But a tremor of hope revived within her.
"But, Othomar, I ask you, why do you do this? You are ill now, but you will get better and then ... then you will think differently!"
He gazed out before him: his presentiment quivered through him; he saw his dream again: the streets of Lipara filled with crape, right up to the sky, where it veiled the sunlight. And over his features there passed again that new air of hardness, of dogged obstinacy which made him unrecognizable; he shook his head slowly from side to side, from side to side:
"No, mamma, I shall never think differently. Believe me, it will be better so."
When she saw him like that, her new hope collapsed again and she sobbed once more. Sobbing, she rose; amid her sorrow yawned a void; she was losing something: her son.
"Are you going?" he asked.
She nodded yes, sobbing.
"Do you forgive me?"
She nodded yes again. Then she gave him a smile, a smile full of despair; lacking the strength to kiss him, she went out, still sobbing.
He remained alone and rose from his couch. He stood in the middle of the room; his eyes stared at the collie: