They had no desires, for all were satisfied, but they were not indifferent nor were they weary, for the light of love shown eternally in their heaven; twilights of laughing morn or melancholy sundowns, but never night. True faithful love knows no darkness. When the planetary sun sinks in the west there are lighted for true [Pg 284] lovers the many-coloured lamps of an electric beacon, which, like an iridescent rainbow, joins sundown to dawn.
On her knees, as if in a sweet doze, a volume of Musset was lying half open, and her right hand was more than pressed, it was grasped, in his left. She had read several pages of the great poet aloud, as only she knew how to read, pointing those immortal verses with the passionate accent of one who reading loves, and loving reads. At that inspired reading he had been always silent, but low and frequent sighs told her that through those hands closed in such close embrace there crept a tremor of high and perfect happiness. The current of her touch said to him softly:
[Pg 285]
“Listen, dear, how beautiful it is!”
And his answered hers with a tremor:
“Thank you, dearest!”
Then all at once, without her having said, “I am tired!” or his having said, “That is enough!” the book had fallen on her knees and they gazed into each other’s eyes.
In fact, these two happy beings were nothing but eyes, open, wide open, to drink in all the light that emanated from their souls: eyes moistened with tears which did not fall on their cheeks, but were absorbed as by an invisible sponge which conveyed them to the heart. Had anyone been present he would have heard a double tic-tac in unison, the harmony of two notes, one high [Pg 286] and one low, the divine music of two souls who converse without words.
Her eyes were sweet, tender, and very mild; they appeared as if they were dissolving in the dew of paradise. His eyes lightened, were ardent and fiery, drinking in the paradisean ambrosia of her pupils.
Tremour of the frame, contraction of clasped hands, and lightning from their eyes accorded harmoniously with the tic-tac of two hearts bound together; the whole an ecstasy of two existences, which are at one in the pores of the skin, the nerves of the soul, the muscles of the will.
Was it voluptuousness?
No, it was bliss.
Was it lasciviousness?
[Pg 287]
No, something less than all those; only two lives fused into one.
After a sigh from both a spark darted from those eyes; and from those lips there came at the same moment, as if a signal had been given, these words:
“Oh, how handsome you are!”
“Oh, how lovely you are!”
?
They had been married for three years, and not the slightest cloud had obscured the heaven of their happiness. When, during the first months, she had drawn a deep sigh and said to him,
“Oh, my Carlo, how happy we are!”
He, as if seized with a mysterious fear, had answered her:
[Pg 288]
“No, Teresa, do not say so! It seems as if it must bring misfortune. When God sees a man happy he judges him as standing in contravention of human and divine laws, and whispers to him that terrible dictum which one sees promulgated everywhere in England against those who violate regulations: You will be prosecuted. Just imagine if instead of one happy person he should find two! The penalty must be doubled.”
She blushed and smiled. She did not believe at all in that form of superstition, but willingly obeyed, and for some time did not say:
“Carlo, how happy we are!”
This did not prevent their being so. One day, however, she repeated the happy exclamation, for which she felt [Pg 289] the real necessity in order to relieve the fulness of her heart.
Carlo closed her mouth with his hand, but this time she resisted, and almost for fun repeated the same words ten times:
“You will see that no harm will come to us.”
And, in fact, the most complete bliss continued to shine in the blue heavens of those two happy ones. They were two and they were one; but sometimes, sighing, they had said:
“Why are we not three?”
It was he really who had said so; and she then blushed and hung her head, sighing:
“You are right, Carlo; our happiness is too great for two alone; [Pg 290] divided among three it would be better.”
“But the third, Teresa, ought to be tiny, tiny—so, look,” and he opened the palm of his hand to show the length that this third partner in their happiness ought to be.
This discourse, however, did not please Teresa, and after a forced smile she kissed Carlo and gave him a pat on the cheek, and said in a shame-faced way, and with an unsteady voice:
“You know it is not my fault.”
“I know it is not the fault of either of us, we love each other so much. But do not worry any more about it; we can be happy even if we are only two.”
And from that day they had never [Pg 291] referred again to the third being, who was to be a span long, and was to share their felicity.
But both of them thought of it constantly. It was not a cloud which covered the sun, but a light mist which dimmed it.
One day when he was in his study busy writing she ran in as if she had something very urgent to say to him; then instead, when halfway in the room, she stood still.
“What is it, Teresa?”
“I have good and delightful news for you.”
“Really?”
She smiled and blushed, and with little timid, hesitating steps, as if she had some fault to confess, she came close to the writing table, embraced [Pg 292] Carlo, and hid her head on his shoulder. She still kept silence and her face was hidden.
In vain he endeavoured to move her away that he might see her face. He thought he guessed, but still feared he might be deceiving himself.
“Is it true, then, really true, my dear, dear Teresa?”
With a sudden courage she took one of his hands and placed it on her heart.
“Listen, Carlo, there are three of us.”
He rose suddenly, agitated, embraced her, and kissed her a hundred times on the eyes, cheeks, hair, mouth, everywhere, interrupting his kisses with sighs of joy.
[Pg 293]
“Thanks, thanks, my adored one.”
They continued to be happy, and to call themselves so, without fear that God would know it, consider them in contravention, and murmur in their ears:
You will be prosecuted.
?
They had not seen each other for eight days! He had been obliged to leave her alone on account of urgent business.
Eight days—that is eight centuries! He had written eight times, she ten, for on one day which seemed longer than the others she had written three times, in the three different languages she knew.
In the last, written in English in [Pg 294] the evening, she finished with these words: “Why do I not know seven languages? Then I should have written seven times to you to-day, because the same thing said in different languages seems different, and renews my joy in thinking of you. I should like to say I love you in all the languages in the world....”
At last he telegraphed his arrival, and she had been an hour at the station, walking up and down by the deserted rails.
She looked at her watch, then at the station clock; it seemed to her as if it must have stopped, so much like centuries did those minutes appear.
With her most pleasant smile she went to one of the officials:
[Pg 295]
“Is the train from Genoa late?”
“Yes, about ten minutes.”
How cruel those four words were! How she condemned in her heart Italian railways, engine drivers, directors, and shareholders, who by their negligence had inflicted another ten minutes upon her anxious waiting. She drew near the kiosk of newspapers and books, but without looking at anything; she bought flowers, but did not smell them; she kept her eyes turned toward Genoa, strained her ears, bit her lips, but the train came not.
In a moment a thousand fears flashed through her mind—the remembrance of the last collision, the many killed and injured————
She did not dare to go to the same [Pg 296] official. She went to another, timid and full of fears. This time she did not succeed in smiling.
“Is the train from Genoa still late?”
“Yes, ten minutes; it will be here in five minutes now.”
Shortly after a whistle was heard, then a low and heavy vibration of the rails, a great column of smoke appeared, then the heavy wheels rolled under the roof of the station.
She ran from one carriage to another, impatient and anxious; he was not there.
Travellers alighted in crowds. He was not there.
Her heart beat fast, she did not know what to do. She turned her back to the train and walked toward [Pg 297] the station master without knowing what she ought to say, or even could say to him.
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