The Torrents of Spring | Page 4

met anything like her!

The girl drew slow, uneven breaths; she seemed between each breath to
be waiting to see whether her brother would not begin to breathe.
Sanin went on rubbing him, but he did not only watch the girl. The
original figure of Pantaleone drew his attention too. The old man was
quite exhausted and panting; at every movement of the brush he
hopped up and down and groaned noisily, while his immense tufts of
hair, soaked with perspiration, flapped heavily from side to side, like
the roots of some strong plant, torn up by the water.
'You'd better, at least, take off his boots,' Sanin was just saying to him.
The poodle, probably excited by the unusualness of all the proceedings,
suddenly sank on to its front paws and began barking.
'Tartaglia--canaglia!' the old man hissed at it. But at that instant the
girl's face was transformed. Her eyebrows rose, her eyes grew wider,
and shone with joy.
Sanin looked round ... A flush had over-spread the lad's face; his
eyelids stirred ... his nostrils twitched. He drew in a breath through his
still clenched teeth, sighed....
'Emil!' cried the girl ... 'Emilio mio!'
Slowly the big black eyes opened. They still had a dazed look, but
already smiled faintly; the same faint smile hovered on his pale lips.
Then he moved the arm that hung down, and laid it on his chest.
'Emilio!' repeated the girl, and she got up. The expression on her face
was so tense and vivid, that it seemed that in an instant either she
would burst into tears or break into laughter.
'Emil! what is it? Emil!' was heard outside, and a neatly-dressed lady
with silvery grey hair and a dark face came with rapid steps into the
room.
A middle-aged man followed her; the head of a maid-servant was

visible over their shoulders.
The girl ran to meet them.
'He is saved, mother, he is alive!' she cried, impulsively embracing the
lady who had just entered.
'But what is it?' she repeated. 'I come back ... and all of a sudden I meet
the doctor and Luise ...'
The girl proceeded to explain what had happened, while the doctor
went up to the invalid who was coming more and more to himself, and
was still smiling: he seemed to be beginning to feel shy at the
commotion he had caused.
'You've been using friction with brushes, I see,' said the doctor to Sanin
and Pantaleone, 'and you did very well.... A very good idea ... and now
let us see what further measures ...'
He felt the youth's pulse. 'H'm! show me your tongue!'
The lady bent anxiously over him. He smiled still more ingenuously,
raised his eyes to her, and blushed a little.
It struck Sanin that he was no longer wanted; he went into the shop.
But before he had time to touch the handle of the street-door, the girl
was once more before him; she stopped him.
'You are going,' she began, looking warmly into his face; 'I will not
keep you, but you must be sure to come to see us this evening: we are
so indebted to you--you, perhaps, saved my brother's life, we want to
thank you--mother wants to. You must tell us who you are, you must
rejoice with us ...'
'But I am leaving for Berlin to-day,' Sanin faltered out.
'You will have time though,' the girl rejoined eagerly. 'Come to us in an
hour's time to drink a cup of chocolate with us. You promise? I must go
back to him! You will come?'

What could Sanin do?
'I will come,' he replied.
The beautiful girl pressed his hand, fluttered away, and he found
himself in the street.

IV
When Sanin, an hour and a half later, returned to the Rosellis' shop he
was received there like one of the family. Emilio was sitting on the
same sofa, on which he had been rubbed; the doctor had prescribed him
medicine and recommended 'great discretion in avoiding strong
emotions' as being a subject of nervous temperament with a tendency to
weakness of the heart. He had previously been liable to fainting-fits;
but never had he lost consciousness so completely and for so long.
However, the doctor declared that all danger was over. Emil, as was
only suitable for an invalid, was dressed in a comfortable
dressing-gown; his mother wound a blue woollen wrap round his neck;
but he had a cheerful, almost a festive air; indeed everything had a
festive air. Before the sofa, on a round table, covered with a clean cloth,
towered a huge china coffee-pot, filled with fragrant chocolate, and
encircled by cups, decanters of liqueur, biscuits and rolls, and even
flowers; six slender wax candles were burning in two old-fashioned