“O, for pity's sake, stop! Have mercy!” I cried, flinging out my arms towards her. And mercifully she ceased, perceiving that she had said enough.
I turned to the window again, and pressed my brow against the cool glass. She was right. That acute mind of hers had pierced straight to the very core of this matter. To do the thing that had been in my mind would be not only to destroy myself, but to defile her; for upon her would recoil a portion of the odium that must be flung at me. And—as she said—what then must be her position? They would even have a case upon which to drag her from these walls of Pagliano. She would be a victim of the civil courts; she might, at Pier Luigi's instigation, be proceeded against as my accomplice in what would be accounted a dastardly murder for the basest of motives.
I turned to her again.
“You are right,” I said. “I see that you are right. Just as I was right when I said that my atonement lies here and now. The penance for which I have cried out so long is imposed at last. It is as just as it is cruelly apt.”
I came slowly back to the table, and stood facing her across it. She looking up at me with very piteous eyes.
“Bianca, I must go hence,” I said. “That, too, is clear.”
Her lips parted; her eyes dilated; her face, if anything, grew paler.
“O, no, no!” she cried piteously.
“It must be,” I said. “How can I remain? Cosimo may appeal for justice against me, claiming that I hold his wife in duress—and justice will be done.”
“But can you not resist? Pagliano is strong and well-manned. The Black Bands are very faithful men, and they will stand by you to the end.”