"It goes against the grain," said Giovanni. "But I suppose you are right."
"You will do as you think best. I have no power to make you follow my advice."
"No power? Ah, Corona, do not say that!"
A short silence followed, during which Corona looked placidly at the fire, while Giovanni gazed at her dark face and tried to read the thoughts that were passing in her mind. She did not speak, however, and his guesswork was inconclusive. What hurt him most was her indifference, and he longed to discover by some sign that it was only assumed.
"I would rather do as you think best," he said at last.
She glanced at him and then looked back at the blazing logs.
"I have told you what I think," she answered. "It is for you to judge and to decide. The whole matter affects you more than it does me."
"Is it not the same?"
"No. If you lose the Saracinesca titles and property we shall still be rich enough. You have a fortune of your own, and so have I. The name is, after all, an affair which concerns you personally. I should have married you as readily had you been called anything else."
The reference to the past made Giovanni's heart leap, and the colour came quickly to his face. It was almost as though she had said that she would have loved him as well had he borne another name, and that might mean that she loved him still. But her calmness belied the hasty conclusion he drew from her words. He thought she looked like a statue, as she lay there in her magnificent rest, her hands folded upon her knees before her, her eyes so turned that he could see only the drooping lids.