The chairs and sofa were as soft as beds, and there was everywhere
suggestion of down and silk. Upon entering I was struck with the strong
odor of Turkish pastilles, not such as are sold here on the streets, but
those of Constantinople, which are more nervous and more dangerous. She
rang and a maid appeared. She entered an alcove without a word, and a few
minutes later I saw her leaning on her elbow in her habitual attitude of
nonchalance.
I stood looking at her. Strange to say, the more I admired her, the more
beautiful I found her, the more rapidly I felt my desires subside. I do
not know whether it was some magnetic influence or her silence and
listlessness. I lay down on a sofa opposite the alcove and the coldness
of death settled on my soul.
The pulsation of the blood in the arteries is a sort of clock, the
ticking of which can be heard only at night. Man, abandoned by exterior
objects, falls back upon himself; he hears himself live. In spite of my
fatigue I could not close my eyes; those of Marco were fixed on me; we
looked at each other in silence, gently, so to speak.
"What are you doing there?" she asked.
She heaved a gentle sigh that was almost a plaint. I turned my head and
saw that first gleams of morning light were shining through the window.
I arose and opened the window; a bright light penetrated every corner of
the room. The sky was clear.
I motioned to her to wait.
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