articulated breath like tongues of long-hidden flame; and yet
there had been no seal of lips, no clasp of hands, nor any
slightest caress such as love claims and hallows. He had never
touched one of the gleaming ringlets of her hair; her garment--so
marked was the physical barrier between them--had never been
waved against him by a breeze. On the few occasions when Giovanni
had seemed tempted to overstep the limit, Beatrice grew so sad,
so stern, and withal wore such a look of desolate separation,
shuddering at itself, that not a spoken word was requisite to
repel him. At such times he was startled at the horrible
suspicions that rose, monster-like, out of the caverns of his
heart and stared him in the face; his love grew thin and faint as
the morning mist, his doubts alone had substance. But, when
Beatrice's face brightened again after the momentary shadow, she
was transformed at once from the mysterious, questionable being
whom he had watched with so much awe and horror; she was now the
beautiful and unsophisticated girl whom he felt that his spirit
knew with a certainty beyond all other knowledge.

A considerable time had now passed since Giovanni's last meeting
with Baglioni. One morning, however, he was disagreeably
surprised by a visit from the professor, whom he had scarcely
thought of for whole weeks, and would willingly have forgotten
still longer. Given up as he had long been to a pervading
excitement, he could tolerate no companions except upon condition
of their perfect sympathy with his present state of feeling. Such
sympathy was not to be expected from Professor Baglioni.

The visitor chatted carelessly for a few moments about the gossip
of the city and the university, and then took up another topic.