"Love and a miracle!" repeated Beatrice in her silvery voice. "Those are two things which I cannot get for you. You must pray to the saints for the one and to her for the other. Does she not love you at all then?"
"She will never love me. I know it."
"And that would be the miracle—if she ever should? Such miracles have been done by men themselves without the help of the saints, before now."
Ruggiero looked up sharply and he felt his hands shaking. He thought she was speaking of what had just happened, of which he had been a witness.
"Such miracles as that may happen—but they are the devil's miracles."
Beatrice was silent for a moment. She was indeed inclined to believe in a special intervention of the powers of evil in her own case. Had she not been suddenly moved to tell a man that she loved him, only to discover a moment later that it was a mistake?
"What is the miracle you pray for, Ruggiero?" she asked after a pause.
"To be changed into some one else, Excellency."
"And then—would she love you?"
"By Our Lady's grace—perhaps!" The deep voice shook again. He set his teeth, folded his arms over his throbbing breast, and planted one foot firmly on a stone before him, as though to await a blow.