"It is truth," she answered.
"But how?"
"How! I feel it, here!"
Her hands sprang to life and pressed her bosom, her voice rang deep and her eyes flashed, as if she were impatient of his misunderstanding.
He tried to laugh gently.
"But if I want to marry you, it is because I mean never to part from you," he said.
"No!" she cried. "It is because you are afraid that you will leave me, unless you are bound to me."
"Regina!" Marcello protested, by his tone.
"It is as I say. It is because you are honourable. It is because you wish to be faithful. It is because you want to be true. But what do I care for honour, or faith, or truth, if I can only have them of you because you are tied to me? I only want love. That is everything. I want it, but I have never asked it of you, and never shall. Is love money, that you can take it out of your purse and give it? Is love a string, that the priest and the mayor can tie the ends so that they can never come undone? I do not know what it is, but it is not that!"
She laughed scornfully, as if she were angry at the thought. But Marcello had made up his mind, and was obstinate.