"May I come in, my dear?" Zoya Olisco entered as she spoke. She stood a
second on the threshold, then, closing the door after her, crossed the
room quickly and, taking Nina's face between her hands, looked at her
with a half-quizzical grimace. "You silly little cat," she said softly,
"surely you have not been melting into tears over the duke's death--nor
yet for Giovanni's departure?"
"How do you know about it? Aunt Eleanor didn't tell you, did she? Is
the news of the duke's death out?"
Zoya's raised eyebrows expressed satisfaction, and she exclaimed
triumphantly: "I knew I was right! Really, it is extraordinary how
things come about! No one has told me a word. Yet the whole story
unrolled itself in front of me. Listen"--she interrupted herself long
enough to light a cigarette, then sat down tailor fashion on the foot of
the lounge--"I was but a moment ago at the station--my sister went back
to Russia this morning. As I was leaving, whom did I see but Giovanni
being piloted down the trainway! He looked really ill, and it would have
struck any one as strange that he should be traveling. Then all at once
I thought to myself, 'Hm, Hm! Signore il duca has descended into the
next world, and the one who sent him there is being banished into the
next country!' Thereupon I thought further, 'That child of a Nina will
be hiding her head under the pillows of her bed'--exactly as you have
been doing! How do I know? Look at your hair, and look at the
pillows--and here I am to scold you!"
Nina looked at her in amazement.
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