'Well?' said Musellaro, 'and how is your affair with Donna Elena progressing?'
They happened to be just in front of the Palazzo Barberini. Behind the railings and the great stone pillars of the gates stretched the garden, dimly visible through the gloom, animated by the low murmur of the fountains and dominated by the massive white palace where in the portico alone was light.
'I asked how you were getting on with Donna Elena.'
Andrea glanced up at the palace. At that moment he seemed to feel a blank indifference in his heart, the absolute death of desire--the final renunciation.
'I am following your advice. I have not tried to relight the cigarette.'
'And yet, do you know, in this one instance, I believe it would be worth while. Have you noticed her particularly? It seems to me that she has become more beautiful. I cannot help thinking there is something--how shall I express it?--something new, something indescribable about her. No, _new_ is not the word. She has gained intensity without losing anything of the peculiar character of her beauty; in short, she is _more Elena_ than the Elena of two years ago--the quintessence of herself. It is, most likely, the effect of her second spring, for I should fancy she must be hard on thirty. Don't you think so?'
As he listened, Andrea felt the dull ashes of his love stir and kindle. Nothing revives and excites a man's desire so much as hearing from another the praises of a woman he has loved too long or wooed in vain. A love in its death-throes may thus be prolonged as the result of the envy or the admiration of another; for the disgusted or wearied lover hesitates to abandon what he possesses or is struggling to possess in favour of a possible successor.
'Don't you think so?' Musellaro repeated. 'And, besides, to make a Menelaus of that Heathfield would in itself be an unspeakable satisfaction.'
'So I think,' answered Andrea, forcing himself to adopt his friend's light tone. 'Well, we shall see.'
'Maria, grant me this one moment of unalloyed sweetness! Let me tell you all that is in my heart.'
She rose. 'Forgive, me,' she said gently, without anger or bitterness and with an audible quiver of emotion in her voice. 'Forgive me but I cannot listen to you. You pain me very much.'