“According to you, who suppose that you know something about love, how long does passion last? By the way, perhaps you have got the figures with you to explain them?”
“Yes; passion lasts from six months to a year, love from a year to two years. You have been living a lie for more than a year. O Donna Maria, break this chain.”
“Are we meant to slay this love?” she exclaimed mockingly, with a shrill bitterness in her voice.
“You ought to slay it!”
“And am I afterwards to burn myself on the pyre like the widows of Malabar?” she continued, even more mockingly and bitterly.
“You ought to live and be happy.”
“With you, eh? With Gianni Provana?”
“With another,” he said in a low voice, looking at her.
“With whom?”
“With Emilio Guasco,” he ventured to say.