“You love the marble woman.”
He caught her in a frenzied embrace, and imprinted kisses upon her hair, her glowing cheeks, her lips, and her long, brown eyelashes.
“Mia vita!” he gasped. “Do you know what you will do if you talk so? You will drive me mad! I swear that I love you better than life. I would die with you, my angel of God. With every breath I love you, love you, love you!”
“O Madonna, che peccato! It is too late! She has the biglietto for the ship. They say I must go now.”
“Then, by the sword of the saint, I will go too!”
And go he did on the ship that carried Carolina and Marianna, though it was not love alone that drew him after her. In America his fame was to be erected, and for some time he had been thinking that it would be well for him to be on the spot, and give Bertino a hand with the architecture.
The white towers of Genoa were still visible when Carolina came face to face in the companion way with the amante, from whom she was felicitating herself she had separated Marianna forever.
“What is he doing on this ship?” she demanded of the girl.
“Going to America.”
“Bah! I know that. Is he following you?”