The windows of the first floor gleamed with violet reflections, a pale strip of sunset sky rested just above it; a brougham was turning away from the door.
'If I could but see her!' he thought to himself, standing still for a moment.

He lingered, purposely to prolong his uncertainty and his hope.
Shut up in this immense edifice she seemed to him immeasurably far away--lost to him.
The brougham stopped, and a gentleman put his head out of the window and called--'Andrea!' It was the Duke of Grimiti, a near relative of his.
'Going to call on the Scerni ?' asked the duke with a significant smile.
'Yes,' answered Andrea, 'to inquire after her--she is ill, you know.' 'Yes, I know--I have just come from there.

She is better.' 'Does she receive ?' 'Me--no.

But she may perhaps receive you.' And Grimiti laughed maliciously through the smoke of his cigarette.
'I don't understand,' Andrea answered coldly.
'Bah!' said the duke.

'Report says you are high in favour.