"Lilian, have you seen the Val Bregaglia, and amidst the light, white clouds Italy, Lilian?" he asked her softly, as if in a dream, placing a particular stress of sweetness as he pronounced and repeated her name.
"I have seen it," she replied softly.
"Do you love Italy, Lilian?"
"Of course," she replied.
Nothing more. But he felt how much that soul and heart were his, even in the modesty and moderation of her words, even in her reserved attitude and pure actions.
"There is another spot where my beautiful country can be seen," he added; "a spot loftier and more austere."
"Where?"
"At the Bernina pass, Lilian."
"Is it far?"
"Two hours and a half by carriage, perhaps three from St. Moritz. I think you have never been up there."