Then, through the semi-darkness, he became aware of something red--the crimson of the wall paper and the curtains of the bed--and then he heard Elena's languid voice murmuring, 'Thank you so much for coming, Andrea--I feel better now.' He made his way to her with some difficulty, being unable to distinguish things very clearly in the half light.
She smiled wanly at him from among the pillows out of the gloom.

Across her forehead and round her face, like a nun's wimple, lay a band of white linen which was scarcely whiter than the cheeks it encircled, such was her extreme pallor.

The outer angles of her eyelids were contracted by the pain of her inflamed nerves, the lower lids quivering spasmodically from time to time, and the eyes were dewy and infinitely melting as if veiled by a mist of unshed tears under the trembling lashes.
A flood of pity and tenderness swept over the young man's heart when he came close to her and could see her clearly.

Very slowly she drew one hand from under the coverlet and held it out to him.

He bent over it till he half knelt on the edge of the couch and rained kisses thick and fast upon that burning, fevered hand, and the white wrist with its hurrying pulse.
'Elena--Elena--my love!' Elena had closed her eyes, as if to resign herself more wholly to the ecstasy that penetrated to the most hidden fibre of her being.