The girl was, as always, punctual. The old man had felt none of the nervousness in waiting for her he had experienced in the past. This comforted him. If his dream had presaged sexual excitement, the reality—he was now convinced of it—was something entirely different. But the violent emotion he experienced at seeing once again the girl’s dear face was a great surprise to him. Now he realized that it was out of the question for him to assume with her, as he had intended doing, the airs of the head of an office. He nearly fainted. How enchanting was that little face with the great eyes, every line of which he knew from having kissed it, and how musical was that voice he had heard while he was behaving in a way that now filled him with remorse. He could not find words to welcome her and for a long while he held the little gloved hand in his own. It was so good to love. Was a new, a last youth beginning for him? A new cure, more effective than all the others?
Then he looked at her. Her face seemed less fresh. Round her mouth, which five months ago he had compared to a flower scarcely budding, some of the lines had altered. Horizontally the mouth had lengthened a little and the lips seemed less full. Some bitterness? Perhaps some rancour against him? Because—only now did he remember it—he had promised love and protection and then suddenly he had repudiated all his promises to her. Hence the first words he uttered were to ask her forgiveness. He told her how, at the time when he had written her her that he must leave town, he had really been ill. He described the great attack of angina, which now lay so far behind him, as if it had been yesterday. In a way, therefore, he lied, but only so as to insure being immediately forgiven.
She, however, had no thought of a grievance against him. Far from it. She had immediately made as if she would kiss him right on the mouth. He offered her his cheek and just touched hers with his own lips. “What a pity,” she said; “it would have been better if you had gone away instead of being ill.”
In order to see her better, he made her sit down at the other end of the table. It must have been ordained by mother Nature that old men should see better at a distance, because there is no object in their having things within reach.
Suddenly he noticed with surprise that the curls which he had seen flying free in the air on the previous day were now covered with a smart hat, adorned with good feathers of sober hue. Why this transformation, as it might be called in Trieste, where a woman’s hat shows exactly the class to which she belongs? She came to him in a hat, while she did not wear one when walking in the street? It was strange. And how different was her style of dress! She was no longer a daughter of the people; she belonged to the middle classes in her hat, her well-cut dress and its ample material, such as was then the fashion, when material was scarce. To the middle classes, too, if not to the best of them, belonged the transparent silk stockings, which were such a poor protection to the legs against the cold, and the little varnished shoes. It was not merely affection that made it impossible for the old man to adopt the rather stern air he had intended, but also, to some extent, respect. She was certainly the smartest person he had talked to for a long time. He, on the other hand, was dressed very slackly. He had not even got on his collar, because it made him short of breath. Instinctively he put his hand to his throat to see whether he had buttoned his shirt.
Where could all the money have come from to buy all this finery? Instead of thinking what he had to say, the old man lost himself in calculations. How much money had he sent her five months ago? Could the money he had given her have been enough to explain all this luxury?
She looked at him smiling, and seemed to be waiting. He had already decided not to assume for the moment the appearance of a mentor, especially as he seemed to be admonishing her sufficiently by setting an example of virtue. That is why he could not think of anything else to say than to ask “Are you still on the trams?”
At first she seemed not to understand: “On the trams?” Then she appeared to recollect: It was not work suited to a young girl. She had left it some time ago.
He invited her to eat. It was a way of gaining time, because he was wondering whether he ought not to have reproved her for giving up work. While she was preparing to eat, slowly taking off her gloves, he asked her: “And what are you doing now?”
“Now?” asked the girl, hesitating in her turn. Then she smiled: “Now I am looking for a job, and you must find me one.”
“I shall be delighted,” said the old man. “As soon as I am well, I will take you into my office. Have you learnt any German?” “Ah, German!” she said, laughing heartily. “We two began to love each other with German, and we might go on learning it together.” This was a suggestion he pretended not to hear.
She began to eat, but in a most self-possessed way. Knife and fork worked with complete ease and the mouthfuls reached the dainty mouth in due measure, whereas at the early suppers to which he had invited her the little fingers had also had to assist in breaking up the food and conveying it to its destination. The old man felt that he ought to be gratified at finding her so much more refined.
He was still hesitating. If he went on laughing and smiling with her, what was going to happen? In order not to give offence he meant to speak only of his own fault: “If that day I had got into conversation with you only to give you advice for your own good.…”
The girl’s simple common sense at this point raised an objection which was to weigh upon the old man even later: “But if you had not fallen in love with me, you would not have accosted me at all.” And he realized at once that if he had not been kept on the foot-board of the tram by his desire, he would have got off at the Tergesteo without even noticing that the girl might need him.
She had not taken his words very seriously, because she said at once: “Was I pretty on the tram? Tell me now, you liked me very much?” She got up, went to him and stroked his cheek, which had been shaved that day. What could he do but return the caress by putting his hand under her chin?
He tried to take up the thread of his speech. “I was too old for you, and I ought to have known it.”
“Old!” she exclaimed in protest. “I loved you because I liked that air of distinction of yours.” He was forced to smile at the compliment, and he was really pleased. He knew that even in his old age he looked distinguished and he took pride in the fact.
“But if,” she added, eating, “you want to adopt me as your daughter, there is plenty of time. Should not I make a lovely daughter?”
Unbounded assurance came out in every word she said, and it seemed to him that the girl of the people had been different. In her old clothes, at the very moment when she had seduced him, she had been so much more moral. While she was eating she managed to stretch herself on the arm-chair and display her legs with their smart stockings to the gaze of the old man. Adopt her? A girl who showed him legs about which he did not care twopence?
Anger made him more eloquent. “That day I accosted you with the idea of doing you good and leading you to a better life. Do you remember how I spoke to you about jobs and lessons? Do you remember? Then passion gained the mastery. But remember that, on the very first evening, I wanted to speak to you again about work, and I spoke about it on the second and always, every time I saw you. Then I also told you to be on your guard, and not let yourself be inveigled into other irregular amours. Do you remember?” He had thus admitted, and without the slightest effort, that his own love had also been irregular.
And he breathed again. Seeing that the girl remembered everything he wanted and nothing else, he breathed again. It seemed to him that he was cleared of all reproach, and he thought now that he would be able to devote himself to teaching the girl morality, without finding any impediment in the example he himself had set. With his nurse he had been more honest and had excused his earlier transgressions by his youth. With the girl, on the contrary, he was trying to wipe out those transgressions by means of the words with which he had accompanied them.
Apparently he had succeeded, and he was inexpressibly pleased in consequence. He thought he could look at the whole world objectively now that he was at last free of all the compromising circumstances to which all men are driven by their own weaknesses. If he had really been the objective observer he imagined, he might have seen that there was still something of the girl of the people in this girl, something simple and ingenuous, and delighted in it. She went on eating with a good appetite and said she remembered everything he wanted her to remember and nothing he did not want. She had not the slightest idea why he talked as he did, but she was not surprised at his words. She would not have been in the least surprised if he had then begun to kiss her and embrace her, as in the past. It might well be that, whereas in the past he had been in the habit of making love first and preaching afterwards, he had decided, after his bad illness, to begin with the sermon, and it was not her business to understand the reason for the change.
However, she declared that she had always followed his advice, and had never given herself up to irregular loves. She spoke calmly, continuing to eat and not paying the slightest attention to the face of her interlocutor to see whether he believed her.
He did not believe her, but he felt obliged to appear a little grateful, because she had been so forbearing with him. “Bravo,” said he, “I am very pleased with you. You are doing me the greatest kindness in remaining honest, and you will see that I shall be very grateful.” He imagined that he had done a great deal in that first interview. The rest might be held over till the next day, after he had had the necessary time for reflection. Yet he could not manage to change the subject, not merely because old men are rather like crocodiles, which cannot easily change their direction, but also because there was now only one link between him and the girl. There had in fact never been more than one between them, only now it was a different one. “And how about the young man you were with yesterday under my window?”
She did not remember at once that she had gone down that street. She recollected after an effort of memory, or rather of thought. She must have gone down that road when she came to the other one from her home. The young man was a cousin of hers back from the university. There was no need to take the boy seriously.
Again he did not believe her, but he thought that for the moment it would be better not to press the point. Before dismissing her, on the pretext that he was very tired, he gave her money, this time not in an envelope, but counted out carefully on the table. He looked at the girl, expecting to enjoy her thanks. He did not notice much. First of all it disgusted her to talk of money always, and the old man had to ask her more than once to help him count it, because she was looking the other way; then, after all, there was not much of it, for in those days it was only just enough to buy the shoes the girl was wearing.
She went off after giving him a good, long kiss, and certainly thought that the love was being held over till the second meeting.