"Marry," said his best friend to him, when, now and then, in the course of years, they met.
"How can I marry?" he would ask. "How can I ever hope to love one woman again as a woman deserves to be loved?"
"Then go into a monastery and do no more mischief," returned the friend. She was a woman.
"I am no saint," Julius would say, "but I will try to be." And ever he tried and failed again.
They sat upon the terrace in the cool of the early night, with their coffee and their cigarettes. There was a lull in their conversation, the result of having talked so much at table.
"A propos of contentment," said Marcantonio, "we are very discontented people. We are going to Rome to-morrow, or the next day."
Batiscombe was surprised. He paused with his coffee cup in one hand and his cigarette in the other, as though expecting more.
"Of course it is only for a day or two," continued Marcantonio. "We shall return immediately."
"Seriously, Marcantoine," said Leonora, "how long shall we have to stay?"
"Oh--not very long," he said. "I will get the letter. Monsieur Batiscombe will pardon me?" Batiscombe murmured something polite and Marcantonio rose quickly and entered the house.
"Are you really going so soon?" Julius asked in English, when they were alone, and Leonora could see the light in his eyes as he spoke. She looked away, over the starlit sea.
"I am not quite sure," she said. "I think I ought to go."
"I hope you will not," said Batiscombe boldly. She turned and looked at him again, with a little surprise in her face. Marcantonio came back,--it was only a step to his study.
"Here it is," said Marcantonio, sitting down. "He says he thinks that a day should do, if I could be with him all the time. You see, he is old and wishes to put his affairs in order."
"I cannot see"--began Leonora, but stopped.
"Enfin," said Marcantonio, "it might happen to any one, I should think."
"Let us hope it may happen to all of us," remarked Batiscombe, for the sake of saying something.
When it came to parting, Batiscombe made some polite remark about the pleasure he had enjoyed.
"When do you go?" he asked, as he shook hands with Marcantonio.
"I think we will go to-morrow night,--n'est-ce-pas, Léonore?" He turned to his wife, as though inquiring. She looked up from her seat in her deep, cane arm-chair.