"So you are going to marry an heiress after all," said Lamberti, with something like a laugh.
"I love her," Guido replied. "I cannot help the fact that she is rich."
"It does no harm."
"Perhaps not, but I wish she had no more than I. If she had nothing at all, I should be just as anxious to marry her."
"You do not suppose that I doubt that, do you?" Lamberti asked quickly.
"No. But you spoke at first as if you were reproaching me for changing my mind."
"Did I? I am sorry. I did not mean it in that way. I was only thinking that fate generally makes us do just what we do not intend. There is something diabolically ingenious about destiny. It lies in wait for you, it seems to leave everything to your own choice, it makes you think that you are a perfectly free agent, and then, without the least warning, it springs at you from behind a tree, knocks you down, tramples the breath out of you, and drags you off by the heels straight to the very thing you have sworn to avoid. Man a free agent? Nonsense! There is no such thing as free will."
"What in the world has happened to you?" Guido asked, by way of answer. "Is anything wrong?"
"Everything is wrong. Good night. You ought to be dressing for dinner."
"Come with me."