"Because of her money."
"Exactly; because of her superfluity of money, her immense amount of money; because of my immense poverty."
A soft veil passed before Vittorio's eyes. The other looked at him, and said:
"It hurts you, then, to talk of this?"
"Yes, now and then it hurts me; but the pain is always less, and always at greater intervals, Sabini. I am almost cured."
"Did you suffer much?"
"Very much, as if I should die of it. However, I am not dead; it seems one doesn't die of that."
"Do you think so?" asked Lucio, waving a hand.
"I don't know," he murmured; "I had my mother, whom I ought not to make more unhappy; perhaps I was unworthy to conceive a lofty sorrow. Who knows? I haven't been given either a great soul or great will. It is not my fault if I am not dead, if I am almost healed."