He spoke with a sort of desperation. The fair seemed to be his enemy, and he had thought that it would be his friend. It was like a personage with a stronger influence than his, an influence that could take away that which he wished to retain, to fix upon himself.
"No, signore," Maddalena said, meekly, but still wistfully.
"Do you care for a blue dress and a pair of ear-rings more than you do for me?" cried Maurice, with sudden roughness. "Are you like your father? Do you only care for me for what you can get out of me? I believe you do!"
Maddalena looked startled, almost terrified, by his outburst. Her lips trembled, but she gazed at him steadily.
"Non è vero."
The words sounded almost stern.
"I do—" he said. "I do want to be cared for a little—just for myself."
At that moment he had a sensation of loneliness like that of an utterly unloved man. And yet at that moment a great love was travelling to him—a love that was complete and flawless. But he did not think of it. He only thought that perhaps all this time he had been deceived, that Maddalena, like her father, was merely pleased to see him because he had money and could spend it. He sickened.
"Non è vero!" Maddalena repeated.