‘No. It is not your fault.’ She spoke gently. ‘It is a consequence, that’s all. You had a right to ask me that question, and you have a right to an answer. But I cannot find one. That is what is troubling me.’
‘You are kind to me,’ said Castiglione. ‘Too kind,’ he added, and she knew by his tone how much he was moved.
She turned in her walk before she answered, for they were already near the Julian Chapel.
‘No,’ she said after a minute, and she bent her head. ‘Not too kind—if you knew all.’
He looked quickly at her face, but she did not turn to him. His heart beat hard and his throat felt suddenly dry.
‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ she said, still looking steadily down at the pavement. ‘I meant, if you knew how much I wish to be just—to myself as well as to you, Balduccio.’
‘I do not want justice,’ he answered sadly. ‘I ask for forgiveness.’
‘Yes. I know.’
She said no more, and they walked slowly on. At the little gate of Leo the Twelfth’s Chapel she stopped, and she took hold of the bars with both hands and looked in, leaving room for him to stand beside her.
‘Justice,’ she cried in a low voice, ‘justice, justice! To you, to me, to my husband! God help us all three!’