Of course it was a great sin to kill San Miniato.  Murder was always a sin, and people who did murder and died unabsolved always went straight into eternal fire.  But the eternal fire did not impress Ruggiero much.  In the first place Beatrice would be free and quite happy on earth, and in the natural course of things would go to Heaven afterwards, since she could have no part whatever in San Miniato’s destruction.  Secondly, San Miniato would be with Ruggiero in the flames, and throughout all eternity Ruggiero would have the undying satisfaction of having brought him there without any one’s help.  That would pay for any amount of burning, in the simple and uncompromising view of the future state which he took.

So he sat on the block of stone and listened to the sea and thought it all over quietly, feeling very happy and proud, since he was to be the means of saving the woman he loved.  What more could any man ask, if he could not be loved, than to give his soul and his body for such a good and just end?  Perhaps Ruggiero’s way of looking at the present and future state might have puzzled more than one theologian on that particular afternoon.

While Ruggiero was deciding matters of life and death in his own way, with absolute certainty of carrying out his intentions, matters were not proceeding smoothly on the Marchesa’s terrace.  The midday breakfast had passed off fairly well, though Beatrice had again grown silent, and the conversation was carried on by San Miniato with a little languid help from the Marchesa.  The latter was apparently neither disturbed nor out of humour in consequence of the little scene which had taken place in the morning.  She took a certain amount of opposition on Beatrice’s part as a matter of course, and was prepared to be very long-suffering with the girl’s moods, partly because it was less trouble than to do battle with her, and partly because it was really wiser.  Beatrice must grow used to the idea of marriage and must be gradually accustomed to the daily companionship of San Miniato.  The Marchesa, in her wisdom, was well aware that Beatrice would never see as much of him when he was her husband as she did now that they were only engaged.  San Miniato would soon take up his own life of amusement by day and night, in his own fashion, and Beatrice on her side would form her own friendships and her own ties as best pleased her, subject only to occasional interference from the Count, when he chanced to be in a jealous humour, or when it happened that Beatrice was growing intimate with some lady who had once known him too well.

After breakfast, as usual, they drank coffee and smoked upon the terrace, which Beatrice was beginning to hate for its unpleasant associations.  Before long, however, she disappeared, leaving her mother and San Miniato together.