passing through a dark crisis, a bitter struggle, which need not be
related here. He thought this Maria d'Arxel might prove his saving star.
He wrote to her again.

"Do you know what anniversary this is?" asked Maria. "Do you remember?"

Giovanni remembered; it was the anniversary of their first meeting.
During the correspondence the two had bared the very depths of their
souls to one another in an inexpressible fervour of sincerity, while as
yet unacquainted save by means of portraits. After they had exchanged
four or five letters, Giovanni asked his unknown correspondent for her
likeness; a request she had expected and dreaded. The girl consented on
condition of a speedy restitution of the photograph, and was in agony
until it was returned, accompanied by some very tender words from her
friend. He was charmed with the intellectual, passionate, and youthful
face, with the sweetness of the great eyes, with the symmetry of the
figure. Then when they had arranged to meet, he coming from the Lake of
Como, she from Brussels to Hergyswyl near Lucerne, both had been in a
fever of apprehension. She reflected:

"The portrait pleased him, but the bearing of the real person, a line,
the colour of the garments, the manner of meeting, the first words, the
tone of voice, may perhaps destroy his love at one blow,"

He thought:

"She knows my face, ravaged by time, my white hair, and she loves them
in the picture, but I am ageing day by day; perhaps when she sees me
this incredible love will be killed at a blow."