“No, no,” he eagerly replied, “it was not I who....” He stopped, ... and then continued in a calmer tone, but somewhat bitterly:
“Compose yourself, dear sister; it was my blood alone that was shed in this encounter.”
“May God forgive me!” I shudderingly exclaimed with the fervent, sincere piety I always manifested with the simplicity of childhood. “And may he forgive you, too, Mario; for you likewise have committed a deed forbidden by God.”
A faint smile hovered on Mario's lips, but it immediately gave way to a graver expression; for notwithstanding his defects, he was by no means disposed to be impious.
“Forbidden by God! That is true, Ginevra; but it is, I would hope, a deed he sometimes excuses, especially when the person insulted gets the worst of the encounter.”
As he said this, he put his hand to his breast, as if suffering from pain. I was again struck with his extreme paleness, as well as other traces of illness in his altered appearance, and was penetrated with shame and remorse. A feeling more akin to affection than I had ever felt for him sprang up in my heart, and I said to him humbly:
“Mario, you have done right to be plain with me, and I thank you. What you have said will, I trust, effect my entire cure. At any rate, you have done your duty.”
He had never known me to yield to him before. I had always revolted against his ill-humor and harshness, whether just or not, and sometimes replied with an impertinence that justified his resentment. He was touched at seeing me in this new attitude, and, for the first time in his life, clasped me in his arms and kissed me with real affection. He then left the room, making a sign for Livia to follow him. She did so, but returned in a few minutes. Tears were in her eyes, and her lips were slightly tremulous—a sure indication in her of some sudden and profound emotion.
Mario had not told me every thing. His anger had died away, and he left it for kinder lips than his to communicate the rest.