“Not so well, I fear, as another’s.”

“You must give me your word of honor that if my plot does not please you, nobody shall be told?”

“I give you my promise,” he said freely, just as he would have given her anything she asked for.

He had debated with his passion, uttered every reason of others and all he could devise, overwhelmed himself with good advice and created a Chinese Wall of obstacles, but he heard himself murmuring:  “I love her!” The only way, he feared, to put an end to his wicked craze was to put an end to his life—­an irreputable argument, but to be used moderately.  She allowed him to quiver under her lingering gaze, and finally said: 

“The fact is, I do not like the idea of M. Clemenceau selling this house.  It would be a greater grief than he believes now.  He has his dearest memories springing here.  Besides, he could not work in peace in town.  Fortunately, my uncle has provided me with the means to help him.  I want to lend him the sum required, but I fear that he would accept nothing from me.”

“He is a very proud man,” observed the Italian, courteously, for, while he worshiped the speaker, he knew that she was not morally without blemishes.

Not because her affection for him was a proof of that delinquency, for love overlooked that and gave it another name, but because he believed Clemenceau, and the woman, while no less alluring, was terrifying as well.

“It is an excess of very cruel justice!” said she with a strange warmth.  “The greatest punishment on a wrongdoer is to refuse her, when repentant, the joy of doing a kindness.  You need not pretend surprise, for I have done harm.  I did not forsee what would be thought of my hasty conduct, and even if I were wicked; can you expect a woman to have the loftiness of genius like him, and the force for resisting temptation like you?”

“Like me!” ejaculated Antonino, starting.

“Yes; can you deny that you have had to wrestle and are wrestling now with yourself most strenuously?”

He averted his eyes and made no reply.

“Child that you are,” she resumed.  “You were right when you just now said that you could keep the secret of others better than your own.  Can the eyes of an honest youth like you deceive those of a wayward woman like me?  I thank you for the effort you have made—­and the silence your lips have preserved.  It matters not.  I am glad that after doing the act of reparation proposed, I shall have the means to go away, literally, for good this time.  It is time I went.”

He lifted his hand as if to detain her, but let it fall quickly.