Pietro threw himself at her feet; Vanina was radiant with joy.
“I love you passionately,” he said; “but I am a poor servant of my country; and, the unhappier Italy is, the more faithful I must be to her. To obtain Don Asdrubale’s consent, I should have to play a sorry part for many years. Vanina, I refuse you.”
Missirilli was in a hurry to commit himself by this speech. His courage threatened to fail him.
“My misfortune,” he exclaimed, “is that I love you more than life, that to leave Rome is the worst of tortures for me. Ah! why is Italy not delivered from the barbarians? With what pleasure I should embark along with you to go and live in America!”
Vanina remained as if frozen. This refusal of her hand had astonished her pride; but soon she cast herself into Missirilli’s arms.
“You never seemed so dear to me as now,” she exclaimed; “yes, my little country surgeon, I am yours for ever. You are a great man, like our ancient Romans.”
All ideas of the future, all the gloomy suggestions of good sense disappeared; there was a moment of perfect love. When they were able to talk sensibly, Vanina said:
“I shall be in Romagna almost as soon as you. I’ll get sent to the baths at Poretta. I will stop at our castle at San Nicolo, near Forli——”
“There I’ll spend my life with you!” exclaimed Missirilli.
“My part in future is to dare everything,” Vanina resumed with a sigh. “I shall ruin myself for you, but what matter——. Could you love a woman who has lost her honour?”