erellas, fairy
queens, magicians, monsters--all the familiar personages of those
imaginary realms, crowding them in tumultuously with the kaleidoscopic
rapidity of a dream. Her prattle sounded like the warbling of a bird;
full of sweet modulations, with now and then a rapid succession of
melodious notes that were not words,--a continuation of the wave of
music already set in motion, like the vibrations of a string during a
pause--when in the childish mind, the connection between the idea and
its verbal expression met with a momentary interruption.

The other two neither spoke nor listened. To them the little girl's
bird-like twittering covered the murmur of their own thoughts, and if
Delfina stopped for a moment's breathing space, they felt as strangely
perturbed and apprehensive as if the silence might disclose or lay bare
their souls.

The avenue of the Hundred Fountains stretched away before them in
diminishing perspective; a peacock, perched upon one of the shields,
took flight at their approach, scattering the rose leaves into a
fountain below. A few steps further on, Andrea recognised the one beside
which Donna Maria had stood, and listened to the music of the waters.

In the retreat of the Hermes the smell of musk had evaporated. The
statue, all pensive under its garland, was flecked with patches of
sunshine which filtered through the surrounding foliage. Blackbirds
piped and answered one another.

Taken with a sudden fancy, Delfina exclaimed, 'Mamma, I want the wreath
again.'

'No, leave it there--why should you take it away?'

'I want it for Muriella.'

'But Muriella will spoil it.'

'Do, please, give it me.'

Donna Maria looked at Andrea. He slowly went up to the statue, lifted
the wreath and handed it to Delfina. In the exaltation of their spirits,
this simple little episode had all the mysterious significance of an
allegory--was in some way symbolical. One of his own lines ran
persistently in Andrea's head--

'Have I attained, have I then paid the price?'

The nearer they approached the end of the pathway, the fiercer grew the
pain at his heart; he would have given half his life for a word from the
woman he loved. A dozen times she seemed on the point of speaking, but
she did not.

'Look, mamma, there are Fernandino and Muriella and Ricardo,' cried
Delfina, catching sight of Francesca's children; and she started off
running towards them and waving her wreath.

'Muriella! Muriella! Muriella!