She was too weak to kill herself, although she did not shrink from the cowardice of it, only from the pain; she was too weak to tell her father she still loved Visconti; she could not bear to see his face should she confess it; he would never understand.
"I will lock the door," she said, with wild eyes, "lock the door, and let no one enter till it is all over—and perhaps my heart will break," she added pitifully.
Then she stood a long time, still with hands locked tight. Suddenly she turned and her robe caught the jar of lilies, throwing them into the room.
There they lay, faded by the heat, amid the broken jar, and Graziosa looked with unseeing eyes, and picked them up mechanically.
Opposite hung a mirror, and as she raised her head she saw herself reflected there.
The lilies dropped from her hands as they had dropped before in the street, the day Tisio took her bracelet.
"He would have made me Duchess of Milan!"
She drew nearer and surveyed her pale face closely.
"Duchess of Milan! and he had all Italy to choose from!"
The thought brought a flush to her cheek.