"But, mother," cried Sabina, aghast at the suddenness of the conclusion, "I am not at all sure—"
She stopped, feeling that she was much more sure of being in love with
Malipieri than she had been when she had driven to the palace with
Sassi on the previous afternoon.
"Is there any one you like better?" asked the Princess sharply. "Are you in love with any one else?"
"No! But—"
"I had never seen your father when our marriage was arranged," the
Princess observed.
"And you were very unhappy together," Sabina answered promptly. "You always say so."
"Oh, unhappy? I am not so sure, now. Certainly Hot nearly so miserable as half the people I know. After all, what is happiness, child? Doing what you please, is it not?"
Sabina had not thought of this definition, and she laughed, without accepting it. In one way, everything looked suddenly bright and cheerful, since her mother had believed her story, and she knew that she was not to go back to the Baroness, who had not believed her at all, and had called her bad names.
"And I almost always did as I pleased," the Princess continued, after a moment's reflection. "The only trouble was that your dear father did not always like what I did. He was a very religious man. That was what ruined us. He gave half his income to charities and then scolded me because I could not live on the other half. Besides, he turned the Ten Commandments into a hundred. It was a perfect multiplication, table of things one was not to do."
Poor Sabina's recollections of her father had nothing of affection in them, and she did not feel called upon to defend his memory. Like many weak but devout men, he had been severe to his children, even to cruelty, while perfectly incapable of controlling his wife's caprices.