"So much the worse for you if you are bored!" He sent forth a fiendish whistle, fit to pierce a hole in the door.
Jeanne clapped her hands.

The piano and the violoncello attacked a solemn _andante_.
She turned to Selva, who was coming in again after having accompanied his wife into the corridor, in order to tell her to telegraph to Don Clemente.

She went towards him with clasped hands, her eyes full of tears.
"Selva," she murmured in a stifled voice, "you know everything now.

I cannot hide my feelings from you.

Is there something worse?
Tell me the truth." Selva took her hands and pressed them in silence, while the violoncello answered for him, bitterly and sadly: "Weep, weep, for there is no fate like thy fate of love and of grief." He pressed the poor icy hands, unable to speak.