"Why are you here?" she replied, straightening with a sharp lifting of the head.
"Perhaps I am here to spy on you!"
"The office does you honor! First, a traitor—then, a spy—"
Her words were fierce and bitter.
"What are you saying?" he flashed. "Betrayal is not man's prerogative alone!"
She shuddered. His words bit brutally into the truth. For a moment she stood rigid, searching his eyes and the very depths of his soul.
And so, for a brief space, they faced each other in silence. Francesco acknowledged anew, and with a mortal pang, that here was a woman for whom a man might give his life and count it naught. A woman to gain whose love, a man might sell his soul. Ilaria had come into her own, as never in her earlier youth. Like all great beauty, hers was serious. It had acquired a touch of majesty and mystery, a depth of intensity and significance.
"Is Raniero at Naples?" Francesco spoke at last.
She faced him defiantly, as if resenting his attitude.