'I think the Signor Conte might see her for a moment.
This way, if you please.' She was a woman past her first youth, rather thin and dressed in black, with a pair of gray eyes that glittered curiously under the curls of her false fringe.

Her step and her movements generally were light, not to say furtive, as of one who is in the habit of attending upon invalids or of executing secret orders.
'This way, Signor Conte.' She preceded Andrea though the long flight of dimly-lighted rooms, the thick soft carpets deadening every sound; and even through the almost uncontrollable tumult of his soul, the young man was conscious of an instinctive feeling of repulsion against her, without being able to assign an adequate reason for it.
Arrived in front of a door concealed by two pieces of tapestry of the Medicean period, bordered with deep red velvet, she stopped.
'I will go first and announce you.

Please to wait here.' A voice from within, which he recognised as Elena's, called, 'Christina!' At the sound of her voice coming thus unexpectedly, Andrea began to tremble so violently that he thought to himself--'I am sure I am going to faint.' He had a dim presentiment of some more than mortal happiness in store for him which should exceed his utmost expectations, his wildest dreams--almost beyond his powers to support.

She was there--on the other side of that door.

All perception of reality deserted him.