displeased her, something she did not wish him to utter.
"You had better write the letter to Don Clemente," she said.
But Giovanni, before writing, wished to free his mind. There seemed to be only one explanation possible: Don Clemente was really the man. Noemi had promised Signora Dessalle not to say so, but she nevertheless wished to prevent a meeting. Maria exclaimed with some heat: " Oh! Noemi does not tell lies!" and then, crimsoning and smiling, she embraced her husband as if fearful of having offended him. For, once, she had offended him by some thoughtless words concerning the lack of truthfulness in Italians, and now perhaps her exclamation might have the effect of recalling the shadow of that cloud. He was indeed annoyed, more by the embrace than by the protest, and, remembering, he also crimsoned and maintained that in Noemi 's place Maria herself would have denied everything. Maria was silent, and left the study, importunate tears welling up in her eyes. At first Giovanni was glad he had repulsed this offensive tenderness, and he began the note to Don Clemente. Before he had finished it, however, his irritation had turned to remorse, and he rose and went in search of his wife. She was in the corridor, speaking in low tones to Noemi. She turned her face towards him at once; understanding, she smiled, her eyes still wet, and signed to him to come
