ntracted into one line, seemed still more concentrated and
serious than ever, and the diamond at the tip of the bow scattered
ray-like sparks in its flight, as though it also were kindled with the
fire of that wondrous song. And when Muzio had finished and, still
holding the violin tightly pressed between his chin and his shoulder,
dropped his hand which held the bow--"What is that? What hast thou been
playing to us?" Fabio exclaimed.--Valeria uttered not a word, but her
whole being seemed to repeat her husband's question. Muzio laid the
violin on the table, and lightly shaking back his hair, said, with a
courteous smile: "That? That melody ... that song I heard once on the
island of Ceylon. That song is known there, among the people, as the
song of happy, satisfied love."

"Repeat it," whispered Fabio.

"No; it is impossible to repeat it," replied Muzio. "And it is late now.
Signora Valeria ought to rest; and it is high time for me also.... I am
weary."

All day long Muzio had treated Valeria in a respectfully-simple manner,
like a friend of long standing; but as he took leave he pressed her hand
very hard, jamming his fingers into her palm, staring so intently into
her face the while that she, although she did not raise her eyelids,
felt conscious of that glance on her suddenly-flushing cheeks. She said
nothing to Muzio, but drew away her hand, and when he was gone she
stared at the door through which he had made his exit. She recalled how,
in former years also, she had been afraid of him ... and now she was
perplexed. Muzio went off to his pavilion; the husband and wife withdrew
to their bed-chamber.

IV

Valeria did not soon fall asleep; her blood was surging softly and
languidly, and there was a faint ringing in her head ... from that
strange wine, as she supposed, and, possibly, also from Muzio's tales,
from his violin playing.... Toward morning she fell asleep at last, and
had a remarkable dream.

It seems to her that she enters a spacious room with a low, vaulted
ceiling.... She has never seen such a room in her life. All the walls
are set with small blue tiles bearing golden patterns; slender carved
pillars of alabaster support the marble vault; this vault and the
pillars seem semi-transparent.... A pale, rose-coloured light penetrates
the room from all directions, illuminating all the objects mysteriously
and monotonously; cushions of gold brocade lie on a narrow rug in the
very middle of the f