Fabio seized him by the hand. ‘And why are you playing that melody again? Have you had a dream again?’
Muzzio glanced at Fabio with the same look of amazement, and said nothing.
‘Answer me!’
‘“The moon stood high like a round shield ...
Like a snake, the river shines ...,
The friend’s awake, the foe’s asleep ...
The bird is in the falcon’s clutches.... Help!”’
muttered Muzzio, humming to himself as though in delirium.
Fabio stepped back two paces, stared at Muzzio, pondered a moment ... and went back to the house, to his bedroom.
Valeria, her head sunk on her shoulder and her hands hanging lifelessly, was in a heavy sleep. He could not quickly awaken her ... but directly she saw him, she flung herself on his neck, and embraced him convulsively; she was trembling all over. ‘What is the matter, my precious, what is it?’ Fabio kept repeating, trying to soothe her. But she still lay lifeless on his breast. ‘Ah, what fearful dreams I have!’ she whispered, hiding her face against him. Fabio would have questioned her ... but she only shuddered. The window-panes were flushed with the early light of morning when at last she fell asleep in his arms.
VIII
The next day Muzzio disappeared from early morning, while Valeria informed her husband that she intended to go away to a neighbouring monastery, where lived her spiritual father, an old and austere monk, in whom she placed unbounded confidence. To Fabio’s inquiries she replied, that she wanted by confession to relieve her soul, which was weighed down by the exceptional impressions of the last few days. As he looked upon Valeria’s sunken face, and listened to her faint voice, Fabio approved of her plan; the worthy Father Lorenzo might give her valuable advice, and might disperse her doubts.... Under the escort of four attendants, Valeria set off to the monastery, while Fabio remained at home, and wandered about the garden till his wife’s return, trying to comprehend what had happened to her, and a victim to constant fear and wrath, and the pain of undefined suspicions.... More than once he went up to the pavilion; but Muzzio had not returned, and the Malay gazed at Fabio like a statue, obsequiously bowing his head, with a well-dissembled—so at least it seemed to Fabio—smile on his bronzed face. Meanwhile, Valeria had in confession told everything to her priest, not so much with shame as with horror. The priest heard her attentively, gave her his blessing, absolved her from her involuntary sin, but to himself he thought: ‘Sorcery, the arts of the devil ... the matter can’t be left so,’ ... and he returned with Valeria to her villa, as though with the aim of completely pacifying and reassuring her. At the sight of the priest Fabio was thrown into some agitation; but the experienced old man had thought out beforehand how he must treat him. When he was left alone with Fabio, he did not of course betray the secrets of the confessional, but he advised him if possible to get rid of the guest they had invited to their house, as by his stories, his songs, and his whole behaviour he was troubling the imagination of Valeria. Moreover, in the old man’s opinion, Muzzio had not, he remembered, been very firm in the faith in former days, and having spent so long a time in lands unenlightened by the truths of Christianity, he might well have brought thence the contagion of false doctrine, might even have become conversant with secret magic arts; and, therefore, though long friendship had indeed its claims, still a wise prudence pointed to the necessity of separation. Fabio fully agreed with the excellent monk. Valeria was even joyful when her husband reported to her the priest’s counsel; and sent on his way with the cordial good-will of both the young people, loaded with good gifts for the monastery and the poor, Father Lorenzo returned home.
Fabio intended to have an explanation with Muzzio immediately after supper; but his strange guest did not return to supper. Then Fabio decided to defer his conversation with Muzzio until the following day; and both the young people retired to rest.