The air became colder, as they reached the goal. The whole region became more arid, and more outstanding in their majesty the lofty peaks of the Palù and the Cambrena, the one completely white, the other streaked with white and black in a peculiar palette of two colours--the black rock and white ice.
"Let us get down, dear; we are almost there. We will walk to the Hospice along the lakes."
In helping her to descend he took her in his arms, like a child, to place her on the ground. Involuntarily he pressed her to himself for a moment; he saw her grow pale and he paled himself. He felt himself losing his self-control. As they walked he gave her his arm silently; the carriage drew away towards the Hospice of the Bernina, which could be seen, like a far-off grey point against the diverse brightness of the lakes. They skirted the motionless waters of the first lake; around its shores were neither trees, nor plants, nor flowers, nor grass. There were only stones, blackish or yellowish earth, and as they extended their glance ahead other waters appeared, motionless, reflecting the whiteness of the Cambrena, and the brown fillets of rocks which cut the glacier--the deep black water of the Lago Nero, the quite clear water of the Lago Bianco--while only a tongue of brown earth separated the dark waters from the clear; but there were no trees, nor flowers, nor grass. Silently the two walked on; she now and then oppressed by her vast surroundings, so strange and lifeless. He pressed her closer to him as he led and supported her, now and then murmuring, as in an amorous refrain:
On the way they were pursuing, some carriages overtook them, going towards the Hospice. Besides travellers, wrapped in heavy wraps, and women in furs, the carriages were loaded with baggage.
"They are descending to Italy," murmured Lucio.
"I envy them," she said, as if to herself.
"You ought not to envy anyone, dear," he repeated ardently. "Wherever Lilian is, there is the country; because there is love."
Like music, now tender and now violent, his words, even vague, even imprecise, even indefinite to the questions she often asked him, were like the music of softness and passion; his words caressed her with a fresh breeze or ate into her heart like tongues of flame. For a moment she closed her eyes and forgot that she had received no reply to her question; she closed her eyes and allowed herself to be destroyed by that flame.