She held up an envelope to him.
“I can light it over the lamp,” she repeated.
“What is the address?”
“It is very long; I can’t read it all, only ‘Florence, Italy.’”
“Burn it,” he said, in a voice so low she could scarcely hear him.
Presently she came over and knelt down by his side. Neither spoke or moved.
“The candle is lighted,” she whispered, at last.
“And the lamp?”
“Is out.”