Sophia walked silently to and fro in the salon, then halted in front of Milona, who sat there, in pensive calm.
“Do you believe in these predictions of yours?”
“I do.”
Sophia lit a cigarette.
“What is the use of being superior in thought and courage, of a bold audacity that recognizes no obstacle, if one acts with the weak cowardice of an ordinary mortal? It is only in whatever is difficult, if not impossible, Milo, that there is any interest. How can one live like a common citizen when one possesses the soul of a sovereign of mankind? No! Cost what it may, one must follow one’s instinct, give evidence of one’s will. You know me, Milo; you know that I give way before no obstacle, once my resolution is taken. Why did you say to me just now, ‘Renounce what you are undertaking; there is still time?’”
“And you,” said Milona, gravely, “since you are so firm in your plans, why do you consult cards, and ask the water to lay bare to you its secret?”
Sophia smiled.
“What you say is just. But, after all, little one, mortals are only human; that is to say, beings accessible to fear and superstition. Don’t you know that doctors—who, after all, are well aware how precarious and powerless is their art—call other doctors to their bedsides when they are ill? A concession to human frailty, Milo. Still, people do not think any the worse of them.”
“And is all this in honour of the young man who has been coming here every day since the Agostini first brought him?”
“The Agostini, as you disrespectfully call him, brought me this young man because I ordered him to do so. Do you not know that he obeys me without discussion?”