isturbing
that, at length, Donna Ippolita, half offended and blushing faintly,
said to him--

'I will not have you look at me like that.'

Few persons besides themselves remained upon the stand. Ladies and
gentlemen strolled up and down across the grass, along the barrier, or
surrounded the victorious horse or the yelling bookmakers, under the
inconstant rays of the sun that came and went between the floating
archipelago of clouds.

'Let us go down,' she said, unaware of Giannetto Rutolo leaning with
watchful eyes upon the railing of the staircase.

As they passed him, Sperelli called back over his shoulder--

'Addio, Marchese--see you again soon. Our race is on directly.'

Rutolo bowed profoundly to Donna Ippolita, and a deep flush rose
suddenly to his face. He seemed to have caught a touch of derision in
Sperelli's greeting. Leaning on the railing, he followed the retreating
couple with hungry eyes. He was obviously suffering.

'Rutolo, be on your guard!' said the Contessa di Lucoli with a malicious
laugh as she passed down the stairs on the arm of Don Filippo del Monte.

The blow struck home. Donna Ippolita and the Conte d'Ugenta having
penetrated as far as the umpire's stand were now retracing their steps.
The lady held her sunshade over her shoulder, twirling the handle
languidly in her fingers; the white cupola stood out round her head like
a halo, and the lace frills rose and fluttered incessantly. Within this
revolving circle, she laughed from time to time at what her companion
said, and a delicate flush stained the noble pallor of her face.
Sometimes they would both stand still.

Under pretext of examining the horses now entering the race-course,
Giannetto turned his field-glass upon the two. His hands trembled
visibly. Every smile, every movement, every glance of Ippolita's was a
sword-thrust in his heart. When he dropped his glass, he was deadly
pale. He had surprised a look in the eyes that met Sperelli's which he
knew full well of old. Everything seemed crumbling to ruins around him.
The love of years was over--irrevocably lost--slain by that glance. The
sun was the sun no longer, life was not life any more.

The grand stand was rapidly refilling; the signal for the third race was
about to be given. The ladies stood up on their seats. A murmur ran
along the tiers like a breeze over a sloping garden. The bell rang. The
horses started like a flight of arrows.

'I shall ride in your honour, Donna