and every now and then a flake of snow spins around upon the wind. Short of wishing to be frozen stiff, there is nothing for it but to shut the window.
"It snows," says Signora Evelina, glancing upward.
"Oh, it was sure to come."
"Well—I must go and look after my household. Au revoir—shall I see you later?"
"I hope to have the pleasure—"
"Au revoir, then."
Signora Evelina closes the window, nods and smiles once more through the pane, and disappears.
Signor Odoardo turns back to his study, and perceiving how cold it has grown, throws some wood on the fire, and, kneeling before the door of the stove, tries to blow the embers into a blaze. The flames leap up with a merry noise, sending bright flashes along the walls of the room.
Outside, the flakes continue to descend at intervals. Perhaps, after all, it is not going to be a snowstorm.
Signor Odoardo paces up and down the room, with bent head and hands thrust in his pockets. He is disturbed, profoundly disturbed. He feels that he has reached a crisis in his life; that in a few days, perhaps in a few hours, his future will be decided. Is he seriously in love with Signora
