She felt the violence of his thought like the violence of a hand
striking her.
The Arab waiter brought her some ragout of mutton and peas, and she
looked down again at her plate.
As she left the room after _dejeuner_ the priest again got up and
bowed. She stopped for a moment to speak to him. All the French officers
surveyed her tall, upright figure and broad, athletic shoulders with
intent admiration. Domini knew it and was indifferent. If a hundred
French soldiers had been staring at her critically she would not have
cared at all. She was not a shy woman and was in nowise uncomfortable
when many eyes were fixed upon her. So she stood and talked a little to
the priest about Count Anteoni and her pleasure in his garden. And
as she did so, feeling her present calm self-possession, she wondered
secretly at the wholly unnatural turmoil--she called it that,
exaggerating her feeling because it was unusual--in which she had been a
few minutes before as she sat at her table.
The priest spoke well of Count Anteoni.
"He is very generous," he said.
Then he paused, twisting his napkin, and added:
"But I never have any real intercourse with him, Madame.
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