then in a kind of stupor, with heavy head and my limbs feeling as
bruised and tired as if I had been beaten, and while my pain gathers
itself up for a fresh onslaught, I do not succeed in collecting
sufficient strength to resist it.

'What does she think of me? What does she think? How much does she know?

'Oh, to be misjudged by her--my best, my dearest friend--the one to
whom I have always been able to open my heart! This is my crowning
grief, my bitterest trial--

'I must speak to her before I go. She must know all from me, I must know
all from her--that is only right and just.

'Night. About five o'clock she proposed a drive along the Rovigliano
road. We two went alone in the open carriage. I was trembling with
agitation as I said to myself--"Here is my opportunity for speaking to
her." But my nervousness deprived me of every vestige of courage. Did
she expect me to confide in her? I cannot tell.

'We sat silent for a long while, listening to the steady trot of the
horses, looking at the trees and the meadows by the side of the road.
From time to time, by a brief remark or a sign, she drew my attention to
some detail of the autumnal landscape.

'All the witchery of the Autumn concentrated itself into this hour. The
slanting rays of the evening sun lit up the rich and sombre harmonies of
the dying foliage. Gold, amber, saffron, violet, purple,
sea-green--tints the most faded and the most violent mingled in one deep
strain, not to be surpassed by any melody of Spring, however sweet.

'"Look," she said, pointing to the acacias, "would you not say they were
in flower?"

'At last, after an interval of silence, to make a beginning I said:
"Manuel is sure to be here by Saturday. I expect a telegram from him
to-morrow, and we shall leave by the early train on Sunday. You have
been very good to me while I have been with you--I am deeply grateful to
you."

'My voice broke, a flood of tenderness swelled my heart. She took my
hand and clasped it tight without speaking or looking at me. We remained
silent for a long time, holding one another by the hand.

'Presently she asked--"How long will you be with your mother?"

'"Till the end of the year, I hope--perhaps longer."

'"As long as that?"

'We fell silent again. By this time, I felt I should never have the
courage to face an explanation; besides which, I felt that it was less
necessary now. Francesca seemed to have come back to me, to understand
me, to be once