“I’mstillsoyoung,andIalmostfeelanoldwoman.SometimesIshouldliketoliedownanddie,andhavedonewithitall.”
AmonthlaterBerthawasinRome.Butatfirstshewashardlyabletorealisethechangeinhercondition.HerlifeatCourtLeyshadimpresseditselfuponherwithsuchghastlydistinctnessthatshecouldnotimagineitscessation.Shewaslikeaprisonersolongimmuredthatfreedomdazeshim,andhelooksforhischains,andcannotunderstandthatheisfree.
ThereliefwassogreatthatBerthacouldnotbelieveittrue,andshelivedinfearthathervisionwouldbedisturbed,andthatshewouldfindherselfagainwithintheprisonwallsofCourtLeys.Itwasadreamthatshewanderedinsunlitplaces,wheretheairwasscentedwithvioletsandwithroses.Thepeoplewereunreal,themodelsloungingonthestepsofthePiazzadiSpagna,theraggedurchins,quaintlycostumedandimportunate,thesilverspeechthatcaressedtheair.Howcouldshebelievethatlifewastruewhenitgaveblueskyandsunshine,sothattheheartthrilledwithjoywhenitgaverest,andpeace,andthemostdelightfulidleness?ReallifewasgloomyandstrenuousitssettingaGeorgianmansion,surroundedbydesolate,wind-sweptfields.Inreallifeeveryonewasveryvirtuousandverydullthetencommandmentshedgedoneroundwiththemenaceofhell-fireandeternaldamnation,adungeonmoreterriblebecauseithadnotwalls,norbarsandbolts.
ButbeyondthesegloomystoneswiththeirharshThoushaltnotisalandoffragranceandoflight,wherethesunbeamssendthebloodrunninggailythroughtheveinswheretheflowersgivetheirperfumefreelytotheair,intokenthatrichesmustbespentandvirtuemustbesquanderedwheretheamoretsflutterhereandthereonthespringbreezes,unknowingwhithertheygo,uncaring.Itisalandofolivetreesandofpleasantshade,andtheseakissestheshoregentlytoshowtheyouthshowtheymustkissthemaidens.Theredarkeyesflashlambently,tellingthetravellerheneednotfear,sincelovemaybehadfortheasking.Bloodiswarm,andhandslingerwithgratefulpressureinhands,andre