“But what is this will, Marco?” she said, seized by a sudden fear.
“Maria,” he said gravely, “you know, you have known, that passion is outside the usual limits of life, you have known and seen that it forces souls and persons beyond all laws and duties, beyond all vows. You have seen and known that it exalts and multiplies life. Well, Maria, I believe that when once the ordinary limits of life have been passed over, it is extremely difficult to turn back. I believe that when duties are forgotten, vows unloosed, laws broken, it is extremely difficult for people to re-enter the social orbit, to resume their proper place, and to repair their conscience. I believe that for a life which has touched the heights of passion, it is impossible to descend to the great, cold, silent depths.”
All that he said was reflected sadly in its truth and irreparableness.
“Then,” she interrupted, “then whoever has sinned, in punishment for his sin must continue to sin.”
“Yes, Maria; sin, but without fascination. Sin is a punishment in itself. I believe, I am sure, that this is punishment.”
A heavy silence fell upon them. The woman’s head was bowed, and she had crossed her hands over her knees. There was not a breath of air in that atmosphere of a cemetery.
“At home they will say: ‘She always loved him, and always lied in denying that she loved him.’ ”
“They will say that,” admitted Marco sadly.
“Your wife will say so, Marco,” Maria continued monotonously, “ ‘Marco never forgot her, and always lied.’ ”
“Certainly she will say that.”