them shone a something ineffable and divine, much humility,
much power, the power of a transcendent love, springing not from his
heart, but from a mystic fount within his heart; a love reaching beyond
her heart, but seeking her in the inner, mysterious regions of the soul,
regions unknown to her. Slowly, slowly she clasped her hands and sank
upon her knees.

Benedetto carried the forefinger of his left hand to his lips, while
with his other hand he pointed to the wall facing the balcony, which
opens to the hornbeams of the Francolano hill and to the roar of the
river far below. In the centre of the wall, showing black and large, was
the word

SILENTIUM.

For centuries, ever since the word had been written there, no human
voice had been heard in this place. Jeanne did not look, did not see.
That finger at Piero's lips was enough to seal her own. But it was not
enough to check the sob in her throat. She gazed at him intently, her
lips pressed tightly together, while great, silent tears rolled down her
face. Immovable, his arms hanging close to his sides, Benedetto slightly
bent his head and closed his eyes, absorbed in prayer. The great, black,
imperious word, big with shadows and with death, triumphed over these
two human souls, while from the shining balcony the fierce souls of the
Anio and of the wind roared in protest.

Suddenly, a few seconds after Benedetto's eyes had closed to her gaze,
she was shaken and rent from shoulder to knee by a great sob, a sob
bitter with all the bitterness of her fate. He opened his eyes and
looked tenderly at her, while she drank in his look thirstily, sobbing
twice, as in sorrowful gratitude. And because this man, her beloved,
again raised his finger to his lips she bowed her head in assent. Yes,
yes, she would be silent, she would be calm! Still in obedience to his
gesture, to his look, she rose to her feet and drew back, allowing him
to pass out through the open door; then she followed him humbly, her
hope dead in her breast, so many sweet phantoms dead in her heart, her
love turned to fear and veneration.

She followed him to the chapel which they call the upper church. There,
opposite the three small pointed arches inclosing deep shadows through
which an altar looms, and where a silver cross shines against the dark
phantoms of ancient paintings, Jeanne, upon a sign from him, knelt
on the _prie-dieu_ placed on the right side of the great arch, which
follows the line of th