"That's a very profound reason," he answered smiling. "But it would require many hours of meditation to be understood. And, of course, you will always love me?"
"May I say something that will pain you?"
"It seems to me, then, that you are slightly changeable. A year ago you thought you loved another, and would love him always. Confess that you have utterly forgotten him. And in another year--what will my place be?"
But he checked himself. She had become livid, and her eyes were full of tears.
"I have pained you too much. Nothing gives pain like the truth," he said. "But there, smile a little. Don't you think smiles are as interesting as tears? You're very lovely when you smile."
"Well, then, this eternal love," he went on, "what are we to do about it?"
"You are easily satisfied. Will you always be so modest in your hopes?"
"The future is in the hands of God," said she, not having the courage to lie.
"Ah! that is what I want to talk about--the future. You are hoping something from the future. Otherwise you would not be satisfied. The future, indeed! You are twenty. You have never thought of my age, have you?"
"It doesn't matter. For me you are young."
"And I will come to love you? That is your hope?"
"I have asked for nothing. Don't humiliate me."
He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a little portfolio in red leather, which he opened, drawing forth two or three letters.
"I have brought your letters with me. Letters are so easily lost, and other people read them. So, having learned their contents, I return them to you."
"What!" he cried, "aren't you glad to get them back? But there's nothing women wish so much as to get back the letters they have written."
She closed her eyes while he was doing it. Then she said with a sad smile:
"So, it is certain, you don't care for me?"
"I mustn't contradict you," he answered gallantly.
"Do you remember, Stella, that day I left you in the Church of Santa Chiara?"
"Well, now I tell you this--never forget it. On that day I signed my own death-sentence."
The Villa Caterina was embowered amongst the flowering orange-trees of Sorrento. On the side towards the town the villa had a beautiful Italian garden, where white statues gleamed amidst green leaves, and where all day long one could listen to the laughing waters of fountains. From the garden a door led directly into a big drawing-room. On the other side of the house a broad terrace looked over the sea.