“My love!” they murmured in the delirium of that first kiss, at whose tender sound the invisible spirits of solitude trembled.
At this moment the moon suddenly rose, full, splendid, and magnificent.
Its strange, unexpected light startled the two lovers, who, turning their heads at the same moment towards the east, separated from one another through some mysterious instinct, though still retaining each other’s trembling, clinging hands, cold at that moment as the alabaster of the tomb.
“It is the moon,” murmured the two in hoarse accents, and turning to gaze at one another ecstatically. Tito extended his arms towards Elena with indefinable tenderness, and with as much love as despair.
But Elena was as pale as a ghost.
Tito trembled.
“Elena, what is it?” he whispered.
“Oh! Tito,” responded the girl, “you are so white.”
At this moment the moon was eclipsed; it was as if a cloud had interposed itself between her and the two lovers.