Donna Maria went on across the piazza and into the avenue. Over her
head, the languid breath of the sirocco sent a broken murmur through the
green trees. Subtle waves of perfume rose and fell upon the warm, damp
breeze. The clouds seemed lower; the swallows skimmed close to the
ground; and in the languorous heaviness of the air there was something
that melted the passionate heart of the Siennese.
Ever since she had yielded to Andrea's persuasions, her heart had been
filled with a happiness that was deeply fraught with fear. All her
Christian blood was on fire with the hitherto undreamed-of raptures of
her passion, and froze with terror at her sin. Her passion was
all-conquering, supreme, immense, so despotic that for hours sometimes
it obliterated all thought of her child. She went so far as to forget,
to neglect Delfina! And afterwards, she would have a sudden access of
remorse, of repentance, of tenderness, in which she covered the
astonished little girl's face with tears and kisses, sobbing in horrible
despair as over a corpse.
Her whole being quickened at this flame, grew keener, more acute,
acquired a marvellous sensibility, a sort of clairvoyance, a faculty of
divination which caused her endless torture. Hardly a deception of
Andrea's but seemed to send a shadow across her spirit; she felt an
indefinite sense of disquietude which sometimes condensed itself into a
suspicion.
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