He looked out anxiously for the
Trinita de' Monti, the avenue--the gates.
The carriage flashed through the gates. He ordered the coachman to
moderate his pace and to drive through each of the avenues. His heart
gave a bound every time the figure of a woman appeared in the distance
through the trees. He got out and, on foot, explored the paths forbidden
to vehicles. He searched every nook and corner--in vain.
The Villa Borghese being open to the public, the Pincio lay deserted and
silent under the languid smile of the February sun. Few carriages or
foot-passengers disturbed the peaceful solitude of the place. The
grayish-white trees, tinged here and there with violet, spread their
leafless branches against a diaphanous sky, and the air was full of
delicate spider-webs which the breeze shook and tore asunder. The pines
and cypresses--all the evergreen trees--took on something of this
colourless pallor, seemed to fade and melt into the all-prevailing
monotone.
Surely something of Donna Maria's sadness still lingered in the
atmosphere. Andrea stood for several minutes leaning against the
railings of the Villa Medici, crushed beneath a load of melancholy too
heavy to be borne.
CHAPTER IV
In the days that followed, the double pursuit continued with the same
tortures, or worse, and with the same odious mendacity.
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