His pale, fleshless face, his brow, which seemed to have become higher, expressed a dignity, a gravity, a sad sweetness which Jeanne had never known in him.

And the eyes were totally different eyes; in them shone a something ineffable and divine, much humility, much power, the power of a transcendent love, springing not from his heart, but from a mystic fount within his heart; a love reaching beyond her heart, but seeking her in the inner, mysterious regions of the soul, regions unknown to her.

Slowly, slowly she clasped her hands and sank upon her knees.
Benedetto carried the forefinger of his left hand to his lips, while with his other hand he pointed to the wall facing the balcony, which opens to the hornbeams of the Francolano hill and to the roar of the river far below.

In the centre of the wall, showing black and large, was the word SILENTIUM.
For centuries, ever since the word had been written there, no human voice had been heard in this place.

Jeanne did not look, did not see.
That finger at Piero's lips was enough to seal her own.