She shook her head. "Not like that, you know. He, he is not with me often," she whispered. "I bear him."
"Then you will not marry me, Angela?" he said. He looked at her with a terrified determination and drew her to him.
"Once," she said, "but not now. It is too late."
"But what are you going to do?" he cried.
"I am going on," she said. "Now I have had you, I am going on." A smile of triumph and tenderness lit her face.
He pleaded with her, but she merely turned her head away and closed her eyes. "Come," she said after a while, "lie on my breast again." Thus they strove to forget together.
Later in the morning the signora knocked at their door. She finally put her head inside the room. "Pardon, last night I forgot to bring you the napkins of pleasure. Here they are now. When you dress yourselves come up to my room. There is a charming breakfast there. Your friend, the man with the great voice, has had it brought in. And you are to come, too, Meester Adverso. Ah! how generous is the noble singer to his shepherdess! Yes, I have heard about you both from his lips. It is true love then. You will bring luck to my house.
Come, I will tell your fortunes for nothing. Jesu! how beautiful you are." Her eyes rested on them burning with admiration and regret "Do not be ashamed," she said. "I was young once. Now there is nothing left but the pleasure of the eyes." She closed the door reluctantly and went upstairs sighing.
They lingered for a while but presently from upstairs the full-chested tones of Debriille rolled down to them:
"The dew is on the rose. The birds begin, begin. The milkmaids rise, But where is she, the charm— The charming shepherdess. My morning love?"
And there was something so whole-hearted and good-natured about those tones that they hastened in spite of themselves to rise and dress.
"You will like him, you see if you don't!" said Angela. Anthony shook his head.
"Yes, yes, you will. For my sake anyway, promise!" She pouted and kissed him. They moved toward the door and opened it. A great pencil of sunlight washed down the stairs. The smell of German coffee and frying sausages rolled down to them. They heard a gay laugh and a cork popped loudly in the apartment of Signora Bovino. The colour heightened in her cheeks. They stood for a minute at the threshold. He caught her to him madly.
"Good-bye, Angela, my own Angela Maea. Oh, you do not know how I love you!"
"But where is she, the charm— The charming . . . my morning love ?"
trolled from upstairs. It was from that voice that he would hold her fast forever.
"You do not know."
"But I do, Anthony, dear, I know. I have found out. I love you. I thank the Virgin I found you again. And now we shall always be like this." She flung her arms around him choking, giving him a long kiss. "Boy, mine, dearest always, some time you will know, too."
"But where is she . . ." began the voice again up>stairs.
"Coming, coming, papa mio," she cried; dashed the tears out of her eyes and dragged Anthony over the threshold. The wind banged the door behind them. She ran laughing up the stairs to Debriille.
She had thanked the Virgin. Well, so would he, the beautiful young Virgin without the child who had come to him last night in the dream. To her then! He stretched out his hands to her. A great peace and calm of completion was on him. He could have, or be, no more than that no matter how long he lived. With or without Angela then! He blew a kiss back at the closed door. Then he went up the stairs.
The apartment of Signora Bovino was a great surprise. It was awash with sunlight that fell through a skylight now wide open. Bright, blooming plants waved in the windows and a far door led out onto the roof where there were tubbed flowers. A great yellow cat lay spread-eagled in the sun out there. And there was a table set with a snowy cloth that flapped lazily. In one corner the signora busied herself over a small charcoal stove. In the other sat Vincent looking happy and foolish with a large German girl on his knees. Debriille was doing some dance steps and humming to Angela as she copied him, one foot after the other, daintily. The whole room hailed Anthony with a shout. It was impossible not to accept such a welcome. The last bit of ice left for Debriille thawed under his ardent captivating humour. He clapped Anthony on the back with an undeniable affection.
"You, my prince charming, and your shepherdess have nearly starved us. Didn't you hear me singing to you? In another moment the sausages would have been in flames. Come now, not a minute longer. Herr Nolte, Fraulein . . . ? ahem."
"Anthony, Anthony, it is to be our breakfast," cried Angela, dancing up. "You and I are to sit at the head of the table." Her eyes were still shining like skies after a rain. She led them all out and they sat down. The old woman beaming and grinning, rapidly set the dishes.
"When you have finished, signora, be pleased to sit down with us," Debriille said. "Thou, too, wast once a lady I see." From somewhere in the past she summoned a grand curtsy. They all applauded.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Debriille, pausing and looking around for anybody who might dare to contradict him, "Ladies and gentlemen —This is a kind of impromptu and unofficial wedding breakfast for the charming couple at the head of the table. It is the best under the circumstances," he continued, looking at Anthony significantly, "that we can do. May they always be as happy as they were last night. Always," he added as if by an afterthought—"wherever they are."
They drank with a shout. Over his steaming bowl of coffee Debriille broke into a German love song that clutched them all by the heart. At the second chorus Vincent chimed in, carried away by the sheer, rank sentiment of it.
"One night at least a wandering knight may have, Though disinherited from all the past, And bear the memory of that burning love— And bear that memory with him to the last."
The high, clear voice of Angela trilled in. The boy next to her felt his breath pause as if that moment were too poignant and clear to require an earthly atmosphere to live it.
"And bear that memory with him to the last."
All their voices blent in a long, sentimental, drawn out, dying chord that left them sitting astonished with their own harmony. Indeed, it seemed as if they had not made it themselves. It had been drawn upon an unexpectedly rich account of pleasure, a draft that left happiness undiminished.
Debriille now opened small brown jugs of Asti Spumante that foamed like Normandy cider. It was clearer and lighter than champagne, a noble morning drink, bringing a glow of joy without heat or thirst. Anthony could see by the way he looked at Angela that Debriille loved her; loved her with a kind of fatherly pity as if care of her happiness had been conferred on him as his part in life. Anthony understood now the expression on the actor's face the night before in the dressing-room. It was his greater knowledge and his pity, a wise generosity beyond a purely possessive male instinct that had allowed Debriille to let Angela have her young lover. And this gayety now? It was partly to drown regret, regret that Debriille was not the same age, was not Anthony. And yet there was wine and music and happiness this morning! It was as if Debriille had shared in the joy of the night before by some occult transference. Angela and Anthony would have to take him in. He was there. How strange! How could he have ever imagined an association like this ?
Anthony shook his head. He had possessed her completely, and she him, yet somehow he was going to lose her again. He looked at her now beside him putting a little flower into her hair, joyous and cool. He thought of the young madonna in the dream who had slowly blent herself with the cool water. Perhaps Angela was like that— something that overflowed, that ran away like cool, clear water, a natural thing that one could not possess by clutching with hands. One could only be in it a while and be washed over the brink when it overflowed—and look back upon one's own happy face, glorious like the sun beating across the parapet through the green cool leaves of Signora Bovino's plants. He walked over to them a minute to be alone.