“I will not marry him,” she said.  “It is of no use to try to make me.  I will not.”

Her mother began to draw a flattering though imaginary portrait of the young cavalry officer, and enlarged upon his fortune and future position.  Volterra was immensely rich, and though he was not quite one of themselves, society had accepted him, his sons had been admirably brought up, and would be as good as any one.  There was not a prince in Rome who would not be glad to make such a match for his daughter,

“It is quite useless, mother,” said Sabina.  “I would not marry him if he were Prince Colonna and had the Rothschilds’ money.”

“That is absurd,” answered the Princess.  “Just because you have taken a fancy to that Malipieri, who cannot marry you because he has done the most insane thing any one ever heard of.”

“It was splendid,” Sabina retorted.

“Besides,” her mother said, “you do not know that it is true.”

Sabina’s eyes flashed.

“Whatever he says, is true,” she answered, “and you know it is.  He never lied in his life!”

“No,” said the Princess, “I really think he never did.”

“Then why did you suggest such a thing, when you know that I love him?”

“One says things, sometimes,” replied the Princess vaguely.  “I did not really mean it, and I cannot help liking the man.  I told him so this morning.  Now listen.  Volterra is a perfect beast, and if you refuse, he is quite capable of letting that story get about, and you will be ruined.”

“I will go into a convent.”

“You know that you hate Clementina,” observed the Princess.

“Of course I do.  She used to beat me when I was small, because she said I was wicked.  Of course I hate her.  I shall join the Little Sisters of the Poor, or be a Sister of Charity.  Even Clementina could not object to that, I should think.”

“You are a little fool!”

To this observation Sabina made no reply, for it was not new to her, and she paid no attention to it.  She supposed that all mothers called their children fools when they were angry.  It was one of the privileges of motherhood.

The discussion ended there, for Sabina presently went away and shut herself up in her room, leaving her mother to meditate in solitude on the incredible difficulties that surrounded her.

Sabina was thinking, too, but her thoughts ran in quite another direction, as she sat bolt upright on a straight-backed chair, staring at the wall opposite.  She was wondering how Malipieri looked at that moment, and how it was possible that she should not even have seen him since she had left his rooms with the Baroness a week ago, and more; and why, when every hour had dragged like an age, it seemed as if they had parted only yesterday, sure to meet again.

She sat still a long time, trying to think out a future for herself, a future life without Malipieri and yet bearable.  It would have been easy before the night in the vaults; it would have seemed possible a week ago, though very hard; now, it was beyond her imagination.  She had talked of entering a sisterhood, but she knew that she did not mean to do it, even if her reputation were ruined.