“With fervor?”
“Yes, Livia, with all my heart, I assure you, I pray as well as I know how. I tell you the truth.”
As I uttered these words, a celestial smile came over her face for the first time since the beginning of our conversation, and she exclaimed:
“O dearest sister!”...and then stopped.
Rather vexed than consoled by the manner in which she received my communications, I remained [pg 640] with my forehead leaning against the grille, feeling for the first time how truly it separated us, that my sister felt no pity for me, did not render me justice as she ought, and that she knew neither the world, nor its difficulties, nor its temptations, nor its pains. My tears fell like rain as I made these reflections, but it seemed as if Livia, usually so compassionate, beheld me weep with indifference.
All at once she asked:
“Ginevra, is it long since you went to confession?”
I abruptly, raised my head, my tears ceased to flow, and I wiped my eyes with a gesture of impatience. It was certain Livia could find nothing to say that did me any good. I made no reply.
“You will not tell me. Why not, carina?”
Was I really out of humor with her—with Livia? And on the point of showing it? . . . Oh! no; I at once felt it was impossible. Besides, the touch of severity that chilled me had disappeared. She now spoke in a tone I never had refused to listen to. I therefore replied without any further entreaty: