atchingherforhours,puzzledandanxious,butnotcontrite.
“It’snothing.”Shewentinandtoreitup,andthenbegantowrite—averyshortletter,whosegistwas“Comeandsaveme.”
Itisnotgoodtoseeyourwifecryingwhenshewrites—especiallyifyouareconsciousthat,onthewhole,yourtreatmentofherhasbeenreasonableandkind.Itisnotgood,whenyouaccidentallylookoverhershoulder,toseethatsheiswritingtoaman.Norshouldsheshakeherfistatyouwhensheleavestheroom,undertheimpressionthatyouareengagedinlightingacigarandcannotseeher.
Liliawenttothepostherself.ButinItalysomanythingscanbearranged.ThepostmanwasafriendofGino’s,andMr.Kingcroftnevergothisletter.
Soshegaveuphope,becameill,andallthroughtheautumnlayinbed.Ginowasdistracted.Sheknewwhyhewantedason.Hecouldtalkandthinkofnothingelse.Hisonedesirewastobecomethefatherofamanlikehimself,anditheldhimwithagripheonlypartiallyunderstood,foritwasthefirstgreatdesire,thefirstgreatpassionofhislife.Fallinginlovewasamerephysicaltriviality,likewarmsunorcoolwater,besidethisdivinehopeofimmortality:“Icontinue.”HegavecandlestoSantaDeodata,forhewasalwaysreligiousatacrisis,andsometimeshewenttoherhimselfandprayedthecrudeuncouthdemandsofthesimple.Impetuouslyhesummonedallhisrelativesbacktobearhimcompanyinhistimeofneed,andLiliasawstrangefacesflittingpastherinthedarkenedroom.
“Mylove!”hewouldsay,“mydearestLilia!Becalm.Ihaveneverlovedanyonebutyou.”
She,knowingeverything,wouldonlysmilegently,toobrokenbysufferingtomakesarcasticrepartees.
Beforethechildwasbornhegaveherakiss,andsaid,“Ihaveprayedallnightforaboy.”
Somestrangelytenderimpulsemovedher,andshesaidfaintly,“Youareaboyyourself,Gino.”
Heanswered,“Thenweshallbebrothers.”
Helayoutsidetheroomwithhisheadagainstthedoorlikeadog.Whentheycametotellhimthegladnewstheyfoundhimhalfunconscious,andhisfacewaswetwithtears.
AsforLilia,someonesaidtoher,“Itisabeautifulboy!”Butshehaddiedingivingbirthtohim.