"You will rest in talking with Sofia by the window; and perhaps you will see again the flocks of sheep on their way from the plain to the mountains."
The sunlight was approaching the gigantic acropolis of the Dolomites. The phalanx of clouds was disordered as if in battle, pierced by innumerable darts of light, and steeped in a marvelous blood-like crimson.
Slowly, after a long silence, Stelio spoke:
"And if she should ask me about the fate of the virgin who reads the lament of Antigone?"
La Foscarina started.
"And suppose she asks me about the love of the brother who searches through the tombs?"
The woman felt a dread of this phantom.
"And suppose the page on which she lays the blade of grass were the page wherein that trembling soul tells of its secret and terrible battle against the horrible evil?"
In her sudden terror, the woman could find no words. Both relapsed into silence, looking long at the sharp peaks of the distant mountains, which glowed as if just emerging from primordial fire. The spectacle of this eternally desolate grandeur awakened in them a sense of mysterious fatality and a certain confused terror which they could neither conquer nor comprehend.
"And you?" said Stelio suddenly, after a long silence.