He looked into her face, and his eyes were full of a lustrous softness
that was like a gentle and warm caress.
"Signora, you know what I am for you. Then leave me alone, Signora."
He spoke solemnly. "You ought to trust me, Signora, you ought to trust
me."
"I do trust you. But you--do you trust me?"
"Si, Signora."
"In everything?"
"Signora, I trust you; I have always trusted you."
"And my courage--do you trust that?"
He did not answer.
"I don't think you do, Gaspare."
Suddenly she felt that he was right not to trust it. Again she felt
beset by fear, and as if she had nothing within her that was strong
enough to stand up in further combat against the assaults of the world
and of destiny. The desire to know all, to probe this mystery,
abruptly left her, was replaced by an almost frantic wish to be always
ignorant, if only that ignorance saved her from any fresh sorrow or
terror.
"Never mind," she said. "You needn't answer. I don't want-- What does
it all matter? It's--it's all so long ago.
Pages:
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807