As he ascended, the marvel of the sunset increased; he stopped his horse that he might contemplate what seemed a symbolic picture. The mountains had become violet; a long cloud of the same colour made a darkness above the horizon; between the mountains and the cloud a great sun, rayless and blood-red was going down in a heaven of gold. At that moment, he knew not why, Anania felt good; good, but sorrowful. He had arrived at sincerely desiring his mother's recovery. He felt a measureless pity for her; and the beautiful childish dream of a life of sacrifice dedicated to the unhappy one's redemption, shone in his soul, great and terrible like that dying sun. But suddenly he perceived that this dream was only for his own comfort; and he compared his belated generosity to a rainbow curved over a country devastated by storm; it was splendid, but altogether useless. "What shall I do?" he repeated in new despair, "I shall love no more, I shall believe no more. The romance of my life is ended; ended at twenty-two, the age when most men are beginning theirs!" When he reached Fonni it was already night. The outline of the tiled roofs showed black against the stainless moonlit sky. The air was perfumed and very fresh. The tinkle of the goats returning from pasture, could be heard, the step of the herdsman's horse, the bark of his dogs. Anania thought of Zuanne and of his distant childhood, more tenderly than when he had been at Fonni a few days ago. He dismounted at the widow's door, inquisitive heads appeared at the windows, the low doors, the wooden balconies of the opposite houses. He seemed expected, a mysterious whisper ran around, and he felt himself wrapped in it, straitened as by a cold and heavy chain. "She must be dead!" he thought, and stood motionless beside his horse. Aunt Grathia came to the door, a lamp in her hand. She was even more ghastly than usual, her small, bloodshot eyes sunk in great livid circles. Anania looked at her anxiously. "How is she?" "Ah! she is well. She has finished her penitence in this world," replied the old woman with tragic solemnity. Anania understood that his mother was dead. He could not feel sad, but neither did he feel the expected sense of relief. "Good God! Why didn't you send for me sooner? When did she die? Let me see her!" he said, with anxiety exaggerated, but partly sincere. He entered the kitchen which was illuminated by a great fire.