The railing and the deep shade of the
veranda shielded them effectually. The Italian, a man of middle height,
with a finely-molded face and soldierly aspect, a man whose bearing
went far to prove that Stump's general estimate of a great nation was
apt to be wrong, was certainly very much taken up with the appearance
of the two figures leaning over the balcony. But Royson had scarce time
to note his main characteristics when he heard Mrs. Haxton utter a
queer gasping sob. It seemed to him that she had only just succeeded in
smothering a scream. Her cheeks suddenly became ashen gray, and her
tightly compressed lips were bloodless. All her beauty fled, as the
tints of a rose die under certain varieties of chemical light. Her eyes
dilated in an alarming way, and lines not visible previously now
puckered the corners of her mouth.
Owing to the Babel of tongues in the street, neither Irene nor Captain
Stump knew how terribly the mere sight of the staring Italian had
affected Mrs. Haxton. It came to Royson with a flash of inspiration
that this man must be Alfieri, that the woman had recognized him, and
that she feared him with a mortal dread.
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