"Lucio, love has been my mistake; I committed suicide because of it. But what is more laughable and grotesque, I survive my suicide."
In spite of his cold delirium, as he turned to Lucio he perceived that he had become pale, as if he were about to die; he saw that Lucio's thin brown hand was pressing his cigarette-case convulsively. Vittorio composed himself, turned towards his friend, and touching his hand lightly, said:
"How I beg your pardon! I must have bored you so much with this tale of my woes."
Lucio Sabini bowed a denial with a vague and sad gesture of his hand, without replying; he bowed his denial with a vague smile that vanished immediately.
"Do not think that I tell everyone how it still torments me in the depths of my soul; no one knows anything of it; none must know. But you went up with me to the Engadine on a summer evening, do you remember? You were a witness of my joy up there."
"And also you, Vittorio, were my witness up there," murmured Lucio, grimly and gloomily.
Vittorio trembled and leant over the table to Lucio.
"Ah, that too is a sad story," he murmured.
"Sad do you call it, only sad?" exclaimed the other, with a great vibration of sorrow in his voice. Confused and disturbed, Vittorio in his turn stammered: