In spite of her mirth,
Noemi reproaches Jeanne for saying such intensely foolish things without
stopping to reflect. For Noemi knows her friend, and knows that the
Jeanne of this hour is not the true Jeanne, self-possessed and mistress
of herself; or rather perhaps it is the true Jeanne, but certainly not
she who will stand before Piero Maironi, if, by any chance, they meet.
The thunder has ceased, and Jeanne would like to see what the weather
is, but she dreads to leave her bed, fearing to feel ill again, fearing
to discover she will not be able to go up to the monastery a few hours
hence. She also fears the opposition of her hosts, should the weather
prove too unpleasant. She is therefore anxious to see how the sky looks.
Get up must Noemi, the slave whose acts of rebellion very seldom ended
in victory. Noemi rises, opens the window, and examines the darkness,
her hand extended. Tiny, frequent drops tickle her palm. The darkness
grows less impenetrable as her eyes become accustomed to it. She
distinguishes, down below, Santa Maria della Febbre, grey, against a
black background.
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