“Without regret?”
“Without regret.”
“Oh! poor child, poor child! Does this Andrea love you?”
“I think so.”
“Do you love him?”
“I think I do.”
“Love is sorrow; marriage is an abomination, Caterina.”
“I hope not,” replied the other, with clasped hands and bowed head.
“I shall never marry, no, never,” added Lucia, drawing herself up and raising her eyes to heaven, in the pride of her mysticism.