"Do I? It is because you understand easily. Should you call me patriotic? I think I am. I am an Italian before anything else, before being a Serra, a woman, a member of society—anything! I feel as though I should like to give my heart for my people and my life for our country, if it would do any good. Of course, if it really came to making any great sacrifice, I suppose my courage would shrivel up and I should behave just like any one else."
"No—you would not," said Gianluca, gravely. "There have been women—the great Countess, and Saint Catherine of Siena—"
"Yes!" Veronica laughed. "And there were also my good ancestors, who tore Italy to pieces, joined hands with German Emperors, upset Popes, seized everything they could lay hands upon, and turned the country into a sort of perpetual gladiator's show. That is a proud and promising inheritance for an aspiring patriot, is it not? The less you and I talk of patriotism, the better—seeing what our people have done in history to make patriotism necessary in our time."
"Perhaps so. Doing is better than talking, and you have begun by doing good and trying to make people happy. You have succeeded in one case, already."
She looked at him with a glance of inquiry.
"What case?" she asked.
"I mean myself—of course. You have made me perfectly happy to-day."
"I am glad," she answered. "I wish you to be always happy."
She spoke thoughtfully, gravely, and gently, and then turned from him a little, and looked through the iron railing of the balcony, down at the deep distance of the valley. She was wondering, and justly, whether during the past hour she had not made a mistake, very cruel to him, in breaking down all at once the barrier of excessive formality which hitherto had stood between them when they met. Words rose to her lips, which with the utmost gentleness should quickly undeceive him, if he had been deceived; but when she looked at him and saw his happy, appealing eyes and his transparent face, her courage was not ready. Perhaps he was dying, as she had been told. She turned again and watched the misty depths.
"Don Gianluca—" she began, with a little hesitation. But as she spoke there was a footfall in the embrasure.