At dinner-time she came into the dining-room, and was very quiet and
affectionate; she still complained, however, of weariness. But there was
no agitation about her now, none of her former constant bewilderment and
secret dread; and when, the day after Muzzio’s departure, Fabio set to work
again on her portrait, he found in her features the pure expression, the
momentary eclipse of which had so troubled him ... and his brush moved
lightly and faithfully over the canvas.
The husband and wife took up their old life again. Muzzio vanished for
them as though he had never existed. Fabio and Valeria were agreed, as it
seemed, not to utter a syllable referring to him, not to learn anything of
his later days; his fate remained, however, a mystery for all. Muzzio did
actually disappear, as though he had sunk into the earth. Fabio one day
thought it his duty to tell Valeria exactly what had taken place on that
fatal night ... but she probably divined his intention, and she held her
breath, half-shutting her eyes, as though she were expecting a blow.... And
Fabio understood her; he did not inflict that blow upon her.
One fine autumn day, Fabio was putting the last touches to his picture of
his Cecilia; Valeria sat at the organ, her fingers straying at random over
the keys.... Suddenly, without her knowing it, from under her hands came
the first notes of that song of triumphant love which Muzzio had once
played; and at the same instant, for the first time since her marriage, she
felt within her the throb of a new palpitating life.... Valeria started,
stopped....
What did it mean? Could it be....
* * * * *
At this word the manuscript ended.