That feeble voice,
La Zambinella's attitude, manners, and gestures, instinct with
dejection, melancholy, and discouragement, reawakened in his soul all
the treasures of passion. Each word was a spur. At that moment, they
arrived at Frascati. When the artist held out his arms to help his
mistress to alight, he felt that she trembled from head to foot.
"'What is the matter? You would kill me,' he cried, seeing that she
turned pale, 'if you should suffer the slightest pain of which I am,
even innocently, the cause.'
"'A snake!' she said, pointing to a reptile which was gliding along
the edge of a ditch. 'I am afraid of the disgusting creatures.'
"Sarrasine crushed the snake's head with a blow of his foot.
"'How could you dare to do it?' said La Zambinella, gazing at the
dead reptile with visible terror.
"'Aha!' said the artist, with a smile, 'would you venture to say now
that you are not a woman?'
"They joined their companions and walked through the woods of Villa
Ludovisi, which at that time belonged to Cardinal Cicognara. The
morning passed all too swiftly for the amorous sculptor, but it was
crowded with incidents which laid bare to him the coquetry, the
weakness, the daintiness, of that pliant, inert soul.
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