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IWALKEDbacktomyhouse.Itwasverysilent,andasIpassedupthestairstheservantsshrunkbackwithavertedfaces,asiftheywereafraidtolookatme. 'WhereisFabio?'Iasked. Apagewhisperedtimidly,— 'Inthechapel.' Iturnedonmyheel,andpassedthroughtherooms,oneafteranother,tillIcametothechapeldoor.Ipusheditopenandentered.Adimlightcamethroughthepaintedwindows,andIcouldhardlysee.Inthecentreweretwobodiescoveredwithacloth,andtheirheadswerelightedbytheyellowgleamofcandles.Attheirfeetkneltanoldman,praying.ItwasFabio. IadvancedanddrewbacktheclothandIfellonmyknees.Giulialookedasifsheweresleeping.Ihadsooftenleantoverher,watchingtheregularheavingofthebreast,andsometimesIhadthoughtherfeaturesascalmandrelaxedasifsheweredead.Butnowthebreastwouldnomoreriseandfall,anditswonderfulsoftwhitenesswasdisfiguredbyagapingwound.Hereyeswereclosedandherlipshalfparted,andtheonlydifferencefromlifewasthefallenjaw.Herfacewasverypaletherichwavinghairencircleditaswithanaureole. Ilookedathim,andhe,too,waspale,andhisfairhaircontrastedwonderfullywithhers.Helookedsoyoung! Then,asIkneltthere,andthehourspassedslowly,Ithoughtofallthathadhappened,andItriedtounderstand.Thedimlightfromthewindowgra