cried, holding her hand out to the young man; and her eyes and her diamonds glittered in the shadows.
To be with her there in the darkness, and to seek her neck with my mouth under that scented fur!
He would have liked to say to her: Take me with you!
The horses pawed.
âWatch out! repeated Elena.
He kissed her hand, pressing it as if to leave a mark of passion on her skin. Then he closed the door. And at the thud, the carriage departed at speed, with a loud reverberation throughout the porte-cochère, exiting into the Forum.
CHAPTER III
Thus began Andrea Sperelliâs affair with Donna Elena Muti.
The next day, the halls of the auction house in Via Sistina were crowded with elegant people who had come to watch the contest Andrea had announced.
It was raining hard. A gray light entered those damp and low-ceilinged rooms; along the walls were neatly arranged some pieces of furniture made of carved wood and some large triptychs and diptychs of the Tuscan school of the fourteenth century; four Flemish tapestries representing the
Story of Narcissus
hung to the floor; Metaurensian majolica ceramics took up two long shelves; fabrics, mostly ecclesiastical, were arranged either unfolded on chairs or piled onto tables; the rarest relics, ivories, enameled objects, glass pieces, carved jewels, medals, coins, prayer books, illuminated codices, ornate silverware, were gathered in another showcase behind the auctioneersâ table; and a particular odor, emanating from the dampness of the place and from those ancient things, filled the air.
When Andrea Sperelli entered accompanying the Princess of Ferentino, he felt a secret quiver. He thought:
Has she already come?
and his eyes rapidly sought
her
out.
She
had indeed already come. She was sitting in front of the table between Cavalier DÃ vila and Don Filippo del Monte. She had placed her gloves and her otter muff, from which a bunch of violets peeped out, on the edge of the table. She held a small silver picture in her fingers, attributed to Caradosso Foppa; and was examining it with much attention. Objects were passing from hand to hand along the table; and the auctioneer was praising them loudly; the people standing behind the row of chairs leaned over to see; and then the auction sale began. The figures proceeded rapidly. At each step, the auctioneer would cry:
âDo I hear . . . ?
An amateur, incited by his cry, would call a higher sum, looking at his adversaries. The auctioneer would shout, his gavel raised:
âGoing once, twice, third and final call: SOLD!
And would pound his gavel on the table. The object would go to the last bidder. A murmur would spread; then once again the contest would heat up.
âWhen you were ascending these stairs, you were followed by my unknown admiration. Descending them, you are accompanied by my love, Andrea said to her, in a low, almost humble tone, placing a hesitant pause between the last words.
She did not respond. But she brought the bunch of violets to her nostrils and inhaled their scent. In the act, the wide sleeve of her mantle slipped back along her arm, beyond the elbow. The sight of that living flesh, emerging from the fur like a mass of white roses from snow, once again inflamed longing in the young manâs senses, even stronger than before, due to that strange provocative allure attained by the feminine nude when she is partly hidden by a thick, heavy garment. A small shiver moved his lips; and he could barely restrain his words of desire.
But the carriage was ready at the base of the stairs and the servant was at its door.
âThe Van Huffel residence, the duchess ordered, mounting the carriage, assisted by the count.
The servant bowed, leaving the door; and took his place. The horses were scraping the ground vigorously, raising sparks.
âWatch out! Elena cried, holding her hand out to the young man; and her eyes and her diamonds glittered in the shadows.
To be with her there in the darkness, and to seek her neck with my mouth under that scented fur!
He would have liked to say to her: Take me with you!
The horses pawed.
âWatch out! repeated Elena.
He kissed her hand, pressing it as if to leave a mark of passion on her skin. Then he closed the door. And at the thud, the carriage departed at speed, with a loud reverberation throughout the porte-cochère, exiting into the Forum.
CHAPTER III
Thus began Andrea Sperelliâs affair with Donna Elena Muti.
The next day, the halls of the auction house in Via Sistina were crowded with elegant people who had come to watch the contest Andrea had announced.
It was raining hard. A gray light entered those damp and low-ceilinged rooms; along the walls were neatly arranged some pieces of furniture made of carved wood and some large triptychs and diptychs of the Tuscan school of the fourteenth century; four Flemish tapestries representing the
Story of Narcissus
hung to the floor; Metaurensian majolica ceramics took up two long shelves; fabrics, mostly ecclesiastical, were arranged either unfolded on chairs or piled onto tables; the rarest relics, ivories, enameled objects, glass pieces, carved jewels, medals, coins, prayer books, illuminated codices, ornate silverware, were gathered in another showcase behind the auctioneersâ table; and a particular odor, emanating from the dampness of the place and from those ancient things, filled the air.
When Andrea Sperelli entered accompanying the Princess of Ferentino, he felt a secret quiver. He thought:
Has she already come?
and his eyes rapidly sought
her
out.
She
had indeed already come. She was sitting in front of the table between Cavalier DÃ vila and Don Filippo del Monte. She had placed her gloves and her otter muff, from which a bunch of violets peeped out, on the edge of the table. She held a small silver picture in her fingers, attributed to Caradosso Foppa; and was examining it with much attention. Objects were passing from hand to hand along the table; and the auctioneer was praising them loudly; the people standing behind the row of chairs leaned over to see; and then the auction sale began. The figures proceeded rapidly. At each step, the auctioneer would cry:
âDo I hear . . . ?
An amateur, incited by his cry, would call a higher sum, looking at his adversaries. The auctioneer would shout, his gavel raised:
âGoing once, twice, third and final call: SOLD!
And would pound his gavel on the table. The object would go to the last bidder. A murmur would spread; then once again the contest would heat up.
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