'To-morrow--not this evening--I cannot----'
CHAPTER VII
The Campagna stretched away before them under an ideal light, as a
landscape seen in dreams, where the objects seem visible at a great
distance by virtue of some inward irradiation which magnifies their
outlines.
The closed carriage rolled along smoothly at a brisk trot; the walls of
ancient patrician villas, grayish-white and dim, slid past the windows
with a continuous and gentle motion. Great iron gateways came in view
from time to time, through which you caught a glimpse of an avenue of
lofty beech trees, or some verdant cloister inhabited by antique
statues, or a long green arcade pierced here and there by a laughing ray
of pale sunshine.
Wrapped in her ample furs, her veil drawn down, her hands encased in
thick chamois leather gloves, Elena sat and mutely watched the passing
landscape. Andrea breathed with delight the subtle perfume of heliotrope
exhaled by the costly fur, while he felt Elena's arm warm against his
own. They felt themselves far from the haunts of men--alone--although
from time to time the black carriage of a priest would flit past them,
or a drover on horseback, or a herd of cattle.
Just before they reached the bridge she said--'Let us get out here.'
Here in the open country the light was translucent and cold as the
waters of a spring, and when the trees waved in the wind their
undulation seemed to communicate itself to all the surrounding objects.
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