Silently they walked down the flower-bordered path.
The panorama from the spot was enchanting. Far below lay the blue waters of the bay; out to seaward lay ancient Baiae with her thousand palaces and the forest of masts at Puteoli; beyond these Sorento and the shimmering islands, bathed by the boundless sea. The vaporous cloud from Vesuvius hung like a cone of snow in the still blue atmosphere.
The foreground was no less enchanting. All round the pavilion lay a verdant, luxuriant wilderness. The mysterious silence of noon brooded over the whole landscape; only a faint hum of life came up from the city. All else was still. Not a living creature seemed to breathe within ear-shot.
He led her to where a fountain plashed in the sun and stone steps ringed a quiet pool.
In the silence she bent over him, her hand on his dark hair.
The tonsure burned her fingers like living fire.
"Why have you done this thing?"
He felt the scorn in her voice; he felt the swift repellence of her body.
Francesco raised his face to that of the woman. It was very pale from the fierceness of the struggle to keep down even the suspicion of emotional sentimentality.