Gould, passing on, had the vividness of a figure seen in the clear
patches of sun that chequer the gloom of open glades in the woods. The
stones in the rings upon her hand pressed to her forehead glittered in
the lamplight abreast of the door of the sala.
"Who's there?" she asked, in a startled voice. "Is that you, Basilio?"
She looked in, and saw Martin Decoud walking about, with an air of
having lost something, amongst the chairs and tables.
"Antonia has forgotten her fan in here," said Decoud, with a strange air
of distraction; "so I entered to see."
But, even as he said this, he had obviously given up his search, and
walked straight towards Mrs. Gould, who looked at him with doubtful
surprise.
"Senora," he began, in a low voice.
"What is it, Don Martin?" asked Mrs. Gould. And then she added, with a
slight laugh, "I am so nervous to-day," as if to explain the eagerness
of the question.
"Nothing immediately dangerous," said Decoud, who now could not conceal
his agitation. "Pray don't distress yourself. No, really, you must not
distress yourself.
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