Terrified at
the vividness of these memories he pressed his arms to his breast, and
strove to withdraw himself from his senses and his memory, into the very
centre of his being. He gasped, with parted lips, unable to banish
that image from his inner vision. And others flashed through his mind,
leaving his unyielding will unconquered, but causing it to tremble like
a tightly drawn rope. Now it was the idea that only Jeanne really loved
him, that only Jeanne suffered through his suffering. Now it was her
voice, complaining that her love was not returned, her voice asking for
love, in the tones of a little song by Saint-Saens, so sweet, so sad,
and familiar to them both, and concerning which he had once said to her
at Villa Diedo that he could never refuse anything to one who prayed
thus. Now it was the idea of fleeing far, far away and for ever, from
this pagan and pharisaical Rome. Again it was a vision of peace and pure
converse with the woman whom he would win over to the faith at last. It
was an ardent desire to say to the Lord:--"The world is too sad, let me
adore Thee thus.
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