"Yes, I know you, you are she who was destined me to vanquish the Novella's disdain. When I beseeched her love, the consent of her passion, so many times confessed and yet never decisive, she closed her eyes, she said: 'No.' And I said: 'Well, I will love other eyes so that the eyes of the Novella might weep and be merciful to me.' Then her eyelashes lifted and I grew pale with fright: instead of the blue and gentle irises, I saw strange eyes like those designed on the plumes of a peacock, a white peacock." "I do not understand anything of this," said Pavona. "I never open my eyes, for a very simple reason. I cannot. But I shall love you well all the same, you see!" "You have never tried!" "To open my eyes? No, and for what purpose, since I have none. Wait, I remember an oracle sung to me by the Bohemian woman, formerly, when I was very little. It had this refrain: But when some one to you will say 'I love you!' sight will come your way." Guido found this very natural. They stopped at a rich tavern, dazzling as a palace, and they were received like princely persons. Preceded by a servant, they climbed, climbed, climbed, as though to the sky. "Carry me, Guido, or I will be quite tired," said Pavona. Guido took her in his arms. They climbed, climbed, as though towards the sky. "Kiss me, Guido, or I shall grow quite bored," said Pavona. Guido kissed the closed eyelashes. They climbed, climbed, climbed, as though towards the sky. "Here," said the servant at last, "is the apartment of Your Highnesses." The multicolored door truly glowed with flames, for it was of silver and studded with diamonds. "It is heaven's door," said Pavona. "I wish to open it myself." She entered first, holding Guido by the hand. There was a very agreeable blue dimness in the chamber: the couch, at the end, defined itself under heavy draperies. Fondlings and caressings: Guido felt himself burn with desire, and Pavona, quite determined, returned his kisses, ardor for ardor. "I love you," Guido cried. Pavona opened her eyes. They were fearful. They were like the eyes designed on the plumes of a peacock, a white peacock. Guido swooned and awoke in his cell, an assassin, a thief, a perjurer. "I am a wretch," he thought, after a moment, "a wretch unworthy of his own pity. The crimes one commits in dreaming, one is really capable of committing. What occurs in the dream lay dormant in the caves of the will, or rather, they are prophecies and the celestial admonition of an irrevocable predestination. Ah! rather to have been criminal than to live in the certitude of a future crime. I accept the weight of my mortal sins: by degrees penitence will dissolve them like a sack of salt by the rain, and my shoulders will straighten again, delivered. Pardon me, most holy madonna, and punish me."