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It had been produced, no doubt, by
the secret anger he had so long controlled, the secret but intense
curiosity which was not yet satisfied, and which still haunted him and
tortured him. This curiosity he now strove to expel from his mind,
telling himself that he had no right to it. He had wished to preserve
Vere just as she was, to keep her from all outside influences. And now
he asked the real man why he had wished it? Had it been merely the
desire of the literary godfather to cherish a pretty and promising
talent? Or had something of the jealous spirit so brutally proclaimed
to him that night by the Marchesino really entered into the desire?
This torturing curiosity to know what had happened at the Festa surely
betrayed the existence of some such spirit.
He must get rid of it.
He began to walk slowly up and down the little balcony, turning every
instant like a beast in a cage. It seemed to him that the real man had
indeed lain in hiding, but that he was coming forth reluctantly into
the light.


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