"A fine principle. But for the moment...."
"I remain true to it."
"Will you allow me to tell you something?"
"What?"
"I admire you. More than that: I love you." She made a gesture with her hand and wrinkled her brows.
"Why mayn't I tell you so? An Italian does not keep his love concealed. I love you. You are more beautiful and nobler and superior to anything that I could ever imagine any woman to be.... Don't be angry with me: I am not asking anything of you. I am a bad lot, but at this moment I really feel the sort of thing that you see in our old family-portraits, an atom of chivalry which has survived by accident. I ask for nothing from you. I merely tell you—and I say it in Urania's name as well as my own—that you can always rely on us. Urania will be angry that you haven't written to us."
They now entered the post-office and she bought a few stamps:
"There go my last soldi," she said, laughing and showing her empty purse. "We wanted the stamps to write to the secretary of an exhibition in London. Are you seeing me home?"
She saw suddenly that he had tears in his eyes.
"Do accept two hundred lire from me!" he entreated.