I strained my ear, hoping and fearing my mother's coming. And then (I would not have trembled so strongly on raising the edge of a shroud to see the face of a dead person), I slowly uncovered Juliana's face.
She opened her eyes.
"Ah! Is it you, Tullio?"
Her voice was natural. And I most unexpectedly could speak.
"Were you asleep?" I said, avoiding her eyes.
"Yes, I dozed off."
"Then I awoke you.... Forgive me. I wished to uncover your mouth. I feared that your breathing might be impeded—that the coverlid would suffocate you."
"Yes, that is true. I am warm now, too warm. Remove one of the coverings, please."
I rose to remove one of the covers. It is impossible for me to define the state of consciousness in which I accomplished these acts, in which I pronounced and heard these words, while present during these incidents, and which happened as naturally as if there had been no change, as if around us there had been no adultery, no disenchantment, remorse, jealousy, fear, death, every human atrocity.
"Is it very late?" she asked me.