“Let me speak. It was my duty to let you know the exact truth, but you have been so good to me that I give you my word of honor, as a gentleman, that I will do everything—”
“What are you saying? What are you saying?” repeated the other in a strange tone, as if he were listening to distant voices, and not to Cassio’s words.
“After all, Paola alone can decide. I will tell her everything, as if I were indeed her brother and nothing more.”
“Oh, no! No! What are you saying?”
“Nay, if you will allow it I will write this very day, and we will await her reply. Perhaps when it comes I will not need to return to my own country.”
“What are you saying?” repeated the Direttore; but now his voice had regained its strength, and, raising his eyes, he looked Cassio full in the face. “You must not write, but return at once to your home, where, I prophesy, every happiness awaits you. From the bottom of my heart I hope so. And yet, who would ever have imagined it! You are right. Life is a terrible romance.”
“But,” Cassio persisted, “let me write. I beg it of you as a personal favor. You will see the debt I owe you can never be canceled, and duty should be stronger than love. Paola will be much more fortunate with the Direttore than with me, and above all things I desire her happiness and well-being.”
The other listened patiently; once his eyes flashed with a vivid light, but he remained immovable.
“See,” he concluded, after having expressed his appreciation of Cassio’s generosity, “if your duty is to prove yourself grateful and generous toward the signorina, her duty is no less to make you happy and recompense you for all you have suffered.”
“But—” interrupted Cassio.