She glanced, as she spoke at Francesco, whose gaze had never for a moment abandoned her. Never had she seemed so fair to him, so utterly adorable, stirring in his soul the slumbering fires of desire.
Violetta quickly finished her wreath of eglantine, and dropped it lightly on Ilaria's brow.
"Why fear we ghosts in this radiant air?" laughed she.
"Perhaps we are the ghosts,—ghosts of our former selves," suggested Ilaria.
"No phantom heart beats in my bosom," laughed Stefano Maconi.
And a look of meaning, or so Francesco felt, passed between them.
"Fair phantom, let us tread a measure!" pleaded Violetta. "What was this green level made for, if not for the beating of gentle feet?"
"And when the measure is over," said Francesco in an undertone, as they rose, "perhaps Madonna Ilaria will graciously vouchsafe me a few moments?"
She nodded assent; but he could see her eyelids quiver, and her breath came fast. The measure finished, Stefano Maconi at once proposed a new diversion, from which neither could escape, and time wore on, while the light grew more intense and the sky burned a deeper blue. Ill at ease, Francesco withdrew from the pastimes at last and climbed the hill behind the amphitheatre. He was displeased and nervous. Ilaria, he was sure, shrank from Stefano Maconi; yet was there not some secret bond between them?
Would Ilaria come to him? He trembled, as in Avellino of old, and his heart beat faster at the thought.