“Maria, I can’t be happy with Vittoria Casalta.”
“You can’t be; that is true. You have been happy, too happy perhaps. You can’t be happy again. And what does it matter? Content yourself in giving happiness to her who has suffered so much for you. That is a great deal.”
“That will not suffice for me, Maria.”
“You want too much from life, Marco,” she said, shaking her head; “you must give something instead. Vittoria Casalta has suffered secret torture for three years. You ought to marry her to sweeten her existence and render her happiness.”
He became silent and thoughtful, and she, who was used to reading almost the ideas of his mind on his forehead, saw the doubt there.
“Vittoria desires nothing else but to pardon you and open her arms to you, Marco.”
He looked at her, but did not reply. An almost definite silence fell between them. This part of their conversation was concluded. It seemed as if there was nothing else to be said; that they understood each other. Marco was the first to express this feeling.
“And you, Maria?”
“I, Marco?”
“Yes, you. What will you do?”