He felt her breath fanning his cheek.
Seized with a sudden madness he threw his arms about her, and kissed her.
Where the roads branched off they parted, after a long passionate embrace. Ilaria returned to the palace, while Francesco bent his footsteps towards the bay, shimmering in the light of the higher risen moon.
He heard her go singing through the garden, a soft chant d'amour that would have gone wondrously to flute and cithern. It died away slowly amid the trees like an elf's song coming from woodlands in the moonlight.
His soul was sobbing within him. He felt his purpose, his resolutions waver. The crisis of his life had come. Alone with Ilaria at Naples! Raniero away,—indulging his lusts!
He had feared this meeting, feared it above all things in heaven or earth!
Again they were abroad, the gods of yore. They rode the wind; they laughed in the far reaches of the sky; they whispered in his heart.
To love her! To possess her!
The thought had suddenly leaped into his brain, taking its first clearly defined form, recoiling upon him, dazzling his eyes.
For this he had lived; for this he had suffered!