Elena's words raised that illusion in Andrea's mind, but, at the same time, a certain uneasiness.
She began recalling the details of their visit to Santa Sabina one afternoon in January under a prematurely mild sun.

She dwelt insistently upon the most trivial incidents, breaking off from time to time as if following a separate train of thought, distinct from the words she uttered.

Andrea fancied he caught a note of regret in her voice.

Yet, what had she to regret?
Surely their love had many a sweeter day before it still--the Spring had come again to Rome.

Doubting and perplexed, he ceased to listen to her.