“How little I know of your life, Andrea,” she said gently, clinging ever closer to him. “I am a stranger to you.”
“The past does not exist, love; all that has been is dead.”
“Oh! love, I am dead, I am dead to happiness.”
“Let me carry you away. Oh! my heart, you shall be reborn.”
“To-day you talk like a poet, Andrea, like a dreamer.”
“You have taught me this language; I did not know it before. I had never dreamed. Come away, Lucia, come away with me.”
“It’s late, very late,” she replied. “Come back to the carriage: let us return to Naples.”
They regained the little green haven that cut them off from the rest of the world. They were both saddened. When they turned in to the Via di Fuorigrotta, Lucia shuddered, and turning to Andrea, said:
“And the future?”
“Do not think of it, let it come.”