"Why are you crying, child?" said the contessa. Sophia heard sympathy in her voice.
"Forgive me, Contessa," she said, sobbing. "This is very rude of me."
"Does this man mean so much to you?" asked the old lady, her rasping voice softened.
In her anguish, Sophia was still clear-headed enough to see that she might use that anguish. She threw herself down on the terrazzo floor and clasped the contessa around the knees.
"Sophia!" She could hear Ugolini's chair scrape as he stood up. The boy took a step toward her.
"It is all right," said the contessa. "You love this man, do you not?" She patted Sophia's hair.
"Yes," Sophia wept. "And I swear to you, he is innocent."
He is, too, because he believes that everything he is doing is right.
"Your Eminence?" said the contessa. "You approve of your niece and this man from Trebizond?"
"Oh, certainly," said Ugolini waving his hands. "He is a fine man."