The point of frank interrogation in her eyes showed clearly,
showed cruelly, how detached, how impersonal, her interest was.

"Frantically," said Peter. For caution's sake, he kept HIS
eyes on the golden-hazy peaks of Monte Sfionto. "He had been
in love with her, in a fashion, of course, from the beginning.
But after he met her, he fell in love with her anew. His mind,
his imagination, had been in love with its conception of her.
But now he, the man, loved her, the woman herself, frantically,
with just a downright common human love. There were
circumstances, however, which made it impossible for him to
tell her so."

"What circumstances?" There was the same frank look of
interrogation. "Do you mean that she was married?"

"No, not that. By the mercy of heaven," he pronounced, with
energy, "she was a widow."

The Duchessa broke into an amused laugh.

"Permit me to admire your piety," she said.

And Peter, as his somewhat outrageous ejaculation came back to
him, laughed vaguely too.

"But then--?" she went on. "What else? By the mercy of
heaven, she was a widow. What other circumstance could have
tied his tongue?"