The sombre Boston parlor vanished, and he seemed to be in
some old-world nunnery with the unknown lovers. He felt all their
guilty bliss and their scalding remorse. He sighed so deeply that the
soft laugh behind him seemed almost an echo. Turning quickly, he found
Berenice watching him with a teasing smile on her lips.
"I beg your pardon for startling you," she said, holding out her hand,
"but you were so absorbed in Filippo and his Lucretia that you paid no
attention to me."
"I beg your pardon," he responded, taking her hand cordially. "I was
looking at the picture and wondering what it represented."
"It is that reprobate Filippo Lippi and Lucretia Buti, the nun that he
ran away with. Why it pleased the fancy of my grandfather, I'm sure I
can't imagine. Sit down, please. It is a long time since I have seen
you, and now that Lent is coming, I suppose that you will be lost to
the world altogether."
He sat down facing her, but he did not answer. His voice had deserted
him, and his ideas had vexatiously scattered like frightened wild
geese. He looked at her, beautiful, witching, full of smiles; then
without knowing exactly why he did so, he turned and looked again at
the Lucretia.
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