'It is better so,' she said, turning to Andrea with the traces of her
agitation still visible in her face; 'forgive me!'
And from that day she avoided receiving him except on Tuesday and
Saturday when she was at home to every one.
Nevertheless, she allowed Andrea to conduct her on long peregrinations
through the Rome of the Emperors and the Rome of the Popes, through the
villas, the museums, the churches, the ruins. Where Elena Muti had
passed, there Maria Ferres passed also. Often enough, the sights they
visited suggested to the poet the same eloquent effusions which Elena
had once heard. Often enough, some recollection carried him away
suddenly from the present and disturbed him strangely.
'What are you thinking of at this moment?' Donna Maria would ask him,
looking him deep in the eyes with a shade of suspicion.
'Of you--always of you!' he answered. 'I am sometimes seized with
curiosity to look into my own soul to see if there remains one tiny
particle that does not belong to you, one smallest corner still closed
to your light It is an exploration made for you, as you cannot make it
for yourself. I may say with truth, Maria, that I have nothing more to
give you. You have absolute dominion over me. Never, I think, in spirit
has one human being possessed another so entirely. If my lips were to
meet yours my whole life would be absorbed in yours--I believe I should
die of it.
Pages:
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350