"It is like Paradise," he said, "but the essential is lacking; it is like a beautiful woman without a soul."
Ragna made no answer and he continued dreamily as though thinking aloud:
"All is perfect—the stage is ready for the players—the outward semblance is awaiting the soul to animate it."
He paused again, but the girl still remained silent. Presently he addressed her directly:
"I told you I would unveil to you the spirit of Italy, I have done my part—the rest lies with you."
"I do not understand what you mean," she answered. "I think you have opened my eyes—what is there still to learn?"
"I have shown you the form, the outward shape, but you have not yet penetrated the spirit," he said, and his voice had the softness of a caress. "You have not guessed what is the real soul of Italy—that which makes her, though in ruins, the Soul of the World?"
"And that 'soul' is—?" she asked in a voice so faint he could hardly catch it.
"Love," he said, and taking her unresisting hand pressed it.
"Love," he repeated presently, and his musical voice aroused all the echoes in her heart. "Italy is love, and love is the spirit of Italy. That is why lovers come here; there is love magic in the air, and those who are destined to love cannot escape it. You," he said, looking into her eyes, "you were born to love and be loved, do you not feel that it is so?"