"I should hurt you too much," she murmured.
He began to realise the irreparable ruin of her soul, and was silent. He did not withdraw his hand, but felt his strength deserting him, felt darkness and icy cold creeping over him, as if Maria, whom he had evoked in vain, had died a second time. Anguish, fatigue, the heavy atmosphere, the mingled odours of the room, affected him so strongly that he was obliged to go out, or he would have fainted.
He went to the loggia. The windows were open and the sweet, fresh air restored him. Out there in the dark he wept for his little daughter unrestrainedly, without even that restraint which light imposes. He knelt by one of the windows, crossed his arms on his breast and wept, his face raised towards heaven, tears and words flowing together, disjointed words of anguish and of faith, calling out to God for help, to God, to God who had dealt him the blow. With streaming eyes he cried out, begging that his tears might continue to flow, confessing that he knew full well why the child had died. Had he not prayed again and again that God would preserve her from the danger of losing her faith through her mother's influence? Ah! that last night! That last night when Maria had said to him: "Darling papa, a kiss!" and so many other tender things, and would not let go his hand, how he had prayed! The memory of it was a terror, a joy, a spasm to him. "Lord, Lord!" said he, gazing heavenward. "Thou wert silent, but my voice reached Thee. Thou hast answered my prayer in Thine own mysterious way. Thou hast taken my treasure to Thyself, she is safe, she is happy, she awaits me. Thou wilt reunite us." The fast-falling tears that accompanied his last words had no bitter taste, but presently, while thinking once more of that last night, he was bitterly sorry he had left Maria without telling her that he had deceived her. "Maria, my own Maria!" he entreated, weeping, "forgive me!" Good God! it seemed impossible that all this could be true; it seemed impossible that if he went into the alcove-room he should not find her there asleep in her little bed, her head drooping towards her shoulder and her tiny hands resting, palms upward, upon the sheet. Indeed she was still there, but----! Oh! how awful it all was! Surely his tears would never end.