Here my little one was laid tenderly to rest in warm mother-earth, and I had sweet violets and primroses planted thickly all about the place, while on the simple white marble cross that marked the spot I had the words engraved-- "Una Stella svanita," [Footnote: A vanished star] adding the names of her parents and the date of her birth and death.
Since all this had been done I had visited my wife several times.

She was always at home to me, though of course, for decency's sake, in consequence of the child's death, she denied herself to everybody else.
She looked lovelier than ever; the air of delicate languor she assumed suited her as perfectly as its fragile whiteness suits a hot-house lily.

She knew the power of her own beauty most thoroughly, and employed it in arduous efforts to fascinate me.

But I had changed my tactics; I paid very little heed to her, and never went to see her unless she asked me very pressingly to do so.

All compliments and attentions from me to her had ceased.