e forces of
Nature, the everlasting fruitfulness of life. But there was more than
this; she reserved herself, like a divine and priceless gift, to be
bestowed on the one being whom her heart had chosen, he who would be her
lord and master when God should have united them in marriage. For her
everything lay in the blessing of the priest, in the religious
solemnisation of matrimony. And thus one understood her long resistance
to Prada, whom she did not love, and her despairing, grievous resistance
to Dario, whom she did love, but who was not her husband. And how
torturing it was for that soul of fire to have to resist her love; how
continual was the combat waged by duty in the Virgin's name against the
wild, passionate blood of her race! Ignorant, indolent though she might
be, she was capable of great fidelity of heart, and, moreover, she was
not given to dreaming: love might have its immaterial charms, but she
desired it complete.

As Pierre looked at her in the dying twilight he seemed to see and
understand her for the first time. The duality of her nature appeared in
her somewhat full, fleshy lips, in her big black eyes, which suggested a
dark, tempestuous night illumined by flashes of lightning, and in the
calm, sensible expression of the rest of her gentle, infantile face. And,
withal, behind those eyes of flame, beneath that pure, candid skin, one
divined the internal tension of a superstitious, proud, and self-willed
woman, who was obstinately intent on reserving herself for her one love.
And Pierre could well understand that she should be adored, that she
should fill the life of the man she chose with passion, and that to his
own eyes she should appear like the younger sister of that lovely, tragic
Cassia who, unwilling to survive the blow that had rendered self-bestowal
impossible, had flung herself into the Tiber, dragging her brother Ercole
and the corpse of her lover Flavio with her.

However, with a gesture of kindly affection Benedetta caught hold of
Pierre's hands. "You have been here a fortnight, Monsieur l'Abbe," said
she, "and I have come to like you very much, for I feel you to be a
friend. If at first you do not understand us, at least pray do not judge
us too severely. Ignorant as I may be, I always strive to act for the
best, I assure you."

Pierre was greatly touched by her affectionate graciousness, and thanked
her whilst for a moment retaining her beautiful hands in his own, for he
also was bec