dows began to fill the room, and the fragrance of the flowers and the
aromatic beverage mingled in the air; the outlines of the surrounding
objects melted into one vague form, harmonious, dim, unsubstantial.

Presently she said: 'Get up, dearest, I must go. It is getting late.'

'Stay a little longer with me,' he entreated.

He drew her over to the divan where the gold on the cushions still
gleamed through the shadows. There he suddenly clasped her head between
his hands and covered her face with fierce hot kisses. He let himself
imagine it was the other face he held, and he thought of it as sullied
by the lips of her husband; and instead of disgust, was filled with
still more savage desire of it. All the turbid sensations he had
experienced in the presence of this man now rose to the surface of his
consciousness, and with his kisses these vile things swept over the
cheeks, the brow, the hair, the throat, the lips of Maria.

'Let me go--let me go,' she cried, struggling out of his arms.

She ran across to the tea-table to light the candles.

'You must be good,' she said, panting a little still, and with an air of
fond reproof.

He did not move from the divan, but looked at her in silence.

She went over to the side of the mantelpiece, where, on the wall, hung
the little old mirror. She put on her hat and veil before its dim
surface, that looked so like a pool of dull and stagnant water.

'I am so loath to leave you this evening!' she murmured, oppressed by
the melancholy of the twilight hour. 'This evening more than ever
before.'

The violet gleam of the sunset struggled with the light of the candles.
The lilac in the crystal vases looked waxen white. The cushion in the
arm-chair retained the impress of the form that had leaned against it.

The clock of the Trinita began to strike.

'Heavens! how late! Help me to put on my cloak,' exclaimed the poor
creature, turning to Andrea.

He only clasped her once more in his arms, kissing her furiously,
blindly, madly, with a devouring passion, stifling on her lips his own
insane desire to cry aloud the name of Elena.

At last she managed to gasp in an expiring voice--

'You are drawing my life out of me.' But his passionate vehemence seemed
to make her happy.

'My love, my soul, all, all mine!' she said.

And again, blissfully--'I can feel your heart beating--so fast, so
fast.'

At last, with a sigh, 'I must go now.'

Andrea was as lividly pale and convuls