But she walked straight enough, and he had just begun to lower the heavy curtain, turning his head as he passed under it, when he heard her call him sharply.
‘Balduccio!’
It was very long since she had called him familiarly by his first name, and his heart stood still at the sound of her voice. A moment later he was within the church, and met her as she was coming back to the door.
‘You called me?’
‘Yes.’
They turned to the right into the north aisle, and walked slowly forwards, side by side. There were not many people in the Basilica at that hour, for it was a week-day, and the season of the tourists was almost over. At some distance before them, two or three people were kneeling before the closed gate of the Julian Chapel. Maria and Castiglione were as much alone as if they had been in the country, and as free to talk, for no conversation, even in an ordinary tone, can be heard far in the great cathedral. Nevertheless Maria did not speak.
‘You are ill,’ Castiglione said, breaking the silence at last. ‘Let me take you to your carriage.’
‘No. I came here for a good purpose, and I cannot go home without doing what I mean to do.’
‘I wish with all my heart that I had not come back to Rome to disturb your peace! It is my fault that you are suffering.’