Certain lines
haunt me persistently, and will continue to do so for long, I am
sure--they are so intense.'
As he sat now on the marble balustrade, he was thinking of these words
of hers. Donna Maria was no longer in the loggia, the awning concealed
the whole space between the pillars. Perhaps she would soon be
down--should he write the madrigal he had promised her? But even the
slight effort necessary for writing the lines thus in hot haste seemed
intolerable to him here in the wide and opulent garden, blossoming under
the September sunshine in a sort of magical Spring. Why disturb these
rare and delicious emotions by a hurried search after rhymes? why
reduce this far reaching sentiment to a brief metrical sigh?
He resolved to break his promise and remained as he was, idly watching
the sails on the distant horizon, like fiery torches outshining the sun.
But as time went on, he grew restless and nervous, turning round every
minute to see if a feminine form had not appeared between the columns of
the vestibule which gave access to the steps--'Was this then a love
tryst? Did he expect her to join him here for some secret interview? Had
she any idea of his agitation?'
His heart gave a great throb--it was she!
She was alone. Slowly she descended the steps, and when she reached the
first terrace she stopped beside the fountain.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172