But like one distraught
he turned to seek her, her name upon his lips, then, checking voice and
movement, stood rigid, smitten by hateful doubt. For now it seemed to him
that her gentle looks and words had been but sweet deceits to blind him to
her purpose and now, so soon as she had lulled him to sleep, she had stolen
away, leaving him for the poor, piteous fool he was. And now his despair
was 'whelmed in sudden anger, and anger, little by little, changed to
grief. She was fled away and he a sorry fool and very desolate.
Full of these bitter thoughts he cast himself upon his face and, lying as
in a pit of gloom, knew a great bitterness.
Slowly, slowly, borne upon the gentle wind came a fragrance strange and
unexpected, a savour delectable of cooking meat that made him know himself
a man vastly hungry despite his grievous woe. But, lying within the black
gulf of bitterness, he stirred not until, of a sudden, he heard a voice,
rich and full and very sweet, upraised in joyous singing; and these the
words:
"Rise, O laggard! See the sun,
To climb in glory hath begun:
The flowers have oped their pretty eyes,
The happy lark doth songful rise,
And merry birds in flowery brake,
Full-throated, joyous clamours make;
And I, indeed, that love it not,
Do sit alone and keel the pot,
Whiles thus I sing thee to entreat,
O sleepy laggard--come and eat!"
"Forsooth and art sleeping yet, Joconde?" the voice questioned.
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