“‘Christine,’ said I, ‘what has Ugo asked of thee for all that he has done?’
“‘That I should be a wife to him—what should he ask more, Andrea?’
“I did not answer her, for I had learnt that which I wished to know. Vagrant that she was, she remained the child in heart, in thought, in speech. Though no guiding voice had said to her here is right and there is wrong, the spirit of evil had not breathed upon her mind or withered her innocence. Nor could I help but feel kindly towards a man who, having these things in his influence, had used that influence to such honest ends.
“‘Little one,’ said I, presently, ‘we will talk more of Ugo to-morrow; but what means he by this saying “free”? Is he not free as I am free and you are free?’
“‘Nay,’ she said, ‘has he not yet his years to serve? They will make a hussar of him, Andrea, and I shall see him no more.’
“She said this with so much unconcern, signor, that I looked searchingly at her, asking her the question which had long been in my mind.
“‘You love him, child?’ I said.
“She shook her head, rising from her seat that she might watch the sun setting in a great ring of red and golden light above Venice and the west.
“‘Do I love him?’ she exclaimed presently. ‘Madonna mia, how shall I answer you! There are days when I say that it would be happiness to be with him always; other days when I tremble at his touch. Is it love to draw away your lips when he holds them in kisses—love, to tremble when he puts his arms about you? If that be so, I love him well. Yet he is the only friend I have ever known; when he is away I hear no voice and see no face. They have turned me even from the church door in Zlarin. Oh, I am very lonely, Andrea!’
“There were tears in her eyes now, excellency, for the first time since I had come to her, and I drew her head down upon my shoulder, putting my arms about her as I had done in the olden time.