“In your own interest entirely, Donna Maria.”
“That can’t be. You are a calculator. You have a plan; reveal it at once. I prefer it. What is the motive of this meeting?”
“To persuade you that you do not love Marco Fiore, and that he does not love you.”
“Is it he, is it Marco Fiore who sends you?” she exclaimed with a spasm in her voice.
Gianni Provana hesitated an instant.
“No, it is not he. It is I who have guessed all, who know all.”
She bent her head in thought. In spite of the horror which this colloquy with a man she had always despised caused her, although she was listening to words which offended her mortally, she continued to listen to him as if subjugated. They had now reached a corner of the portici near a large pillar. Not a shadow of a visitor appeared.
“Donna Maria, you who are truth herself, how can you endure this life of lies?”
“Of lies?”
“Exactly. You are deceiving Marco Fiore when you tell him that you love him, and you are deceiving yourself. He is deceiving you. This love is dead, in fact it has been lived much too long.”