‘That is the one condition on which we can see each other,’ she went on. ‘There must be no thought of any earthly union—ever! If you feel that you are strong enough for that, Balduccio, then come back to Rome as soon as you can. If you can exchange into your old regiment again, do so. If not, come now and then, when you can get leave. We may see each other once a week, at least once a week! The world cannot blame us for that, after all these years. It will be little enough, once a week! And sometimes, perhaps, we might meet in some gallery, in some quiet museum where only the foreigners go, and we could walk about and talk, and the world will never know it.’
Castiglione smiled at her innocent ignorance of lovers’ tricks, for he was quieter now, and very happy at the thought of seeing her often. It would never have occurred to him to do the foolish thing of which Teresa Crescenzi had suspected him on the previous afternoon.
‘The great matter is that I am to see you,’ he said; ‘that the separation is over, and that we love each other!’
‘That—yes! Oh, that above and beyond all things, and for ever and ever.’
The lovelight was in her eyes as she gazed at him, and her parted lips were delicately beautiful. Again his hands pressed one another very hard, and he felt that he set his teeth. He suddenly wondered how long he could keep his promise, and by what manner of death he would choose to end his life when he felt that he was going to break it. She was putting upon him a heavier trial and a far harder expiation than she knew. Her eyes were so dark and tender, her parted lips were so sweet to see! In her reliance on herself and him she had already loosened the great restraint that had bound her since the evil hour; she cared not to hide the outward looks of love. She even longed to see in his eyes what she felt in her own.
‘You love me less than I love you, dear,’ she said softly. ‘You are less happy than I am, because we are to meet often!’
Without a word Castiglione rose from his seat and went to the window at the further end of the room, and stood there, looking down through the slits of the blinds. Maria half understood, and sighed.
‘Forgive me,’ she said, rather sorrowfully.
‘I’m only a man, Maria,’ he answered, turning his head. ‘You must not make it too hard for me. I love you in a man’s way, and you have made me promise to love you in yours. I must learn, before I can be sure of myself.’
Maria reflected a moment. Her thoughts were full of an ideal sacrifice.