But all of a sudden, for a nothing, at the sight of a fencing foil, at the smell of Gianluca’s cigarette, at the sound of a footfall she knew, there came the mad wish to be alone; and she resisted it, for it did not seem good to her, and even as she struggled the blood rose in her throat and was in her cheeks in a moment, so that if just then by chance Taquisara came upon her suddenly, the room swam and for an instant her brain reeled as she turned her face from him in mortal shame.

She knew so well that he loved her, and that he was suffering, too.  It was love’s hands that had chiselled the bronze of his face to leaner lines, and that threw a new darkness into his dark eyes.  It was for her that there was that other note in his voice that had never been there before.  It was for love of her that once or twice, when she took his hand in greeting, it was icy cold—­not like Gianluca’s, half dead, and dull, and chilly, and very thin—­but cold from the heart, as it were, and more wildly living than if it had burned like fire; trembling, and not in weakness, with something that caught her own fingers and ran like lightning to the very core and quick of her soul, hurting it overmuch with its bolt of joy and fear.  It was for her that, at the first, he had been cold and silent, because he was afraid of himself, and of love, and of the least, faintest breath that might tarnish the bright shield of his spotless loyalty to Gianluca.

All the little changes in his speech and manner were clear to her now, and each had its meaning, and all meant the same.  His words, spoken from time to time, came back to her, and she understood them, and saw how, for his friend’s sake, he had held his peace for himself, and had ever urged her to marry Gianluca, in spite of everything.

If he had not loved her, or if she had thought that he did not, she would have had the pride to tear her heart clean from love’s terrible hands, whole or broken, as might be, and to toss it, with the dead dull weeks into old time’s sack of irrevocably lost and useless things, and so to live her life out, loveless, in the still haven of Gianluca’s friendship.  But, having his love, she had not such pride; and the loyalty she truly had was matched alone against all human nature since the world began.

Do what she would, she yielded sometimes to that great wish to go suddenly to her own room and be alone.  Then, standing at her window when the mist whitened in the valley under the broad moon, she listened, and instantly the air was full of music again as love lifted up its voice, and sweetly chanted the melody of life.  With parted lips she listened, till the moonlight filled her eyes, and her heart fluttered softly, and her throat was warm.