"Why, yes," the undertone in herself answered Vanno. "It was like that
with me, too, at Marseilles and afterward--as if I had known you always,
as if our souls had been in the same place together before they had
bodies. When you looked at me first, I felt you were like what a picture
of Romeo ought to be, though I never saw a picture of Romeo, that I can
remember. How strange you should have had Juliet in your mind! Yet
perhaps not strange, for each may have sent a thought into the brain of
the other--if such things can be."
"Such things are," Vanno answered, with passion. "In the desert where
I've lived for months together, alone except for one friend, a man of
the East, or an Arab servant, a voice used to say when I waked suddenly
at night sometimes, that there was a woman waiting for me, whose soul
and mine were not strangers, and that I should recognize her when we
met."
"It is like a dream!" Mary broke in upon him, when he paused as if
following a thought down some path in his mind. "As if we were dreaming
now--to the music down there. Maybe we _are_ dreaming. What does it all
mean?"
"It means that when the world was made we were made for each other. But
what has happened to us since? How have we so drifted apart? I think I
have been faithful to you in my heart always. But you? You've wandered
a million miles away from me. Nothing told you to wait. You have not
waited, or you would not live your life as you seem to be living
it--among such men and such women.
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