"You are like him," I whispered. "Your face can make me good."
His arms tightened, and a smile escaped.
"And yours? What will you be like to me?" he asked.
I looked up, remembering.
"Like—just an American woman—a tormenting side-issue in your busy life?"
But he shook his head gravely.
"No—not that."
A casement was open near by, and he drew me toward the shaft of radiance which fell into the shadowed room.
Across the courtyard, white now with moonlight, were the ruins of the abbey. There shone a softened luster through the space of the absent window, and above, resplendent in her niche, stood the Virgin. Her head was bowed above the burden in her arms.
"Like that—like that!" he whispered.