"But one cannot be always singing it oneself," she said.
"I could never make it ring as sweetly as you," Zorzi answered.
"Try it! I am tired of hearing my voice—"
"But I am not! There is no voice like it in the world. I shall never care to hear another, as long as I live, nor any other song, nor any other words. And when you are weary of saying them, I shall just say them over in my heart, 'She loves me, she loves me,'—all day long."
"Which is better," Marietta asked, "to love, or to know that you are loved?"
"The two thoughts are like soul and body," Zorzi answered. "You must not part them."
"I never have, since I have known the truth, and never shall again."
Then they were silent for a while, but they hardly knew it, for the world was full of the sweetest music they had ever heard, and they listened together.
"Zorzi!"
The master was at the window, calling him. He started a little as if awaking and obeyed the summons as quickly as his lameness would allow. Marietta looked after him, watching his halting gait, and the little effort he made with his stick at each step. For some secret reason the injury had made him more dear to her, and she liked to remember how brave he had been.