She stopped, looked at me in a dazed sort of way,
as if she was trying to focus my face so as to recall
me to her memory, and said in a determined way:

"No, let me pass. It's too late for all that, Signore.
I am--"

"But wait until you hear me."

"I will hear nothing until I find Francesco."

"You must not go near him. Get into the gondola
and let Luigi and me take you home."

A dry laugh rose to her lips. "Home! There
is no home any more. See! My ring is gone! Francesco
is the one I want--now---NOW! He knows I
am coming,--I sent him word. Don't hold me, Signore,
--don't touch me!"

She was gone before I could stop her, her long,
striding walk increasing almost to a run, her black
shawl swaying about her limbs as she hurried toward
her old home at the end of the quay. Luigi started
after her, but I called him back. Nothing could be
done until her fury, or her agony, had spent itself.
These volcanoes are often short-lived. We looked
after her until she had reached the door and had
flung herself across the threshold. Then I sent Luigi