“So much, so much, to go on living!” the miserable woman replied desperately.
But the lugubrious conversation was interrupted by people coming and going. In the west the light took gentle sunset tints, and the whiteness and brightness of the ladies’ dresses seemed almost vaporous and transparent, while the beauty of their faces assumed a more indefinite and mysterious aspect. A languor fell from the sky, which kept growing whiter, and the voices became softer and slower.
“Come for a little walk,” said Gianni Provana, who had returned, waiting with infinite patience.
“Do go,” said Flaminia to her friend. “Provana, tell her something brisk and witty. Maria is so mortally bored.”
“Donna Maria, I will force myself to be full of wit!” he exclaimed, with a bow.
The woman made a movement of fastidiousness and nonchalance. Then she rose slowly from her place and replaced her cloak on her shoulders, and taking her white parasol where she had introduced some roses, without seeing if Provana was near or following her, started, after giving Flaminia a little tender embrace, telling her to wait for her till she should return.
Gianni Provana rejoined her and walked beside her. They went through the long avenue on the left, which leads from the top of the wood of the Piazza di Siena towards the back of the Villa Borghese. Others were walking near and far off in couples and groups, some talking softly, others joking and laughing, stopping to chatter better and laugh and joke; others were silent. The sunset rendered the avenue more melancholy, in spite of gay voices and peals of laughter.
Maria and Gianni Provana did not speak. She walked slowly, as if very tired.
“I am incapable of any wit near you, Donna Maria,” said Provana, after a little time.
“Don’t give yourself any trouble; it is useless.”