He replied that there were a number of cloisters in Florence; they might visit them in succession and pace around quietly. The effect would be heightened if she would read aloud, as they paced, short sentences from some ancient, stiff-covered little book like De Contemptu Mundi.
"Ah," she said, "you are not in earnest. But I am!"
And she seemed to be; he said to himself that he had hardly had a look or word from her which was not only earnest, but almost portentously so. She now began to do whatever he asked her to do, whether it was to sing Italian music or to read Dante's Vita Nuova, both of which she had said she did not like. It is probable that he asked her to do a number of things about this time which he did not especially care for, simply to see if she would comply; she always did.
"If she goes on in this sort of way," he thought, "never showing the least opposition, or personal moods different from mine, I really don't know where we shall end!"
But at last she did show both. It was in the evening, and she was at the piano; after one or two ballads he asked her to sing a little English song he had found among her music, not printed, but in manuscript.
"Oh, that is nothing," she said, putting out her hand to take it from him. "I will sing this of Schumann's instead; it is much prettier."
But he maintained his point. "I like this better," he said. "I like the name—of course it is impossible, but it is pleasant—'Semper Fidelis.'"
She took it, looked at it in silence for a moment, and then, without further reply, began to sing. There was nothing remarkable in the words or the music; she did not sing as well as usual, either; she hurried the time.
| "SEMPER FIDELIS |
| "Dumb and unchanged my thoughts still round thee hover, |
| Nor will be moved; |
| E'en though I strive, my heart remains thy lover, |
| Though unbeloved; |
| Yet there is sad content in loyalty, |
| And, though the silent gift is naught to thee, |
| It changes never— |
| Faithful forever." |
This was the verse; but at the fifth line she faltered, stopped, and then, rising abruptly, left the room.