In short, I too leaned forward, I leaned forward, and I kissed her
full upon those scarlet, parted lips.
I kissed her, and fell back with a cry that was of anguish almost--so
poignantly had the sweet, fierce pain of that kiss run through my every
fibre. And as I cried out, so too did she, stepping back, her hands
suddenly to her face. But the next moment she was peering up at the
windows of the house--those inscrutable eyes that looked upon our deed;
that looked and of which it was impossible to discern how much they might
have seen.
"If he should have seen us!" was her cry; and it moved me unpleasantly that
such should have been the first thought my kiss inspired in her. "If he
should have seen us! Gesu! I have enough to bear already!"
"I care not," said I. "Let him see. I am not Messer Gambara. No man
shall put an insult upon you on my account, and live."
I was become the very ranting, roaring, fire-breathing type of lover who
will slaughter a whole world to do pleasure to his mistress or to spare her
pain--I--I--I, Agostino d'Anguissola--who was to be ordained next month and
walk in the ways of St. Augustine!
Laugh as you read--for very pity, laugh!
"Nay, nay," she reassured herself. "He will be still abed. He was snoring
when I left." And she dismissed her fears, and looked at me again, and
returned to the matter of that kiss.
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