"It is raining."
She sighs "What a bother," as if it were going to rain for ever. And the tiny drops acquire a louder voice, fill the room with soft murmurs, and then are hushed once more. Jeanne does not understand the soft murmurs, does not understand that the man of whom her heart is full is lying unconscious, on the lonely, rocky, hillside, down which the rain washes.
Late on the following morning Signora Selva, somewhat anxious because neither of her guests had as yet appeared, entered her sister's room quietly. Noemi was nearly dressed, and signed to her to be silent. Jeanne had fallen asleep at last. The two sisters left the room together and went to the study where Giovanni was waiting for them. Well? Was Don Clemente really the man? The husband and wife were anxious to know in order to regulate their conduct accordingly. Giovanni no longer doubted, but his wife was not sure even now. Noemi! Noemi must know! Giovanni closed the door, while Maria, interpreting her sister's silence as confirmation, insisted: "Then it is really he, really he?"
Noemi was silent. She would perhaps have betrayed her friend's secret in order to conspire with the Selvas for Jeanne's happiness, had she not been deterred by a doubt of their agreeing with her, and by a sense of wavering in her own
