"Of course she keeps me only for that purpose," said Marianna, looking, not without affection, at the Princess. Madame was telling Arduina a story of her aunt.
"—the handsomest and smartest woman in Paris," she said. "I've told you of her marriage, haven't I? They married her at fifteen to the lover of a lady who remained her friend for ten years, her friend, her confidante, her guide. For ten years she never guessed——"
Sor Mario, buried in his arm-chair, was listening, fighting with sleepiness and the desire to pick his teeth.
Marianna began to abuse Nietzsche and his opinion of women, but Regina's attention wandered to the Princess's stories, scraps of which reached her across the screaming and the audacities of the younger lady.
"If women understood him, they'd agree," said Massimo; "they don't approve because they don't understand."
"They do better than approve, they refute him," said Marianna.
"If Gaspare were here," said Antonio, "he'd soon settle the question."
Regina's soul shivered at the mere recollection of Gaspare, and his mother, and the servant.
"Her second husband was a Spaniard," narrated the Princess, "the handsomest man you could see, and acquainted with all the literary personages of his time. But his conduct——"