By degrees, the sweet
and grave music drew all these frivolous spirits within its magic
circle, like a slow-moving but irresistible whirlpool.
'Beethoven!' exclaimed Elena in a tone of almost religious fervour, as
she stood still and drew her arm from Andrea's.
She had halted beside one of the great palms and, extending her left
hand, began very slowly to put on her glove. In that attitude her whole
figure, continued by the train, seemed taller and more erect; the shadow
of the palm veiled and, so to speak, spiritualised the pallor of her
skin. Andrea gazed at her in a kind of rapture, increased by the pathos
of the music.
As if drawn by the young man's impetuous desire, Elena turned her head a
little, and smiled at him--a smile so subtle, so spiritual, that it
seemed rather an emanation of the soul than a movement of the lips,
while her eyes remained sad and as if lost in a far away dream. Thus
overshadowed they were verily the eyes of the Night, such as Leonardo da
Vinci might have imagined for an allegorical figure after having seen
Lucrezia Crevelli at Milan.
During the second that the smile lasted, Andrea felt himself absolutely
alone with her in the crowd. An immense wave of pride flooded his heart.
Elena now prepared to put on the other glove.
'No, not that one,' he entreated in a low voice.
She understood, and left her hand bare.
Pages:
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43