Lilian gave Lucio a sweet, expressive glance, as if to remind him how in that place, in the soft summer twilight, they had known each other; and he remembered and smiled, sadly and sweetly.
"He will sleep there, like so many others who have died here, without anyone being aware of it," added the doctor, relapsing into his thoughts and dreams.
The English girl drew near to him softly.
"You need not weep for him to-morrow or to-day, Doctor," she said in a quiet, soft voice; "I am sure that he desired to be buried there in the little cemetery; I am sure that it is the best place for his long rest."
CHAPTER XVII
After the snow of the 26th of August a pure sky was resplendent in vain in the Upper Engadine, an exaltation for the eye and the imagination; in vain a wondrous golden sun enlivened everything, in vain did an even more victorious and absorbing fascination emanate from the whole countryside, and in vain the beauty of things became more absorbing and penetrating. Everything was in vain for a crowd that wished to depart, and nothing availed to keep it now that it was bent on fleeing. It was a crowd that no longer had eyes, or feelings, or nerves, with which to see and feel and respond; it was a crowd that was blind, deaf, and inert to every joy-bearing impression, dominated and absorbed as it was by its desire of departing. With the same impetus with which it had arrived from all parts and every distant country a month ago, had violently and feverishly invaded hotels, pensions, and villas, filling them to overflowing, had peopled the most remote and deserted corners, had placed its outposts on the most impervious slopes and climbed the loftiest peaks: with this same irresistible impetus by which it had conquered and fashionably devastated the silence, calm, and poesy of the Upper Engadine, that crowd was now turning its back, departing, and fleeing, without anyone or anything availing to delay its departure for an hour or a day. But the departure did not seem like a departure, it resembled a precipitous flight, a sauve qui peut, as if there had been a summons to some lofty duty or to the enjoyment of some great pleasure.
For a week the little station of St. Moritz Dorf had been besieged by the crowd, to book seats in wagons-lits in the expresses of the great international lines for Paris, London, Brussels, Berlin, Frankfort, and it would leave the station disconsolate, because for days the places in the wagons-lits on all lines had been taken; for at the mere idea of being forced to continue its sojourn for a day or an hour in the Engadine, the despairing crowd caused it to rain telegrams, offering to pay to have the wagons-lits and first-class carriages increased, in a state of agitation at every little obstacle that hindered its departure and flight. For a week the post office of St. Moritz Bad had been hedged in by a crowd booking places in the mail-coaches that descended twice a day into Italy, but so many people wanted to leave that places were lacking and every day the office added extra carriages, but even these were insufficient; so the exasperated crowd that wished to descend pell-mell into Italy booked special carriages at a high fee, just to get away on the day and the hour, without giving a glance behind. For a week conversations overlapped.
"I have my places for Tuesday evening...."