But she never regretted having yielded to her lover; never repented
having given herself so utterly to him, never bewailed her lost purity.
Her one sorrow--stronger than remorse, or fear, or any other trouble of
mind--was the thought that she must go away, must be separated from this
man who was the life of her life.
'My darling, I shall die. I am going away to die far from
you--alone--all alone--and you will not be there to close my eyes----'
She smiled as she spoke with certainty and resignation. But Andrea
endeavoured to kindle an illusive hope in her breast, to sow in her
heart the seeds of a dream that could only lead to future suffering.
'I will not let you die! You will be mine again and for a long time to
come. We have many happy days of love before us yet!'
He spoke of the immediate future.--He would go and establish himself in
Florence; from there he could go over as often as he liked to Sienna
under the pretext of study--could pass whole months there copying some
Old Master or making researches in ancient chronicles. Their love should
have its hidden nest in some deserted street, or beyond the city, in the
country, in some villa decorated with rural ornaments and surrounded by
a meadow. She would be able to spare an hour now and then for their
love. Sometimes she would come and spend a whole week in Florence, a
week of unbroken happiness.
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