“Ah!” he replied without further remark, understanding.
“Do you so very much want to have a son, Vittoria?” he asked in a peculiar tone.
There was a deep silence between them.
“I desire it ardently,” she broke out suddenly, with an impetuous accent, immediately recovering herself, “I desire nothing else now.”
“Also I want one for you,” he said, vaguely and absently.
“Not for yourself?” was the sharp question. But he did not heed the intense expression.
“As for myself, you understand, my brother Giulio has three sons. The house of Fiore has descendants.”
“Beatrice has been fortunate,” she murmured, with a sigh.
“There, there; you, too, will be fortunate,” he resumed jokingly and laughingly; “you will have a quiverful of sons, too many, I tell you, dear Vittoria, for many sons will give you much worry. Don’t doubt; you are not sterile.”
“Who knows,” she said, with a sorrowful shudder.