Page:In a winter city, by Ouida.djvu/187

 in its pictures, they are all painted en grisaille. Pleasure alone cannot content any one whose character has any force, or mind any high intelligence. Society is, as you say, a book we soon read through, and know by heart till it loses all interest. Art alone cannot fill more than a certain part of our emotions; and culture, however perfect, leaves us unsatisfied. There is only one thing that can give to life what your poet called the light that never was on sea or land—and that is human love."

His eyes rested on her; and for once in her life her own eyes fell; a troubled softness came for a moment on her face, dispersing all its languor and its coldness. In another moment she recovered herself, and smiled a little.

"Ah! you are appassionato, as becomes your country."

Della Rocca looked at her with something of disappointment and something of distaste; he rose and approached the grand piano. "You allow me?" he said, and touched a few of the chords. He sang very low, and almost as it were to himself, a canzone of the people —