HE autumn came and passed, and soon the green moist winter returned to Maremma.

The rose-winged flamingoes and the snow-white birds of the north flew over the sea: her lover returned not with them.

But the knowledge of a great consolation was come to her, and she bore the anguish of her lonely, empty, cruel hours with endurance, since when the March hyacinths and asphodels should open to the light she would hold a human blossom to her breast.

She laboured hard in this winter-time,