The good wish touched him; he took me by the arms, and said—“Go home with me, Signore; you were happy at the inn last night; go back, and we will make you gay again!”
—If we could be always boys!
I thanked him in a way that saddened him. We passed out shortly after from the city gates, and strode on over the rolling plain. Once or twice we turned back to look at the rocky heights beneath which lay the ruined town of Palestrina—a city that defied Rome—that had a king before a plowshare had touched the Capitoline, or the Janiculan hill! The ivy was covering up richly the Etruscan foundations, and there was a quiet over the whole place. The smoke was rising straight into the sky from the chimney tops; a peasant or two were going along the road with donkeys; beside this, the city was, to all appearance, a dead city. And it seemed to me that an old monk, whom I could see with my glass, near the little chapel above the town, might be going to say mass for the soul of the dead city.
And afterward, when we came near to Rome, and passed under the temple tomb of Metella—my friend said—“And will you go back now to your home? or will you set off with me to-morrow for Ancona?”
“At least, I must say adieu,” returned I.
“God speed you!” said he, and we parted upon the Piazza di Venezia—he for his last mass at St. Peter’s, and I for the tall house upon the Corso.
ENRICA
I hear her glancing feet the moment I have tinkled the bell; and there she is, with her brown hair gathered into braids, and her eyes full of joy and greeting. And as I walk with the mother to the window to look at some pageant that is passing, she steals up behind and passes her arm around me, with a quick electric motion and a gentle pressure of welcome that tells more than a thousand words.