He felt giddy and confused; a subtle
sensation of cold seemed to grip the back of his head and penetrate to
the roots of his hair.
'Good-bye,' repeated Elena for the last time, and the carriage stopped
under the archway of the Porta Pia to let him get out.
CHAPTER VIII
Their final farewells _au grand air_, by Elena's desire, did nothing
towards dissipating Andrea's suspicions. 'What could be her secret
reasons for this abrupt departure?' He tried in vain to penetrate the
mystery; he was oppressed with doubt and fear.
During the first days, the anguish of his loss was so cruelly poignant
that he thought he must die of it. His jealousy, lulled to sleep by the
persistent ardour of Elena's affection, awoke now with redoubled vigour,
and the suspicion that a man was at the bottom of this enigmatical
affair increased his sufferings a hundredfold. Sometimes he would be
seized with sullen anger against the absent woman, a bitter rancour,
almost a desire for revenge, as if she had mystified and duped him in
order to give herself to another. Then again he would feel that he did
not long for her, did not love her any more, had never loved her. But
these fits of oblivion were but of short duration. The Spring had come
again to Rome in a riot of colour and sunshine. The city of limestone
and brick absorbed the light as a parched forest the rain, the papal
fountains rose into a limpid sapphire sky, the Piazza di Spagna was
fragrant as a rose-garden, and above the great flight of steps, alive
with little children, the Trinita de' Monti shone in a blaze of gold.
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