“Ginevra!” said Livia, suddenly interrupting me in a tone of authority, “it is useless to talk in that manner. You speak like a child!”
She seldom spoke to me in this way, and I stopped.
“At the time you are speaking of,” she resumed, “do you remember my telling you one day—it was only a short time before your marriage....”
I hastily interrupted her in my turn.
“I have not forgotten our conversation, Livia. That was the day you told me I was going to pronounce the most fearful vow there is in the world. But, sister, I was not the only one who made it.”
“No, certainly not. You mean to say that Lorenzo has violated the solemn vow that bound you together.... Yes, Gina, it is horrible, I acknowledge, but listen to me; if you continue to think more of your own wrongs than of God, whom he has offended a thousand times more; if you continue to complain and dwell on your injuries, the result will be, you will soon seek likewise to be released from the fidelity you vowed to him. And then (may God preserve me from ever seeing that day, when I shall be truly separated from you!) your fall will be speedy, rapid, and terrible. You will fall as low, perhaps, as you might now rise high.”
She saw me shudder at these words, and continued with her usual mildness:
“Now, my dearest Gina, may God and his angels watch over you!... It is growing dark. The bell is about to summon me away. I have only time for one word: Forget your heart, I implore you. Believe me, God will some day satisfy its cravings, if you cease to listen so weakly to them, longing to have them gratified at all costs. Forget your heart, I say, and think only of your soul!”
The bell rang while she was speaking. She raised her hand, and made the sign of the cross in the air. I bowed my head, and when I raised it again she had disappeared. But she had not spoken in vain. The clouds that obscured my reason began to disperse, my courage began to revive, and the jewel within to regain the brilliancy that had been obscured in the depths of my soul. The course I ought to pursue was set before me with painful distinctness, but I no longer turned my eyes away from it.
I was not happy when I left the convent. I did not even feel calm or consoled; but I had come to a decision.