Her eyes reproached him, and he said quickly:
"No. Forgive me. I am unjust."
"I shall always think of you," said she.
"Alas!" he replied, "I cannot even think of you. I know nothing of your life."
Very quietly she described her ordinary life in a few words and told him how her days were spent. She spoke of herself and of her husband with her lovely affectionate smile.
"Ah!" he said jealously. "You love him?"
"Yes," she said.
He got up.
"Good-bye."
She got up too. Then only he saw that she was with child. And in his heart there was an inexpressible feeling of disgust, and tenderness, and jealousy, and passionate pity. She walked with him to the door of the little room. There he turned, bent over her hands, and kissed them fervently. She stood there with her eyes half closed and did not stir. At last he drew himself up, turned, and hurried away without looking at her.
… E chi allora m'avesse domandalo di cosa alcuna, la mia risponsione sarebbe stata solamente AMORE, con viso vestito d'umiltà….