muttered Muzzio, humming to himself as though in delirium.
Fabio stepped back two paces, stared at Muzzio, pondered
a moment ... and went back to the house, to his bedroom.
Valeria, her head sunk on her shoulder and her hands
hanging lifelessly, was in a heavy sleep. He
could not quickly awaken her ... but directly she
saw him, she flung herself on his neck, and embraced
him convulsively; she was trembling all over.
‘What is the matter, my precious, what is it?’
Fabio kept repeating, trying to soothe her. But
she still lay lifeless on his breast. ‘Ah,
what fearful dreams I have!’ she whispered, hiding
her face against him. Fabio would have questioned
her ... but she only shuddered. The window-panes
were flushed with the early light of morning when
at last she fell asleep in his arms.
The next day Muzzio disappeared from early morning,
while Valeria informed her husband that she intended
to go away to a neighbouring monastery, where lived
her spiritual father, an old and austere monk, in whom
she placed unbounded confidence. To Fabio’s
inquiries she replied, that she wanted by confession
to relieve her soul, which was weighed down by the
exceptional impressions of the last few days.
As he looked upon Valeria’s sunken face, and
listened to her faint voice, Fabio approved of her
plan; the worthy Father Lorenzo might give her valuable
advice, and might disperse her doubts.... Under
the escort of four attendants, Valeria set off to the
monastery, while Fabio remained at home, and wandered
about the garden till his wife’s return, trying
to comprehend what had happened to her, and a victim
to constant fear and wrath, and the pain of undefined
suspicions.... More than once he went up to the
pavilion; but Muzzio had not returned, and the Malay
gazed at Fabio like a statue, obsequiously bowing his
head, with a well-dissembled—so at least
it seemed to Fabio—smile on his bronzed
face. Meanwhile, Valeria had in confession told
everything to her priest, not so much with shame as
with horror. The priest heard her attentively,
gave her his blessing, absolved her from her involuntary
sin, but to himself he thought: ’Sorcery,
the arts of the devil ... the matter can’t be
left so,’ ... and he returned with Valeria to
her villa, as though with the aim of completely pacifying
and reassuring her. At the sight of the priest
Fabio was thrown into some agitation; but the experienced
old man had thought out beforehand how he must treat
him. When he was left alone with Fabio, he did
not of course betray the secrets of the confessional,
but he advised him if possible to get rid of the guest
they had invited to their house, as by his stories,
his songs, and his whole behaviour he was troubling
the imagination of Valeria. Moreover, in the old
man’s opinion, Muzzio had not, he remembered,
been very firm in the faith in former days, and having
spent so long a time in lands unenlightened by the
