For a moment he was moved and held out one hand towards her, hoping that she would come nearer.
'But that was the only question,' she said earnestly, 'and you have answered it!'
She would not take his hand and Giovanni dropped his own with a gesture of disappointment.
'No,' he replied, in a colder tone, 'it is not the question, for you have not told me all the truth. If I had not been gone five years, if I had come back the day before you took the last vows, would you have taken them?'
'If I had come the very next day after, would you not have done your best to be set free?'
There was an instant's pause before she spoke; then the answer came, clear and distinct.
Severi turned from her with an impatient movement of his compact head, and tapped the carpeted floor with his heel. His answer broke from his lips harshly.
She would have done wisely if she had been silent then; but she could not, for his words denied the truth that had ruled her life.
'Better than I knew,' she said. 'Better than I knew, even then.'
'Even then?' The words had hope in them. 'And now?' He was suddenly breathless.
'Yes, even now!' The tide of truth lifted her from her feet and swept her onward, helpless. 'Giovanni! Giovanni! Do you think it costs me nothing to keep my word with God?'
But he had been disappointed too often now, and he could not believe at once.
'It costs you less than it would to keep your faith with me,' he answered.
'It is not true! Indeed, it is not true!'
'Then let the truth win, dear! All the rest is fable!'
He was at her side now. She had tried to resist, but not long, and her hand was in his, though her face was turned away.
'No--no----' she faltered, but he would not let her speak.
'All a fable of sorrow and a dream of parting, sweetheart! And now we have waked to meet again, your hand in my hand, my heart to your heart--your lips to mine----'
She almost shrieked aloud in terror then and threw herself back bodily, as from the edge of a precipice. She might have fallen if he had not still held her hand, and as she recovered herself she tried to withdraw it. In her distress, words came that she regretted afterwards.
'Do you think that only you are human, of us two?' she cried, in passionate protest against passion itself, against him, against life, but still twisting her wrist in his grip and trying to wrench it away. 'For the love of heaven, Giovanni----'