"Very much," replied the other, with an intense smile; "and this is an ideal country for love-making, Vittorio."
"I know it is. And do you sometimes grow fond of each other?"
"Sometimes I grow fond of them."
"And, perhaps, sometimes you fall in love?"
"One is always a little in love with the person to whom one makes love," said Lucio Sabini, in a low voice.
"But do you fall in love?" insisted Vittorio.
"Yes, I fall in love, too," Lucio confessed.
"And then? What do you do to cure yourself?" asked Vittorio Lante, with affectionate curiosity; "because you do cure yourself, don't you?"
"I keep on curing myself," replied the other sadly, regarding the clouds that were heaping above, as they became less white, obscuring and hiding all the light of the moon. "I cure myself of myself. And if I do not there is somebody who sees to curing me."
Suddenly it seemed as if a boundless sadness was emanating from what Lucio Sabini was saying and thinking, from what he was not saying and thinking. His head was slightly bowed, and his lowered lashes hid his glance.