Folco had not looked as men do who see one they love called back from almost certain death.
"What are you thinking ?" Marcello asked, for her deep look stirred his blood, and he forgot Folco and everything in the world except the beautiful creature that sat there, within his reach, in the lonely pine-woods.
She understood, and turned her eyes to the distance; and she saw the quiet room in the hospital, the iron bedstead painted white, the smooth pillow, Marcello's emaciated head, and Corbario's face.
"I was thinking how you looked when you were ill," she answered simply.
The words and the tone broke the soft little spell that had been weaving itself out of her dark eyes.

Marcello drew a short, impatient breath and threw himself on his side again, supporting his head on his hand and looking down at the brown pine-needles.
"You do not know Folco," he said discontentedly.

"I don't know why you should dislike him." "I will tell you something," Regina answered.

"When you are tired of me, you shall send me away.

You shall throw me away like an old coat." "You are always saying that!" returned Marcello, displeased.