"Have I not the right?
Tell me now: Was it that you wished to see my face again before they gave me over to the grave ?" "Perhaps it was that, Madonna," I answered in confusion, avoiding her glance.

Then--"Shall we be going ?" I suggested fiercely.

But she never heeded that suggestion.
She spoke as if she had not heard, and the words she uttered seemed to turn me into stone.
"Did you love me then so much, dear Lazzaro ?" I swung round to face her now, and I know that my face was white--whiter than hers had been when I had beheld her in her coffin.

My eyes seemed to burn in their sockets as they met hers.

A madness overtook me and whelmed my better judgment.