rels on the wall of
Servius slumbered motionless in the gleam of the street lamps.

A few numbers more and they would reach the one mentioned on Don
Manuel's card. Andrea trembled as if he expected Donna Maria to appear
upon the threshold. He passed so close to the great door that he brushed
against it; he could not refrain from looking up at the windows.

'What are you looking at?' asked Musellaro.

'Nothing--give me a cigarette and let us walk a little faster; it is
awfully cold.'

They followed the Via Nazionale as far as the Four Fountains in silence.
Andrea's preoccupation was patent.

'You must decidedly have something serious on your mind,' said his
friend.

Andrea's heart beat so fast that he was on the point of pouring his
confidences into his friend's ear, but he restrained himself. Memories
of Schifanoja passed across his spirit like an exhilarating perfume, and
in the midst of them beamed the figure of Maria Ferres with a radiance
that almost dazzled him. But most distinctly and more luminously than
all the rest, he saw that moment in the wood at Vicomile, when she had
flung those burning words at him. Would he ever hear such words from her
lips again? What had she been doing--what had been her thoughts--how had
she spent the days since they parted? His agitation increased with every
step. Fragments of scenes passed rapidly before him like the
phantasmagoria of a dream--a bit of country, a glimpse of the sea, a
flight of steps among the roses, the interior of a room, all the places
in which some sentiment had had its birth, round which she had diffused
some sweetness, where she had breathed the charm of her person. And he
thrilled with profound emotion at the idea that perchance she still
carried in her heart that living passion, had perhaps suffered and wept,
had dreamed and hoped.

'Well?' said Musellaro, 'and how is your affair with Donna Elena
progressing?'

They happened to be just in front of the Palazzo Barberini. Behind the
railings and the great stone pillars of the gates stretched the garden,
dimly visible through the gloom, animated by the low murmur of the
fountains and dominated by the massive white palace where in the portico
alone was light.

'What did you say?' asked Andrea.

'I asked how you were getting on with Donna Elena.'

Andrea glanced up at the palace. At that moment he seemed to feel a
blank indifference in his heart, the absolute death of desire--the final
renunciatio