"I wish I were as sanguine as you," he answered.
"If you had my temperament, you would not be where you are, my dear friend," replied Taquisara, with a dry laugh. "I look at the world differently. My life may not be worth much, but it is mine, and I would not let a man take it from me with his hands, nor a woman with her eyes—without fighting for it, if I had the chance."
"How can a man fight against a woman?" laughed Gianluca, for he was very happy.
"You fight a man by facing him, and a woman by turning your back on her," said Taquisara. "There are more women in the world than there are men to love them, after all. For one that will not have you, there are three who will. Take one of the three."
"What do you know about it? You always say that you were never really in love. How can you tell what you would do?"
"I suppose I cannot be quite sure. But then—the thing is ridiculous! A man must be half a poet, he must have sensibilities, ideals, visions, a nervous heart, an exaggerating eye and a mind sensitized like a photographer's plate to receive impressions! Do you see me provided with all that stuff?"
He laughed again, somewhat intentionally, for he meant to amuse
Gianluca.
"Nor myself either," answered the latter. "I am much simpler than you imagine."
"Are you? So much the better. But it makes very little difference, since you are to be happy, after all. Seriously, I do not believe that this invitation can mean anything else. If it does—if she is not in earnest—" he checked himself.
Gianluca looked at him and did not understand his expression.