Her companion watched her furtively, expecting to see some sign of profound emotion, or of grief controlled, or at least the shadow of a quiet sadness.

But there was nothing, and after two or three minutes Angela rose deliberately, went up the remaining steps, and pressed her lips upon the first letters of Giovanni's name.

She turned and descended the steps with a serene expression, as Madame Bernard got up from her knees.
'Death was jealous of me,' Angela said.
She had never heard of Erinna; she did not know that a maiden poetess had made almost those very words immortal in one lovely broken line that has come down to us from five and twenty centuries ago.

In the Everlasting Return they fell again from a maiden's lips, but they roused no response; Madame Bernard took them for a bit of girlish sentiment, and scarcely heeded them, while she wondered at Angela's strangely calm manner.
They walked back slowly along the straight way between the tombs.
'I loved him living and I love him dead,' said the young novice slowly.

'He cannot come back to me, but some day I may go to him.' 'Yes,' answered Madame Bernard without conviction.
The next world had always seemed very vague to her; and besides, poor Giovanni had been a soldier, and she knew something of military men, and wondered where they went when they died.
'You are a very good woman,' Angela continued, following her own train of thought; 'do you think it is wrong for a nun to love a dead man ?' 'Dear me!' exclaimed the little Frenchwoman in some surprise.