Her throat was throbbing, and her faltering voice was failing like a
pendulum that is about to stop.
"Roma!" he cried over her shoulder.
"David!"
Their eyes met, their hands clasped, their pent-up secret was out, and
in the dim-lit catacombs of love two souls stood face to face.
"How long have you known it?" she whispered.
"Since the night you came to the Piazza Navona. And you?"
"Since the moment I heard your voice." And then she shuddered and
laughed.
When they left the house of silence a blessed hush had fallen on them, a
great wonder which they had never known before, the wonder of the
everlasting miracle of human hearts.
The sun was sitting behind Rome in a glorious blaze of crimson, with the
domes of churches glistening in the horizontal rays, and the dark globe
of St. Peter's hovering over all. The mortal melancholy which had been
lying over the world seemed to be lifted away, and the earth smiled with
flowers and the heavens shone with gold.
Only the rhythmic cadence of the saddles broke the silence as they swung
to the movement of the horses. Sometimes they looked at each other, and
then they smiled, but they did not speak.
The sun went down, and there was a far-off ringing of bells. It was Ava
Maria. They drew up the horses for a moment and dropped their heads.
Then they started again.
The night chills were coming, and they rode hard. Roma bent over the
mane of her horse and looked proud and happy.
Grooms were waiting for them at the gate of St. Paul, and, giving up
their horses, they got into a carriage. When they reached Trinità de'
Monti the lamplighter was lighting the lamps on the steps of the piazza,
and Roma said in a low voice, with a blush and a smile:
"Don't come in to-night--not to-night, you know."
She wanted to be alone.
XI
Felice met Roma at the door of her own apartment, and in more than
usually sepulchral tones announced that the Countess had wished to see
her as soon as she came home. Without waiting to change her
riding-habit, Roma turned into her aunt's room.
The old lady was propped up with pillows, and Natalina was fussing about
her. Her eyes glittered, her thin lips were compressed, and regardless
of the presence of the maid, she straightway fell upon Roma with bitter
reproaches.
"Did you wish to see me, aunt?" said Roma, and the old lady answered in
a mocking falsetto: "Did I wish to see you, miss? Certainly I wished to see you, although
I'm a broken-hearted woman and sorry for the day I saw you first."