“For more than three months, Marco,” she replied wearily.
“Always alone?”
“Always.”
“And where have you been, Maria, always alone? Tell me everything, please.”
Marco questioned her with penetrating sweetness, in which, however, weariness was mixed.
“I have been everywhere,” she replied, and he seemed to notice a tremor in her voice, “everywhere. One can go to a good many places in three months.”
“That’s true,” he added; “I started before you from Rome, a couple of months before.”
“I know, Marco. I was told so. Have you always been alone on your journey?”
“Like you, always.”
“Have you no regret for those you have left behind?” she asked in a still sadder accent.