"No, not any longer, dear; and you?"
"I? I am on fire, dear, sweet Lily."
"Do you find all this too sad? I believe you do not like anything sad."
"I have no eyes for sadness, Lilian, when I am with you."
Now, like children in love, they wandered from room to room, finding nearly all the doors wide open. Within the beds were made and covered with dark quilts; everything was orderly, but empty and inanimate. Only in one room, as they looked from the threshold, they saw clothes thrown on to chairs, books upon a writing-table, and fresh flowers in vases. They withdrew smiling, afraid of being caught. The waiter who, as he came and went, met them now and then in their little pilgrimage, explained to them that since the Hospice had become an hotel, every summer season people passed a week there or a fortnight; even that year there had been many till a few days ago, but with the rain and snow of the last two days many had left for Switzerland and Italy. Now only a few still remained; but at the Hospice of the Bernina most people passed through, travellers who were going to Vallettina or Switzerland, and who all stopped for two or three hours to change horses and have luncheon.
"On some days, when it is a good season, we have a hundred to lunch," concluded the waiter, with importance.
"And to-day?" asked Lucio.
"Oh, nothing, just twenty."
"Are you hungry, Lilian?" asked Lucio, smiling at her.
"Yes; I shall be glad of lunch."