She did not dream of suggesting that they should marry in spite of everything. She knew it would be mere mockery to do so. But her heart rebelled fiercely against fate and against the late Duca di Corleone. It was the arrant selfishness of his deed that angered her. She had been his wife faithful and courteous when he was living, and in return he claimed her life when he was dead, or made a pauper of her.
She got up from her chair and began to move about the room. In mind and body she felt like a caged animal beating against the bars which kept it from freedom.
She paused near the window. Paul saw her figure silhouetted against the night sky. He watched her. And suddenly her love for Paul and every fighting instinct within her rose up against the injustice of the Fates. Defiance of their decree and intense love overwhelmed her.
“There—is a way,” she said slowly. She did not turn her head. Paul saw her profile immovable against the square of grey-blue window.
He got up from his chair and came across to her. He took her hand and held it hard against his lips.
“You honour me, Beloved,” he said. “But it cannot be.”
She turned towards him then.
“Why not?” she cried almost fiercely. “We love each other. Is not that enough? Let us defy Giuseppe. Do you think I care what the world would say of me?”
“But I care,” said Paul simply.
“More than you care for me?” she asked.