y, pristine morning of the world,
before our epoch began. Rose-red gladioli among corn, in among the
rocks, and small irises, black-purple and yellow blotched with
brown, like a wasp, standing low in little desert places, that would
seem forlorn but for this weird, dark-lustrous magnificence. Then
there were the tiny irises, only one finger tall, growing in dry
places, frail as crocuses, and much tinier, and blue, blue as the
eye of the morning heaven, which was a morning earlier, more
pristine than ours. The lovely translucent pale irises, tiny and
morning-blue, they lasted only a few hours. But nothing could be
more exquisite, like gods on earth. It was the flowers that brought
back to Alvina the passionate nostalgia for the place. The human
influence was a bit horrible to her. But the flowers that came out
and uttered the earth in magical expression, they cast a spell on
her, bewitched her and stole her own soul away from her.

She went down to Ciccio where he was weeding armfuls of rose-red
gladioli from the half-grown wheat, and cutting the lushness of the
first weedy herbage. He threw down his sheaves of gladioli, and with
his sickle began to cut the forest of bright yellow corn-marigolds.
He looked intent, he seemed to work feverishly.

"Must they all be cut?" she said, as she went to him.

He threw aside the great armful of yellow flowers, took off his cap,
and wiped the sweat from his brow. The sickle dangled loose in his
hand.

"We have declared war," he said.

In an instant she realized that she had seen the figure of the old
post-carrier dodging between the rocks. Rose-red and gold-yellow of
the flowers swam in her eyes. Ciccio's dusk-yellow eyes were
watching her. She sank on her knees on a sheaf of corn-marigolds.
Her eyes, watching him, were vulnerable as if stricken to death.
Indeed she felt she would die.

"You will have to go?" she said.

"Yes, we shall all have to go." There seemed a certain sound of
triumph in his voice. Cruel!

She sank lower on the flowers, and her head dropped. But she would
not be beaten. She lifted her face.

"If you are very long," she said, "I shall go to England. I can't
stay here very long without you."

"You will have Pancrazio--and the child," he said.

"Yes. But I shall still be myself. I can't stay here very long
without you. I shall go to England."

He watched her narrowly.

"I don't think they'll let you," he said.

"Yes they will."

At moments sh