round the pupils, splendid, triumphant eyes, even now, when terror and
distress dimmed their lustre.... Sanin could not help recalling the
marvellous country he had just come from.... But even in Italy he had
never 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!'