I laughed.
“Very well. I shall not look at you. I will look at the rest. I will make it easier for you with my contempt.”
Magnus fell into prolonged thought. Then he looked again at me piercingly and quietly asked:
“And Maria?...”
Oh, cursed wretch! Again he hurled my heart upon the floor! I looked at him wildly, like one aroused at night by fire. And three big waves swept my breast. With the first wave rose the silent violins...ah, how they wailed, just as if the musician played not upon strings but upon my veins! Then in a huge wave with foamy surf there rolled by all the images, thoughts and emotions of my recent, beloved human state: think of it: everything was there! Even the lizzard that hissed at my feet that evening beneath the moonlight. I recalled even the little lizzard! And with the third wave there was rolled out quietly upon the shore the holy name: Maria. And just as quietly it receded, leaving behind a delicate lace of foam, and from beyond the sea burst forth the rays of the sun, and for a moment, for one, little moment, I again became a white schooner, with sails lowered. Where were the stars while awaiting the word of the Lord of the universe to break forth in all their brilliance? Madonna!
Magnus recalled me quietly.
“Where are you going? She is not there. What do you want?”
“Pardon me, dear Magnus, but I would like to see the Signorina Maria. Only for a moment. I don’t feel quite well. There is something revolving in my eyes and head. Are you smiling, dear Magnus, or does it only seem so to me? I have been gazing into the fire too long and I can hardly discern the objects before me. Did you say: Maria? Yes, I would like to see her. Then we shall continue our interesting conversation. You will remind me just where we stopped, but meanwhile I would be extremely obliged to you, if we were...to take a little drive into the Campagna. It is so sweet there. And Signorina Maria....”
“Sit down. You will see her presently.”
But I continued to weave my nonsense—what in the devil had happened to my head! I prattled on for a considerable period and now the whole thing seems so ridiculous: Once or twice I pressed the heavy, motionless hand of Thomas Magnus: apparently he must have looked like my father at that moment. Finally, I subsided, partially regained my senses but, in obedience to Magnus’ command, remained in my chair and prepared to listen.