His companion made a little grimace of sadness, which for a moment brought back all her age. “Don’t look at her,” she said. “I am jealous.” “Jealous? And can’t I be, too?” he asked, teasing her for her severity. “Of whom, good heavens!” “Why, of that black and moustachioed Italian at the hotel. He forgets his mistress during meals and makes bold eyes at you.” She burst into laughter. “Lorenzo!” “You know his name?” “He told me. He made me a declaration, rolling up the whites of his eyes. It was too funny!” He forced himself to laugh in his turn. But when they were installed in their boat, and two or three strokes of the oars had carried them from the shore, he was conscious of the same feeling of uneasiness. This present that they were managing with so much art, from which they set aside all memories and consequences, so that they might extract its essence in all its force, here was the least little incident tainting it. What barriers must be built for love to give it shelter from the world even for a year! This love, for which they had sacrificed everything, was pressed upon from every side by life and by the impulses of their own hearts, even as the shores of the little island that lay before them were laved by the waters of the lake. She was the first to feel the consciousness of their misery. She leant from the thwart and drew nearer to him. But instead of divining what she meant, he began and told her the legend of St. Jules, for whom they neither of them cared a rap. “This island in olden times,” he recited, “was infested with snakes. When St. Jules wanted to go to Orta the fishermen all refused to lend him their boats, whereupon he spread his mantle on the water for a boat and used his staff for an oar.” She was vexed, and murmured sardonically: “How much you know!” “I’ve just been reading about this miracle.” “I detest your book.” He guessed her reason for detesting it. In this last day of their first year of love, that was to sum up all its sweetness, everything hurt them, everything turned sad for them, even the most innocent words.