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"
Thanks
,
signor
,
"
replied
Beatrice
,
with
her
rich
voice
,
that
came
forth
as
it
were
like
a
gush
of
music
,
and
with
a
mirthful
expression
half
childish
and
half
woman
-
like
.
"
I
accept
your
gift
,
and
would
fain
recompense
it
with
this
precious
purple
flower
;
but
if
I
toss
it
into
the
air
it
will
not
reach
you
.
So
Signor
Guasconti
must
even
content
himself
with
my
thanks
.
"
She
lifted
the
bouquet
from
the
ground
,
and
then
,
as
if
inwardly
ashamed
at
having
stepped
aside
from
her
maidenly
reserve
to
respond
to
a
stranger
’
s
greeting
,
passed
swiftly
homeward
through
the
garden
.
But
few
as
the
moments
were
,
it
seemed
to
Giovanni
,
when
she
was
on
the
point
of
vanishing
beneath
the
sculptured
portal
,
that
his
beautiful
bouquet
was
already
beginning
to
wither
in
her
grasp
.
It
was
an
idle
thought
;
there
could
be
no
possibility
of
distinguishing
a
faded
flower
from
a
fresh
one
at
so
great
a
distance
.
For
many
days
after
this
incident
the
young
man
avoided
the
window
that
looked
into
Dr
.
Rappaccini
’
s
garden
,
as
if
something
ugly
and
monstrous
would
have
blasted
his
eyesight
had
he
been
betrayed
into
a
glance
.
He
felt
conscious
of
having
put
himself
,
to
a
certain
extent
,
within
the
influence
of
an
unintelligible
power
by
the
communication
which
he
had
opened
with
Beatrice
.
The
wisest
course
would
have
been
,
if
his
heart
were
in
any
real
danger
,
to
quit
his
lodgings
and
Padua
itself
at
once
;
the
next
wiser
,
to
have
accustomed
himself
,
as
far
as
possible
,
to
the
familiar
and
daylight
view
of
Beatrice
—
thus
bringing
her
rigidly
and
systematically
within
the
limits
of
ordinary
experience
.
Least
of
all
,
while
avoiding
her
sight
,
ought
Giovanni
to
have
remained
so
near
this
extraordinary
being
that
the
proximity
and
possibility
even
of
intercourse
should
give
a
kind
of
substance
and
reality
to
the
wild
vagaries
which
his
imagination
ran
riot
continually
in
producing
.
Guasconti
had
not
a
deep
heart
—
or
,
at
all
events
,
its
depths
were
not
sounded
now
;
but
he
had
a
quick
fancy
,
and
an
ardent
southern
temperament
,
which
rose
every
instant
to
a
higher
fever
pitch
.
Whether
or
no
Beatrice
possessed
those
terrible
attributes
,
that
fatal
breath
,
the
affinity
with
those
so
beautiful
and
deadly
flowers
which
were
indicated
by
what
Giovanni
had
witnessed
,
she
had
at
least
instilled
a
fierce
and
subtle
poison
into
his
system
.
It
was
not
love
,
although
her
rich
beauty
was
a
madness
to
him
;
nor
horror
,
even
while
he
fancied
her
spirit
to
be
imbued
with
the
same
baneful
essence
that
seemed
to
pervade
her
physical
frame
;
but
a
wild
offspring
of
both
love
and
horror
that
had
each
parent
in
it
,
and
burned
like
one
and
shivered
like
the
other
.
Giovanni
knew
not
what
to
dread
;
still
less
did
he
know
what
to
hope
;
yet
hope
and
dread
kept
a
continual
warfare
in
his
breast
,
alternately
vanquishing
one
another
and
starting
up
afresh
to
renew
the
contest
.
Blessed
are
all
simple
emotions
,
be
they
dark
or
bright
!
It
is
the
lurid
intermixture
of
the
two
that
produces
the
illuminating
blaze
of
the
infernal
regions
.
Sometimes
he
endeavored
to
assuage
the
fever
of
his
spirit
by
a
rapid
walk
through
the
streets
of
Padua
or
beyond
its
gates
:
his
footsteps
kept
time
with
the
throbbings
of
his
brain
,
so
that
the
walk
was
apt
to
accelerate
itself
to
a
race
.
One
day
he
found
himself
arrested
;
his
arm
was
seized
by
a
portly
personage
,
who
had
turned
back
on
recognizing
the
young
man
and
expended
much
breath
in
overtaking
him
.
"
Signor
Giovanni
!
Stay
,
my
young
friend
!
"
cried
he
.
"
Have
you
forgotten
me
?
That
might
well
be
the
case
if
I
were
as
much
altered
as
yourself
.
"
It
was
Baglioni
,
whom
Giovanni
had
avoided
ever
since
their
first
meeting
,
from
a
doubt
that
the
professor
’
s
sagacity
would
look
too
deeply
into
his
secrets
.
Endeavoring
to
recover
himself
,
he
stared
forth
wildly
from
his
inner
world
into
the
outer
one
and
spoke
like
a
man
in
a
dream
.
"
Yes
;
I
am
Giovanni
Guasconti
.
You
are
Professor
Pietro
Baglioni
.
Now
let
me
pass
!
"
"
Not
yet
,
not
yet
,
Signor
Giovanni
Guasconti
,
"
said
the
professor
,
smiling
,
but
at
the
same
time
scrutinizing
the
youth
with
an
earnest
glance
.
"
What
!
did
I
grow
up
side
by
side
with
your
father
?
and
shall
his
son
pass
me
like
a
stranger
in
these
old
streets
of
Padua
?
Stand
still
,
Signor
Giovanni
;
for
we
must
have
a
word
or
two
before
we
part
.
"
