"That it is Christmas morning. I wonder if they got my parcel at home in time."
"I daresay they did. You sent it on the eleventh, didn't you?"
"I did. It was always so nice on Christmas morning to go in and look at the tree and the presents in daylight—but I was young then," she added, smiling. "They say there's been lots of snow this winter. I suppose the children are tobagganing in the mountains today."
"Yes, probably," said Heggen. "You are getting cold. Good-night, and thanks again."
"Good-night, and a happy Christmas to you, Gunnar."
They shook hands. She stayed by the window a little while after he had gone.
One day during Christmas week Gram went into a trattoria. Heggen and Jenny were sitting at a table, but they did not see him. As he was taking off his overcoat, he heard Heggen say:
"I don't like that man."
"No; he is disgusting," said Jenny, sighing.
"It is not good for her either—with this sirocco blowing She will be a rag tomorrow. I suppose she does not work at all—only walks about with that fellow?"
"Work, no! But I can do nothing. She walks from here to Viterbo with him in those thin slippers of hers, in spite of the cold and the sirocco—only because the man can tell her about Hans Hermann."
Gram greeted them as he passed. They made a movement as if inviting him to sit at their table, but he pretended not to see, and sat down farther up the room with his back to them. He understood that they were speaking about Francesca.
