nearly all the women and girls who had come that evening to the great ball at the "kulm" were dressed in white. in the immense hall that—with its richly painted but very low ceiling, the general vastness of which is broken by strange pillars, broad and low to support it—resembles, or is meant to resemble, an egyptian temple; in this immense and characteristic hall, where the whole of one wall opened out on to a verandah of shining glass, overlooking lake and wood, a crowd of women kept fluctuating, gathering in groups or separating amongst the pillars or thick clusters of green plants, as they sat for a while on the divans and rocking-chairs, or rose to go to the salons or the ballroom. and all this whiteness of cambric and silk, of lace and tulle, of marble and silver united and melted together, contrasted and harmonised, as if in a chorale of whiteness, with livelier and calmer shades or softer blendings of white. in the long corridor which separates or leads to the hall on the right, with drawing-rooms and reading or conversation-rooms, and to the left to the majestic ballroom, on the velvet benches were two rows of girls and women, nearly all dressed in white, who were talking quietly to their neighbours, as they scarcely waved their white gauze and lace fans. other ladies in white were coming and going along the corridor, from the hall to the ballroom, in couples and groups, chatting in a low voice with whomsoever was accompanying them. only here and there appeared a pale blue dress, or a pink or yellow, to be overcome at once by twenty or thirty white dresses. occasionally in the quiet corners of the hall, at the back of the reading, conversation, and smoking rooms, appeared elderly ladies, dressed in black and in rich, heavy stuffs, such as black velvet and brocade. on the grey and white head shone an old diamond ornament, or some old jewel flashed on the covered bosom, where it fastened a rich scrap of old lace.
nothing but english, though of course in different accents, was to be heard. english and american women were fraternising; the english, gentle but reserved, the americans more expansive and more charming, were gathered together in the hall and rooms, especially in the famous corridor, while outside, from the other hotels of the dorf and bad and from the villas, guests began to arrive. the english ladies of the "kulm" watched the arrivals with discreet or even cold glances, and if they were surprised in the act of watching, they quickly turned their eyes to another part, detachedly, with that perfect power of correct isolation which is one of the greatest spiritual gifts of the english. more happily curious, the american ladies turned and smiled or uttered a rapid word or two in a whisper; but no one caught the comments, so subdued and brief were they. a french woman, the marquise de brialmont, with a great mass of light golden hair, on which she had placed a very large hat of black tulle, covered with black feathers, dressed in black lace, arrived, appeared, and passed with a rustling of silken skirts, leaving a strong perfume behind her. miss ellis robinson, amidst a group of english friends, slowly fanned herself while her friends got ready. lia norescu, as beautiful as a spring dawn, in a cloudy dress of very pale blue, with imperceptible silver revers waving like a flower in a light breeze, with a silver ribbon that surrounded her shining brown hair, entered, followed by five or six of her suitors, and further behind by her silent mother, in the violet brocade dress of patient and somnolent mothers who wait evening and night for their daughters to finish dancing and flirting. lia norescu's beautiful mouth curved in a fleeting sneer of disdain at the crowd of white-clad english women, some of whom were beautiful, some less so, others not at all in their dresses which were too simple and unpretentious, with the fresh flower in the hair. but none of the english girls seemed to be aware of her. madame eva delma, a theatrical celebrity, who earned two hundred francs at each performance, entered—she was an enormously fat australian who came every year to st. moritz in the attempt to get even a little thinner—dressed entirely in red, which made her more conspicuous, breathless from the few steps she had climbed, and followed by a pale, thin little husband. other guests arrived, some loudly, others fashionably dressed, and in spite of the rather too pronounced splendour or refined elegance of the french, russian, belgian, austrian, and italian ladies, the english girls with their fair hair simply adorned with flowers, and the american girls with their black helmets of dark hair, overwhelmed them by their large numbers; and contrasted with the few red, black, yellow, and blue dresses, all their white dresses formed the harmony and beauty of that immense picture.
when lucio sabini, after leaving his hat and coat in the cloak-room, entered the "kulm" hall alone, he at once perceived that the ball had begun. the spacious room, with its appearance of a pharaoh's temple, was almost deserted; the bright light of the electric lamps illuminated the thick clumps of palms, the rich baskets of flowers which adorned the recesses, and a few old ladies who were staying behind, lost and swallowed up by remote corners. he scarcely hurried his step in the almost deserted corridor, giving a glance to the sitting-rooms on the right, where some old gentlemen and ladies were reading papers or playing bridge in silence, while there reached him, now stridently, now languidly, the burthen of the boston waltz from the ballroom. half-way down the corridor he saw a girlish figure in a white dress advancing towards him, and he recognised her at once from afar. he stopped, expecting her to recognise him as she advanced with bowed head at a rapid pace; but she only did so when close to him. a light cry of surprise and emotion issued from lilian temple's lips, and a blush covered her face to the roots of her fair hair.
"ah, here you are!" she stammered, perceiving that by her blushing she was betraying her emotion too much.
"here i am," murmured lucio sabini, taking her ungloved hand, and barely brushing it with his lips.
alone in that deserted corridor they glanced at each other two or three times. lilian temple was dressed in a white stuff, a light silk that resembled a muslin, which assumed simple and pure lines with a very slight rustling. a large white ribbon, knotted behind, formed a belt, and fell in two long streamers. the corsage was modestly opened in a round at the neck and bust; it was trimmed with a fine tulle which gave a cloudy appearance to the stuff and the transparent complexion. round her neck she wore a black velvet ribbon with three little silver buckles. she had at her waist three magnificent white roses; in the fair hair, of a childish fairness, which she knotted on her pretty head in three coils, she had placed amidst the curls another white rose. her whole being breathed youth, freshness, and purity. everything about her was more than ever virginal and alluring—the deep blue eyes, the transparent pearliness of the face and neck and bosom, the sudden changes of colour in the face, and the open and disappearing smile.
"and miss ford?" asked lucio at last.
"she is playing bridge with some friends," replied lilian slowly.
"does she like bridge? brava, miss ford!" he said, with a smile of satisfaction.
again they were silent, looking at each other.
"thank you for the beautiful flowers," she continued, in a low voice.
he looked at the roses lilian kept at her waist and the rose that was languishing amidst her hair. they were those he had sent her in the afternoon.
"thank you, miss temple, for honouring my flowers," said lucio, in his subdued and penetrating voice; "i wear your colours, as you see."
she looked at the white rose he had in his buttonhole, and smiled slightly.
"after the ball, miss temple, we will make an exchange. you shall give me the rose that has been in your hair or one from your waist, and i will give you mine, if you like."
lilian temple listened with her little blond head inclined, just like a bird's.
"will you give me one of your roses?" he asked, in a still lower and more penetrating voice, "one of your roses to keep me company after i leave you to-night, when i am alone in my room? will you give me one?"
as if to speak better, he took the little, long white hand without a glove and pressed it slightly between his own.
she raised her pure eyes, blue as periwinkles, to him and replied in a faint voice:
"yes."
"and you will keep the rose i have worn beside you to-night, miss temple? you will keep it? to remind you of me to-night and to-morrow?"
in his subdued voice there was more than tenderness, there was ardour, an ardour violent and repressed, as he squeezed the little, imprisoned hand.
"i will keep it," she said, with a trembling of her lips that were speaking, and a trembling of her little hand between those of lucio sabini.
someone was coming from the ballroom and from the hall. he let the little hand fall. regaining her composure she said:
"won't you come with me to the ballroom?"
"later on, miss temple," replied lucio, still a little disturbed.
"oh, no, at once!" exclaimed miss temple gracefully. "it is a beautiful ball, and full of such pretty girls, signor sabini."
"all english, i imagine. then they must be very pretty."
"there are many americans; but they are very beautiful too. oh, i like all this so much," she said, with ingenuous enthusiasm.
"so you like a ball, miss temple?"
"of course," and she smiled with simple, youthful gaiety.
"and you want to dance?" he murmured, frowning.
"why, yes!"
"with whom do you wish to dance?" he insisted, a little seriously.
"with you if you like," she answered, understanding at last what he meant.
"all the time with me?" he asked, with a stern face, as if he were imposing a condition.
"all the time with you," she accepted, with a smile. he was more than ever intoxicated by that smile; but he knew how to control himself. he gave her his arm and they proceeded to the door of the ballroom. but a crowd, of men in particular, cumbered the threshold and prevented people from entering and leaving; so they waited patiently till they could enter. they waited some time, exchanging a few words sotto voce, she lifting her little blond head to his, where nestled the fragrant white rose he had given her, and fixing his eyes with that glance which bewitched him, so much did it give to him the complete expression of a fresh, young, virginal soul, so much did he perceive gathered there all the moral beauty and loyal tenderness of a fresh, young, virginal heart. he bent over her, dominating her with his black, calm, thoughtful eyes, sometimes crossed by a gleam of passion, with the virile and noble expression of his brown, rather thin face, but where all the characteristics were of energy; dominating her with soft, low words, pronounced in that tone of sincerity that the more simple womanly ear appreciates and understands. however, if the man was deeply charmed and subjugated by her who was beside him, he was an expert in hiding from the world what he was experiencing; hence his face disclosed nothing, while she, as she looked at him and listened to him, appeared in her silence, even in her immobility and perfect composure, to be taken and conquered. at last, carried on by a flow of people that pressed and drove them, they managed to enter the majestic ballroom together.
round the walls there was a triple row of ladies seated, looking on and criticising. the seats were set very close together and the women were elbow to elbow and shoulder to shoulder, and among them, behind, were the men very close together, scarcely seated on a corner of their chairs, or standing and occupying the least space possible, hidden behind skirts which spread themselves, showing only their heads between two ladies' shoulders, bending on one side to talk to the lady they were beside, while the ladies raised their heads with a gentle movement, smiling and showing white teeth, occasionally raising their fans to the height of their lips, as if to hide from strangers their smiles, to show them only to him who was beside them. at the back of the room were eight or ten sets of men and women who had found no seats, but who kept close to each other in couples, waiting patiently to find a seat or to dance together. in the middle of the room, in a broad vortex that grazed those who were seated around, that made those who were on foot draw back from its whirl, in a broad vortex that grew longer according as it followed the longer walls of the room or grew denser along the shorter sides, in a vortex, now soft, now rapid, now denser and now thinner, many men and women were dancing, with a revolving of white dresses and black suits, while the triple hedge around alternated with black and white. blond heads with delicate faces and blue eyes, a little bent as if to follow the music, revolved now softly, now quickly; gentle feminine figures in the whiteness of gauze and the brightness of silken girdle, revolved amidst the clouds of white skirts that wrapped themselves round their slender persons. the faces of the men—some young and others not so young—drew nearer to those of their partners in the musical rhythm, as strong or graceful arms upheld them in a firm embrace: a male hand pressed a little white-gloved hand in support. the heads of the english girls, adorned with flowers, were sedate, and sedate were their rosy faces, while their figures as they danced preserved a chaste appearance, as if the pleasures of the dance were nothing to them. on the, for the most part, clean-shaven faces of their partners a perfect correctness was to be noted. and all those blond heads of the women and clean-shaven faces of the men, the hundred or two hundred couples, of cavalier and lady, of girl with bright eyes, and youth with large mouth and perfect teeth, as they stood or sat down, danced or rested, seemed to have silently sworn never to separate that night, and this with the most perfect naturalness.
in drawing-rooms and sitting-rooms mothers, aunts, and relations were reading papers they had already read, or were playing at bridge, while many of them slumbered with eyes open, blinking from boredom and weariness; but none of them were troubling about their daughters and nieces. the young women and girls, the demoiselles of thirty, and the scraggy old maids touching forty, in white dresses, with hair curled in front and ribbon round the neck, from the moment the ball began were accompanied by lads and youths or older men with whom they were flirting. they did nothing but chat with, smile, or look at their flirt, or dance with him or another flirt, in perfect liberty and composure, each couple to themselves, without troubling about the flirting of their neighbours, nor did their neighbours seem to be aware of theirs. they were amusing themselves with that english tranquillity that is so astonishing, because it resembles boredom—the couples were pleased with each other, but with a gentle seriousness in acts and words and an occasional fleeting smile. perhaps they were in love with each other, as many people love each other in other countries, that is to say with secret ardour; but so secret was it that nothing escaped thereof, showing instead a serenity that seems genuine, and perhaps is, and though they experience love's tumult in the depths of the soul, they have the strength to control that tumult.
more impulsive and impetuous, the actions of the american girls with their admirers and flirts were livelier, their words deeper and their laughter more frank. a keener life palpitated in their eyes full of gaiety, in their nostrils which seemed desirous of inhaling every perfume and in their parted lips. they shook their heads of dark hair, whose waves were peculiarly lowered over the forehead, and their actions were coquettish as they offered their ball programmes, opened their fans, or took their partner's arm. in their dancing there was no stiffness of movement, and no angles. they danced to perfection after much practice in their own country, with a frank pleasure that was expressed in their glance and laughter, and a ready grace and freedom that was a little superb. to their suitors and flirts they imparted an almost southern brio, and a flow of youth and love emanated from them, compared with the coldness and reserve of the english couples.
thirty or forty couples whirled round to the tune of the "boston" waltz, and the slender feet of the american girls, shod in satin and transparent stockings, appeared and disappeared amid the flowing lace petticoats, while their partners and their flirts smiled at them in manifest pleasure that nothing could conceal. amidst the somewhat baptismal cambric dresses, with their heavenly bows, pink and yellow, of the three english sisters, evelyn, rosamond, and ellen forbes, passed miss katherine breadley, the american in the empire gown, so disturbing in its too audacious lines and so seductive, as well, on the arm of her french flirt, the comte de roy, the youth of a great princely house, whom she smilingly called monseigneur. by the misses atwel, the little english girls dressed in white, on whose heads were withering wreaths of myosotis, passed in dancing miss betty finch, the enchanting modern grecian of fifth avenue, in crêpe de chine, smiling at the vicomte de lynen, her belgian flirt and partner. there crossed the room without dancing, but with the authority of un vieux gar?on who has toured the world and known the whole of society, miss ellis robinson, accompanied step for step by her italian flirt, don carlo torriani, who has sworn to make her renounce celibacy; and the enormous solitaires of the american woman shone in curious contrast with the little gold crosses of the english girls. but in britannic form, in american, in european, in every form, only flirtation governed and dominated, enveloped and transformed, that dance at the "kulm" on that summer evening. lia norescu, the exquisite creature in her blue dress, the flower of beauty, surrounded by her court, having found other courtiers there, passed from one to another, dancing like a sylph on the meadows almost without touching ground, with her light feet shod in pale blue. she danced in the middle of the room, the better to be seen, the better to be admired, and intoxicated her cavaliers with her smile, one after the other of whom she dismissed but who returned to her subdued, and whom she took back in a most capricious game of flirtation. the comtesse de brialmont, as she danced with the count of seville, a spaniard, who was said to be the nephew of an ex-queen, a morganatic nephew, whom she had seized from a friend of hers, bit her lips as she almost dragged her partner along in the "boston." suddenly even eva delma, enormous, like a great caryatid, sallied forth to dance with a graceful youth whom she devoured with her eyes. english flirts, american flirts, european flirts, caprice, light love, love, passion, fair heads and brown heads, chaste gowns and audacious gowns, hands interlaced and shoulders too near, tender smiles and intoxicating glances, beauty of innocence and conscious beauty—how everything exhaled, emanated, and spread in the air, penetrating senses and hearts that night in the ball at the "kulm"! suddenly a couple appeared in the middle of the room, and a large circle was reverently made. they were mrs. and mr. arnold, both seventy, who had been married for forty years. she, with her completely white hair and rosy face, was most attractive; he was less white, but more robust and red in the face. for forty years these two people had never left each other, and they had come to st. moritz from time immemorial. they had been guests at the "kulm" ever since its foundation. every year they suddenly sallied forth to dance, she composed and serene, he elegant in his strength. and mr. and mrs. arnold, in their flirtation of ten lustres, seemed to be the symbol of all the flirtation of which air, light, flowers, women and men were formed and transformed that night of the ball at the "kulm." smiles and discreet english applause greeted the couple; the americans, laughing, applauded more loudly, but few of the other nations did so. and around the two almost a hundred couples began to dance, amongst whom were lilian temple and lucio sabini.
lilian danced well, but with some stiffness, as if through reserve she were unwilling to yield herself to the too brilliant tunes to which the dancing couples whirled ever more gaily, as if unwilling to yield to the too soft harmonies that seemed to strike with an almost amorous languor those who were dancing. erect like a light stalk, hardly supported at the waist by lucio's arm, lilian temple turned her head a little on one side, as if unwilling to meet her partner's gaze. lucio sabini danced to perfection, with that sense of musical rhythm which belongs to all italians, and with a virile grace that emanated from every act of his; and he fixed his eyes on his lady's face, while he impressed on her, with an arm that scarcely guided her, a rapid or a softer movement. at first surprised and then annoyed to find her without response, and without a tremor, in a dance that he rendered ever more enticing, amongst the crowd of women and men who were nearly all transported, not only by the enjoyment of the dance, but by a more intimate and more secret joy, he suddenly said to her in the rather rough voice of his moments of ardour, which always appeared in contrast to his feelings:
"does dancing bore you, miss temple?"
"no, signor," she murmured smilingly, "on the contrary, i am very fond of it."
"then you don't care about dancing with me?" he suggested, even more roughly.
"why do you think that?" she asked, blushing a little, lowering her eyes, with a veil of sadness in her voice.
"i don't know," he replied vaguely, "i don't know; i thought so."
they turned more quickly; he raised her as if he wished to make her fly, and she, even more lightly, scarcely seemed to touch the ground; a fine smile parted her rosy lips, trembling a little at having to dance so fast, and for an instant her deep blue eyes, pure and tender, fixed themselves on the brown, thoughtful eyes of lucio sabini. it was only a fleeting smile, the glance of an instant, but, disturbed and moved, he asked her:
"do you like dancing with me?"
"yes," she answered, very softly.
she said nothing more. the graceful face recomposed itself into its serenity, and the dance ceased. in silence he offered her his arm, and without even asking her went towards the ballroom door, desirous of leaving. but other couples had left for the corridor, some slowly, others hurriedly, to look for a quiet corner. lucio, accustomed to command, hid his annoyance with the people he found everywhere; lilian followed him in silence, without questioning, allowing him to lead her where he willed. in the middle of the corridor miss may ford came towards them, as she left a small sitting-room. she was dressed in black satin with a magnificent white lace scarf on her arm and a jewelled flower in her sprinkled hair. she had a gentle but composedly affectionate smile for lilian.
"the game is over, darling. it is late, i am retiring," she said, in a quite english tone of simplicity. "are you staying?"
"i shall stay, dear," replied lilian simply.
"i expect you will stay till the end, darling?"
"i expect so too," replied lilian frankly.
"then good night, dear. good night, signor sabini." miss ford withdrew with that freedom and indifference which astonishes anyone who is not english, and which, instead, is the expression of their respect for other people's liberty and their own. and lucio, pressing lilian's arm lightly beneath his own as they went towards the hall, said:
"now you are in my hands, miss temple."
"oh!" she exclaimed, frowning slightly and lowering her eyes.
he stopped, corrected, a little confused, and recognised his mistake.
"i have said something wrong, miss temple."
she became silent; as it happens at times when one has an unpleasant thought, and from politeness one does not wish to utter it.
"i beg pardon, miss temple: i beg pardon frankly. i am thirty-five, but sometimes i am a naughty boy."
still she was silent, and a little pale.
"tell me that you forgive me, miss temple: tell me that, i beg of you," he exclaimed agitatedly. "you know i am a boy sometimes."
she gave a friendly little nod of the head, but nothing more. and he understood he could ask no more at that moment. they entered the hall; but still there were people round all the little tables where during the day tea was taken. other couples were seated beneath the thick clumps of green plants; others were further off towards the corners of the immense crypt that reminded one of the monuments of sesostres and cleopatra—everywhere a man and a woman. lucio and lilian gave a long sweeping glance at the hall, the same glance. they had the same singular expression of fraternal sympathy with the surroundings and the people. they made the same mutual movement in turning and going back to the corridor, seeking together, without saying so or confessing it, a more secluded, solitary spot. after wandering in the corridor for a little in silence, while from the ballroom the call of a very lively two-step reached them, they entered one of the reading-rooms. the hour was late: they only found an old lady there reading a review with silver-rimmed glasses bent over her nose, and a tiny little lace cap on her white hairs. an old gentleman in another corner was reading the "norddeutsche zeitung." they neither turned nor raised their heads when lucio and lilian entered very quietly and sat down far-away from the two in a corner; she in an arm-chair of dark leather, he in another which he drew much nearer to hers. and their words proceeded in almost a whisper so as not to disturb the two old people who were reading.
"are you cross with me, miss temple?" he asked humbly.
with her little hand she made a polite gesture that he should speak no more of the matter.
"have you forgotten?"
"i have forgotten."
"are you my friend?"
she looked at him and made no reply.
"as at first, i mean to say," he corrected himself.
"yes, as at first," she murmured thoughtfully.
lilian kept her slender hand on the arm of the chair. he watched the old lady with the silver glasses and the old gentleman with the flowing beard. they neither turned round nor saw: they were immersed in their reading. then he placed his hand on lilian's. she did not withdraw it, and he gave a sigh of joy.
"you must be very indulgent and merciful to me, miss temple," he said, with a rather sad accent. "sometimes i seem wicked, sometimes—far too often—i seem perverse."
she looked at him with her beautiful, candid eyes.
"it is the ancient man that arises, miss temple; a man who has suffered and caused suffering," he proceeded sadly. "i need kindness and pity so much to be a good, loyal man as i was once, as i should like to be again."
"whatever are you saying?" she asked, marvelling, and a little anxiously.
"you have the salvation of my soul in your hands, lilian," he said to her, in so serious a tone that she could not think of being offended because he had called her by her name so suddenly.
more than ever anxiety disturbed the beautiful, soft, virginal face.
"do you laugh at this humble hope, lilian? do you laugh at this immense hope? do you wish me to save myself to end by losing myself?" he continued, in that serious, touching tone of his.
"who am i to do this?" lilian asked, hesitating and trembling.
"you are innocence," he replied, bowing as before an image, "and you alone can save me."
"how can i do that?" she stammered, tremblingly.
"you know," he continued, with so ardent a glance that she felt herself scorched by it, from her eyes to her palpitating heart.
"come," he murmured in her ear, "let us go and look at the summer night outside."
they rose quietly; the old lady was still absorbed in her review reading through her silver-rimmed glasses, of which they had never heard the pages turned, and the old gentleman was hidden behind his large german newspaper, held by a stick like a paper banner. neither of them had been aware of the presence of the two lovers, or discreetly had pretended not to be aware. as in a dream, with a far-away look in her large blue eyes, lilian temple followed lucio sabini. silently, automatically they looked for her mantle and shawl, which were hanging on a peg in a corner of the corridor. lucio helped her to put on the white woollen cloak, with the long sleeve-like wings prettily trimmed with white fur. he settled the shawl on her head, made of an eastern fabric, in white gauze trimmed with silver spangles. together they directed themselves towards a deserted room near the hall, whose balcony opened on to the large covered terrace, and large verandah with pillars: the verandah that stretched along the main body of the h?tel kulm, facing the lake. they did not exchange a single word, walking slowly as if absorbed. opening the window of the balcony behind them and leaning over the balustrade, without moving they contemplated the spectacle which in solitude and silence was beneath their dreamy eyes.
the night was already late, a pungent cold, with breezes that seemed like powerful, icy gasps crossed the silent engadine country. the pure night air was rendered quite white by the lofty brilliance of the moon, suspended over the lake like a lamp in mid-sky. meanwhile the mountains around, far and near, were becoming obscure and gloomy with shadows, and even higher and more majestic in the gloom those that the moon did not touch and illuminate, while the opposite shores of the lake, untouched by the moon's rays, grew gloomy; in the middle its waters, touched by the moon, were scintillating. all the lake of st. moritz, in fact, seemed like a strange cup of peculiar liquid, black and fearsome towards the deserted shores, beneath the shadow of the mountains, brilliant as a cold, metallic liquid in the middle; a fantastic cup containing intoxication and death on the cold summer night in the high mountains. like night and moon the silence was supreme and everything seemed motionless. up above a few scattered lights pointed the way from the station to the baths, but no human shadow passed there. down below at the baths rarer and feebler light flickered now and then, if a too impetuously cold breeze reached them. in an opaque, almost spiritual, whiteness the eternal snow appeared high above, in the night, on the strange piz languard; pure and spectral it appeared amidst the deep folds of monte corvatsch, and pale as a phantom on the far-off horizon between the two peaks of the margna. their souls trembling with an immense sensibility, their hearts palpitating with an immense tenderness, were struck, seized, and conquered by the majesty and purity of things in the presence of the mountains that for centuries have seen time and life pass away; in the presence of the motionless glaciers that no sun's rays could dissolve, and the waters black as shadows or white as the moon. side by side, they felt their hearts lifted above every little transient, paltry entanglement by so much power, beauty, and nobility; they felt that their hearts were breaking old bonds, and that the secret of their spirit was more intense, profound, and overpowering. they felt that here was the master whom nothing could any longer resist, and that no longer could they lie or remain silent. sweetly lucio bent over her and sweetly he drew her to him with a light fleeting action, as he brushed the fair hair on her forehead with his lips.
"amore mio!" he cried in italian.
lilian temple became as white as her dress and veil, and white as the eternal snow of the mountains.
