“However, it is so, Donna Maria. It is a question of your good which is immensely dear to me.”
“Why is it dear to you? How do I concern you?”
“Still I don’t love you, neither do I esteem you,” she replied icily.
“Dissembling is often necessary and most useful in life. It is often an act of prudence and benevolence.”
They walked together, side by side, along one of the _portici_, drawing further away towards the back of the edifice. Gianni Provana watched her half curiously and half anxiously; she was distracted, gazing intently on an unknown point, trailing her parasol.
“How far has loyalty served you, Donna Maria? You have lost reputation, position, and family.”
“I have gained liberty and love,” she replied, raising her head proudly.
“Liberty is love,” she answered, with a cry of revolt.
“You are the prisoner of your horrible condition, Donna Maria, and you are not sure that Marco Fiore loves you,” he insisted, determined to say all.
“You don’t love him, Donna Maria. I swear that you don’t love him.”
“Who makes you say this? Who has told you this?”
“I say it because I know it. I say it because it is necessary to open your eyes to yourself and upon Marco Fiore!”
“Why do you do this? For what obscure motive? For what perfidious interest?”
“In your own interest entirely, Donna Maria.”
“That can’t be. You are a calculator. You have a plan; reveal it at once. I prefer it. What is the motive of this meeting?”
“To persuade you that you do not love Marco Fiore, and that he does not love you.”
“Is it he, is it Marco Fiore who sends you?” she exclaimed with a spasm in her voice.
“No, it is not he. It is I who have guessed all, who know all.”
She bent her head in thought. In spite of the horror which this colloquy with a man she had always despised caused her, although she was listening to words which offended her mortally, she continued to listen to him as if subjugated. They had now reached a corner of the _portici_ near a large pillar. Not a shadow of a visitor appeared.
“Donna Maria, you who are truth herself, how can you endure this life of lies?”
“Exactly. You are deceiving Marco Fiore when you tell him that you love him, and you are deceiving yourself. He is deceiving you. This love is dead, in fact it has been lived much too long.”