Gustav gasped, and instinctively dropped on his knees beside the sofa. He hid his face on the pillow, and burst into uncontrollable tears. The sick man lay still, and watched him in a state of stupid fatigue and torpor. Somebody entered the room, and crossing, touched Gustav’s shoulder. He sprang to his feet, and met the serene brown glance of Annunziata’s eyes.
“You are welcome, sir, you are very welcome,” she said, and held out both hands, nodding with subdued approval.
Gustav took them, and shook them with a force that almost hurt. Yet he wore the look of a man in a trance.
“You are a good, kind woman. Tell me where she is.”
“She is detained in the village. Go into the garden, and I will send her uncle to fetch her.”
Gustav obeyed her, and passed out into the garden. How changed everything was since his winter visit, eighteen months before. But he hardly noted whither he went as he precipitated himself down the oleander alley. The air quivered with light. The smell of the pines and thyme floated up from the valley upon the summer wind that just stirred the laurel leaves and plumes of the reeds in the torrent below. All abroad sleepy delight, and within an immeasurable joy that touched on anguish! He stood on the gravel path edged with blue and white irises, and looked down upon the little goat road behind the zigzag of spiked cactuses. The shadow of the kids, as they played, wavered upon the silver light that sparkled and shook in liquid masses from the upper rocks.
Would she come by that path? The eternal sunshine and the aching mist of blue dazzled him as did his own overpowering happiness. The rapture of the birds was a fit interpretation of his own rapture, and the lizards, darting in and out of the rocks like shuttles quick with life, were as his beating pulses. He loved everything, the water and flowers, the quaint and tiny insects that flew around him, and the pigeons that flashed through the air with an impetuosity he longed to rival.
A step behind him drained the blood from his heart, and he turned, sick and frightened with the strength of passion.
Inarime was looking at him with equal fear and awe. Slowly and silently their glances drew one another until their hands met, but speech was beyond them. They did not speak at once nor embrace, but remained thus standing and gazing, and then a flame sprang into Gustav’s intense look, and spread like fire over his face.
“Inarime!” he murmured, and opened his arms.