The young wife looked up at him and smiled in her turn.
"Perhaps you yourself have never told me quite everything about those
moments."
Giovanni placed his hands on her shoulders and whispered in her ear:
"That is true."
She started, and then laughed at herself for starting, and Giovanni
laughed with her.
"What, what?" she cried, her face aglow, vexed but still laughing. Her
husband whispered again, in a tone of great mystery:
"That your hat was in disorder!"
"Oh, that is not true! Really not true!"
Sparkling with mirth, and at the same time trembling at the idea of the
great danger she had encountered unawares, she protested that it was
impossible; she had looked in the mirror of her _necessaire_ so many
times before reaching Hergyswyl.
Every moment of that hour passed two years before, they recalled
together jestingly; she often kissing his breast, and he her hair.
Giovanni had not waited for her at the station, where there was a crowd
of holiday-makers, but a few yards distant, on the road leading to the
hotel.
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