Concern had long since usurped Dante’s anger. Elsa had hardly spoken to him after they left the gallery. During the drive home, she sat on the opposite side of the car, never once reaching for his hand. In the foyer, she placed her feathered mask on a side table and stood with her back to him. Not knowing what else to do, Dante pulled the bundle from his pocket that held the remnants of his own mask and set it next to hers. Hoping to draw her into conversation, he said, “Your friends are every bit as gracious as I would expect from knowing you.” “You really felt comfortable, even without your mask?” “Very much so.” Elsa smiled at last, and the light he loved so dearly returned to her eyes for a moment. They were still pinched, as if she were in great pain, but did not wish him to know. “I’m glad it was such a good experience. I hope that you understand things better now.
