"Do you fear that you will not have time to kiss him?"
"Do you believe that I shall have time to kiss him?" demanded Isabella, with a look that seemed to penetrate into the inmost recesses of his heart. The Duke, glancing away from her, tried to escape her questionings and pleadings.
"Of course I believe it; what is there to prevent? If he should forget it, we can send for him. Come, then, to horse; what need is there of further delay? To Cerreto—to peace—to rest—to repose after our long labors—to sweet sleep!"
"Stultum est somno delectari, mortem horrere: cum somnus assiduus sit mortis mutatio."[51]
"What are you murmuring, Isabella?"
"I just happened to think of a sentence in Seneca, about sleep the brother of death."
"How can such a quotation apply to us?"
"It does not." And two tears—two only—came to her eyes, but instead of rolling down her cheeks in the usual manner, they sprang from her lids like the last arrow shot from the bow of Grief.[52]
"To horse!"
The servants, hurried by the impetuosity of Titta, whom they perceived that they must obey as the Duke, or even more than the Duke, prepared with wonderful celerity horses, carriages, and a waggon, with such articles as could not be readily obtained in the country. The major-domo, Don Inigo, had asked with his usual brevity, "Whether it would be necessary to carry much plate and linen?" but Titta replied,