“Well, well,” the Duchess said, in a stronger and harder voice, “why are you ashamed to confess your sufferings to me? Are you perchance a timid person? Have you, maybe, a jealous and reserved heart?”
“Yes, yes,” Vittoria murmured, with a sigh.
“Then you are preparing a sad existence for yourself. Timid characters and reserved and jealous hearts are destined to languish in pain and perish in suffering without the world being aware of it. Make a brave effort over yourself, conquer yourself, and tell your thoughts if they are worthy of being heard and understood; pour forth your feeling if it has truth in it.”
The great lady acquired an even more solemn aspect, and seemed the expression of virtue and nobility of life.
“Ah, I can’t, I can’t!” exclaimed Vittoria, placing her handkerchief to her mouth to repress herself.
“Why can’t you?”
“Because I love him,” she proclaimed.
“He loves you too, I suppose,” replied the Duchess, becoming glacial again.
What uncertain and sorrowful eyes Vittoria raised!
“You think he doesn’t love you?” the Duchess insisted.