Nobili was pale and silent now. Nera's words had called up long trains of thought, opening out into horrible vistas. There was a dreadful logic about all she said that brought instant conviction with it. All the blood within him seemed whirling in his brain.
"But Nera, how can I—in honor—break this marriage?" he urged.
"Break it! well, by going away. No one can force you to marry a girl who allowed herself to be hawked about here and there—offered to Marescotti, and refused—to others probably."
"She may not have known it," said Nobili, roused by her bitter words.
"Oh, folly! Why come to me, Count Nobili? You are still in love with her."
At these words Nobili rose and approached Nera. Something in her expression checked him; he drew back. With all her allurements, there was a gulf between them Nobili dared not pass.
"O Nera! do not drive me mad! Help me, or banish me."
"I am helping you," she replied, with what seemed passionate earnestness. "Have you seen the sonnet?"
"No."
"If you mean to marry her, do not. Take advice. My mother has seen it," Nera added, with well-simulated horror. "She would not let me read it."