She now saw
clearly that for three years she had been deceiving herself in thinking
that she no longer hoped. This hope which she had thought dead, how it
still struggled and suffered, how it persisted in assailing her heart.
No, no, he has not become a monk, it is not he! In an access of longing,
she pressed Noemi's arm. The reassuring voice was growing weaker, was
fading away. Probably it was he, probably all was really over for ever.
The silence of the night, the sadness of the moon, the gloom of the dead
streets, an icy breeze which had sprung up, were in harmony with her
thoughts.
Just a little beyond Notre Dame they again saw the sinister-looking
wayfarer gliding along close to the wall, on the dark side of the
street. Noemi hastened her steps, herself anxious to reach home.
Carlino, perceiving that his companions were going straight to the villa
instead of crossing the bridge, which leads to the opposite shore of the
Lac d'Amour, protested loudly. How was this? What about the last scene?
Had they forgotten? Noemi showed signs of rebellion, but Jeanne, fearing
lest Carlino should discover aught of her secret, begged her to yield.
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