“You are a child, Andrea.”
“No; you will find that I am a man. Will you trust me?”
“I am afraid, I am afraid;” and she clung to him.
“What are you afraid of?”
“I do not know.... I am afraid of losing myself. This love is ruin, Andrea. I can see the future. Shall I foretell it you? Shall I describe the fate that awaits us?”
“Tell, but give me your hands; tell, but smile.”
“There are two ways before me. The first is the path of duty. After this gloomy, melancholy drive in the rain, in a carriage like a hearse, driven by a spectral coachman, we can coldly kiss and say good-bye, renouncing love. Ever to be apart, never to meet again, to betake ourselves, you to Caterina’s side, I to ... Alberto, to a life as dry and arid as pumice-stone, to that humdrum existence that is the death of the soul. Forget our glorious dreams, our sweet realities: behold the future....”
“No; I cannot.”
“There is another future open to us. It is sin clothed in hypocrisy; it is hidden evil; it is fear-struck, trembling adultery, that degrades and deceives, that steals secret kisses, that is dependent on servants, porters, postmen, maids, and the tribe of them. It is what we have endured till now; it is odium, vulgarity, commonplace treason. To love as every one else loves! to imitate what a hundred thousand have done before us! It is unworthy of a woman like me, of a man like you!”
“Once you told me that deceit is merciful,” he murmured. “You love Caterina and Alberto, in this way you could save....”