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which looked abandoned, a strip of black cloth. Above it were the words, "Lutto in famiglia." That was years ago. Yet now he saw again the palace door, the strip of cloth soaked by the pouring rain, the dreary, almost sinister words which he had read by lightning: "Lutto in famiglia." He repeated them as he gazed at the blackness above Ischia. "Monsieur Emile!" "Vere!" The girl came towards him, a white contrast to what he had been watching. "I'm all ready. It seems so strange to be going out to a sort of party. I've had such a bother with my hair." "You have conquered," he said. "Undine has disappeared." "What?" "Come quite close to the lamp." She came obediently. "Vere transformed!" he said. "I have seen three Veres to-day already. How many more will greet me to-night?" She laughed gently, standing quite still. Her dress and her gloves were white, but she had on a small black hat, very French, and at the back of her hair there was a broad black ribbon tied in a big bow. This ribbon marked her exact age clearly, he thought. "This is a new frock, and my very smartest," she said; "and you dared to abuse Paris!" "Being a man. I must retract now. You are right, we cannot do without it. But--have you an umbrella?" "An umbrella?" She moved and laughed again, much more gayly. "I am serious. Come here and look at Ischia." She went with him quickly to the window. "That blackness does look wicked. But it's a long way off." "I think it is coming this way." "Oh, but"--and she went to the opposite window--"the sky is perfectly clear towards Naples. And look how still the sea is." "Too still. It is like steel." "Hush! Listen!" She held up her hand. They both heard a far-off sound of busy panting on the sea. "That must be the launch!" she said. Her eyes were gay and expectant. It was evident that she was in high spirits, that she was looking forward to this unusual gayety. "Yes." "Doesn't it sound in a hurry, as if the Marchesino was terribly afraid of being late?" "Get your umbrella, Vere, and a waterproof. You will want them both." At that moment Hermione came in. "Madre, the launch is coming in a frightful hurry, and Monsieur Emile says we must take umbrellas." "Surely it isn't going to rain?" "There is a thunder-storm coming up from Ischia, I believe," said Artois. "Then we will take our cloaks in case. It is fearfully hot. I thought so when I w
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