"What is there to be said?" Aurora asked coldly and drawing back a little.
"We two love the same man," Regina said. "Is that nothing? You know it is true. If we were not Christians we should try to kill each other here, where it is quiet. I could easily have killed you just now, and I wished to."
"I wonder why you did not!" exclaimed Aurora, rather scornfully.
"I thought with myself thus: 'If I kill her, I shall always have the satisfaction of it as long as I live. This is the truth. But I shall go to prison for many years and shall not see him again, therefore I will not do it. Besides, it will not please him. If it would make him happy I would kill her, even if I were to go to the galleys for it. But it would not. He would be very angry.' This is what I thought; and I pulled you up. And now, I will not let you hurt yourself in getting down, because he would be angry with me if he knew that it was my fault."
Aurora listened to this extraordinary argument in silent surprise. She was not in the least frightened, but she saw at a glance that Regina was quite in earnest, and she knew her own people, and that the Roman peasants are not the gentlest of the Italians.
"He would be very angry," Regina repeated. "I am sure he would!"
"Why should he be angry?" Aurora asked, in a tone half contemptuous and yet half sad.
"I know he would, because when he raved in his fever he used to call for you."
Aurora started and fixed her eyes on Regina's.
"Yes," Regina said, answering the look. "He often called you by name. He loved you once."