At dinner-time she entered the dining-room, and was very quiet and
affectionate; but she still complained of being weary. Yet there was no
agitation about her, nor any of her former constant surprise and secret
fear; and when, on the day after Muzio's departure, Fabio again set
about her portrait, he found in her features that pure expression, the
temporary eclipse of which had so disturbed him ... and his brush flew
lightly and confidently over the canvas.
Husband and wife began to live their life as of yore. Muzio had vanished
for them as though he had never existed. And both Fabio and Valeria
seemed to have entered into a compact not to recall him by a single
sound, not to inquire about his further fate; and it remained a mystery
for all others as well. Muzio really did vanish, as though he had sunk
through the earth. One day Fabio thought himself bound to relate to
Valeria precisely what had occurred on that fateful night ... but she,
probably divining his intention, held her breath, and her eyes narrowed
as though she were anticipating a blow.... And Fabio understood her: he
did not deal her that blow.
One fine autumnal day Fabio was putting the finishing touches to the
picture of his Cecilia; Valeria was sitting at the organ, and her
fingers were wandering over the keys.... Suddenly, contrary to her own
volition, from beneath her fingers rang out that Song of Love Triumphant
which Muzio had once played,--and at that same instant, for the first
time since her marriage, she felt within her the palpitation of a new,
germinating life.... Valeria started and stopped short....
What was the meaning of this? Could it be....
With this word the manuscript came to an end.