“Yes, Madame. And you will,” she replied.
And, Peter, I am sending you this. I will wait until you reply. The door, as Tizzia says, is open. I am not hard to find. I shall wait. And while I wait, I shall be abased; for I can not know what you will answer. But I shall hope.
I wonder, shall I fail in this as in everything else?
Good-night, Peter. Remember, I hope.
C.
Weeks went into months. A winter came and then spring. The birds went and then came back. Clarinda and Tizzia lived and waited. But no word came from Peter. They could not tell whether the letters Clarinda had written had reached him or not. Tizzia gave up. She thought that the separation had been too long. That Clarinda had gone out of Peter’s mind—that if he remembered her at all it was only as one remembers a dream, indistinctly, without placement. She had died and been buried. Clarinda still hoped. She could not define why this condition remained with her. Hope kept her alive. Tizzia did not tell her that in her own belief the thing was done. Peter would not answer.
In June, on the same date that Clarinda had been married so many years before, on almost the same sort of day, the sun was bright. The warmth of the weather filled all the passersby with pleasure. The boulevards were lined with people. The little iron chairs that sat close to the iron tables were crowded. Gaiety and life permeated everything. In the distance here and there bands blared forth music. Clarinda sat in her garden under the shade of a pink umbrella. There was not much change in her beauty. It was still there. Her eyes were as bright and shone with the same lustre. Behind them could be seen a queer knowledge. It shone forth in bitterness. The attitude of her body was different. Her figure was almost as slim.
Her eyes were gradually closed to the light. A soft haze came between her and the day. She was soothed by the sound of the fountain that played beyond her. A bird sang in a tree. Tizzia sat close to her upon a stool at her feet. Peace, ineffable in its entirety closed about them. Clarinda slept. Tizzia watched her, not a sound disturbed the quiet. A gate clashed on its hinges. A window opened from the porch of the house. It swung to again and made almost as much clatter as the gate, then slowly and evenly two men walked down from the porch and came on through the garden. They came as if they knew every step of the way. There was no hesitancy in their advance. Tizzia did not hear them. She did not move. Clarinda sighed in her sleep. A smile crept over her face. She made a slight movement of her body as if settling herself in some deep remembrance. The smile on her face widened, and her lips spread apart showing her teeth. A great beauty settled down upon her. Tizzia looked up at her, and shook her head slowly. A new hope came into her heart. She thought that he might come. How wonderful. A probability of joy that would come filled Tizzia with anxiety. She feared it would not happen, it had been so long.
Tizzia sat and looked at her. Then suddenly she heard the steps of the men, and she sprang from the stool and raised herself. She looked up the path. Her face became pale. She shook with emotion.