Late one afternoon they sat on their balcony, while an Italian orchestra in the gardens beneath them played some Sicilian music that they loved.
Nunziata spoke her thought. "Are you not tiring of me, Nino? Oh, Nino! are you sure you are not tiring of me yet?"
"Yet?" exclaimed Nino. "I shall never tire of you—never!"
"Ils faisaient d'éternels serments!..." murmured Nunziata, with a bitter smile.
Nino grasped her white helpless hands. "Why will you not be happy?" he said; for he knew her heart.
"I do not know," said Nunziata.
"You are unhappy. I feel it—I feel it all through the day, even when you laugh," said Nino. "Would you be happier without me?"
"Neither with you nor without you can I live," said Nunziata.
The orchestra was playing Lola's song, and her soul was filled with the hunger of the unattainable and the thirst of death; then, as it was late, she got up with a little sigh, and having powdered her face and patted her hair, and said a little prayer to the Madonna, she slipped her arm through his, and they went down to dinner together.
"I promise I shall not be so foolish again!" she said. "It is absurd; it is morbid!"