Now this was the sheerest malice. Madame Boccarini had never seen the sonnet. But if she had, there was not one word in the sonnet that might not have been addressed to the Blessed Virgin herself.
"No, I will not see the sonnet," said Nobili, firmly. "Not that I will marry her, but because I do not choose to see the woman I loved befouled. If it is what you say—and I believe you implicitly—let it lie like other dirt, I will not stir it."
"A generous fellow!" thought Nera. "How I could have loved him! But not now, not now."
"You have been the object of a base fraud," continued Nera. Nera would follow to the end artistically; not leave her work half done.
"She has deceived me. I know she has deceived me," cried Nobili, with a pang he could not hide. "She has deceived me, and I loved her!"
His voice sounded like the cry of a hunted animal.
Nera did not like this. Her work was not complete. Nobili's obstinate clinging to Enrica chafed her.
"Did Enrica ever speak to you of her engagement to Count Marescotti?" she asked. She grew impatient, and must probe the wound.
"Never," he answered, shrinking back.
"Heavens! What falseness! Why, she has passed days and days alone with him."