As soon as he could, he returned to Florence, but the weather had then grown hot, and all who were able had left the sun-baked city. Then, disappointed at not finding her after an active search, he drifted down to the sea at Livorno, and within three days was delighted to see her strolling in the Passeggio with her ugly, cross-eyed serving woman. The recognition was mutual, and after one or two meetings she explained that she had a flat for the season in one of the great white houses opposite, and expressed a hope that he would call. He lost no time in renewing the acquaintance, and now they were inseparable. He loved her. "Do you know, Gemma," he was saying seriously, "when I left Florence in March, I left my heart behind--with you." She blushed slightly beneath her veil, and raising her clear blue eyes to his, answered with a slight sigh in her soft Italian-- "You say you love me, caro; but can I really believe you?" "Of course you can, dearest," he answered earnestly, speaking her tongue with difficulty. "I love no other woman in the whole world but you." "Ah!" she exclaimed sadly, gazing blankly away across the sea, now glittering crimson in the blaze of the dying day. "I sometimes fear to love you, because you may tire of me one day, and go back to some woman of your own people." "Never," he answered fervently. "As I told you yesterday, Gemma, I love you; and you, in return, have already given me your pledge." "And you can actually love me like this, blindly, without inquiring too deeply into my past?" she whispered, regarding him gravely with those calm, clear eyes, which seemed to penetrate his very soul. "Your past matters not to me," he answered in a deep, intense voice under his breath, so that passers-by should not overhear. "I have asked you nothing; you have told me nothing. I love you, Gemma, and trust to your honour to tell me what I ought to know." "Ah! you are generous!" she exclaimed; and he saw beneath her veil a single tear upon her cheek. "The past life of a man can always be effaced; that of a woman never. A false step, alas! lives as evidence against her until the grave." "Why are you so melancholy this evening?" he asked, after a pause. "I really don't know," she answered. "Perhaps it is because I am so happy and contented. My peace seems too complete to be lasting." "While you love me, Gemma, I shall love you always," he exclaimed decisively. "You need never have any doubt about my earnestness. I adore you." Her breast heaved and fell beneath its black lace and jet, and she turned her fine eyes upon him with an expression more eloquent than any words of assurance and affection. Then, after a brief silence, he glanced around at the crowd about them, saying-- "It is impossible to speak further of our private affairs here. You will dine with me to-night. Where shall it be?"