Chapter IIISitting on the terrace, in a secluded corner, he sees a couple that intrigue him. He had only noticed them today, but they might have been here for a while. The woman, not yet old, has something of a glorious beauty. Thirty-five years old, maybe. Maybe more. Tall, calm, with symmetrical features, with a smile that is not so much a smile as something that lights up her whole face. The man with her is a mere boy. He couldn’t be more than twenty. He is sitting down on the grass, next to the woman’s chair and talking rapidly, brightly, with small gestures. She is only half listening and combing her fingers through his hair, tenderly.
Lover? Husband? Gigolo? A little of each, thinks Ştefan Valeriu, discovering in himself a subtle feeling of envy, perhaps even humiliation, he, a youn
