Pale, absorbed, she listened to him. He drew near to her, took her hands, and spoke face to face.
"Ah, Mabel, come away, come away with me, far-away, renounce your millions, renounce all your money; say to your father that you don't want a farthing, that Vittorio Lante, your husband, wishes to work and create with you and for you life and riches."
With closed eyes she vacillated in his arms, vacillated beneath the wave of that enveloping passion.
"Mabel, you alone can make of me another man, with another soul, with another heart! Mabel, remember, remember our dreams of love in the Engadine, remember that you consented to love me up there; you did love me, you have been my beloved, you can't forget! Change yourself, change me; be another woman, give yourself to love, as I let myself be taken in the great battle for you! Change yourself, as I change myself! Deny not the arguments of love; be a woman as other women, as I ask to be a man in every strife however cruel. Mabel, Mabel, change yourself."
Holding her in his arms, a breath of scorching words wrapped the girl as in a fire of flame. For the first time Vittorio Lante saw on that face, so dazzling with youth and beauty, a lost expression of love and sorrow. Still, she was made for victory; she was the stronger. Tearing herself free, she composed her face, and replied:
"Vittorio, it is impossible."
"Impossible?"
"No soul ever changes; at least, not for love. Each soul remains what it is."
"It is true," he replied, coldly and sadly. "The soul never changes, not even for love."