“Is it possible that Emilio has no eyes, no heart, no feelings, that he doesn’t experience near you that invincible attraction which has made me ridiculous for years?”
“Who knows! Who knows!” she exclaimed wearily.
“What, in fact, do you think about your life?”
“I think nothing, Provana. I live my life as I do as a duty neither pleasant nor sad. I was hoping, and still hope, to give consolation for the undeserving sorrow I have sown. Now I don’t seem to be walking towards my goal. I don’t seem to be moving.”
“And how if your heart is elsewhere?” he said harshly; “you still love Marco Fiore.”
“If I loved him still I shouldn’t have returned,” she rejoined immediately, firmly. “I often think of him with tenderness and sweetness, but without love.”
“Have you heard? He isn’t happy,” he continued tartly.
“The fault isn’t mine, nor is it his. It is impossible that either he or I could ever be happy again. We knew it when we separated.”
“But Vittoria, it seems, is unhappy!” exclaimed Provana.
“Ah, that is very, very sad,” she said thoughtfully.