Giustino had not moved from where he sat with his face buried in his hands. Suddenly Anna seized him by the shoulders, forced him to raise his head, and began to speak, so close to him that he could feel her warm breath on his cheek.
"And yet you did love me," she said, passionately. "You can't deny it; I know it. I have seen you turn pale when you met me, as pale as I myself. If I spoke to you my voice made your eyes brighten, as your voice made my heart leap. You looked for me everywhere, as I looked for you, feeling that the world would be colourless without love. And your letters bore the imprint of a great tenderness. But that is love, true love, passionate love, which isn't forgotten in a day or in a year, for which a whole life-time is not sufficient. It isn't possible that you don't love me any more. You do love me; you are deceiving me when you say you don't. I don't know why. But speak the truth—tell me that it is impossible for you to have got over such a passion."
He felt all his courage leaving him under this tumult of words.
"Giustino, Giustino, think of what you are doing in denying our love. Think of the two lives you are ruining; for you yourself will be as miserable as I. Giustino, you will kill me; if you leave me here, I shall kill myself. Let us go away; let us go away together. Take me away. You love me. Let us start at once; now is the time."
It seemed for a moment as if he were on the point of giving way. He was a man with a man's nerves, a man's senses, a man's heart; and he loved her ardently. But when again she begged him to fly with her, and he felt himself almost yielding, he made a great effort to resist her.
"I can't, Anna; I cannot," he said in a low voice.
"Then you wish me to die?"
"You won't die. You are young. You will live to be happy again."
"All is over for me, Giustino. This is death."
"No, it's not death, Anna."