"Yes?"

"You know that I love you?"

"Indeed I know it."

"And you love me? Just as much? In the same way?"

"Perhaps more. Who knows?"

"No, that is impossible," she answered. "Now listen to me. It is out of the question that we should ever be parted, loving each other as we do, is it not?"

The door opened and a servant entered, with a card.

"The lady told me to inform your Excellency that she is a connection of Signor Malipieri," said the man. "She hopes that she may be received, as she is in Rome for only a few hours."

Sabina looked at the card and handed it silently to Malipieri, and her fingers trembled.

"Angelica Malipieri."

That was the name and there was the address in Florence, in Via del Mandorlo.

"Ask the lady to come here," said Sabina, quietly; but her face was suddenly very white.

CHAPTER XXV

Sabina and Malipieri sat in silence during the minutes that followed.

From time to time, they looked at each other. His self-possession and courage had returned, now that something decisive was to take place, but Sabina's heart was almost standing still. She felt that the woman had come to make a scene, to threaten a scandal and utterly to destroy the illusion of happiness. If not, and if she had merely had something of importance to communicate, why had she not gone to Malipieri first, or written to ask for this interview with Sabina? She had come suddenly, in order to take advantage of the surprise her appearance must cause. For once, Sabina wished that her mother were with her, her high and mighty, insolent, terrible mother, who was afraid of nobody in the world.

The door opened, and the footman admitted a quiet little woman, about thirty years old, already inclined to be stout. She was very simply but very well dressed, she had beautiful brown hair, and when she came forward Sabina looked into a pair of luminous and trustful hazel eyes.

"Donna Sabina Conti?" asked the Signora Malipieri in a gentle voice.

"Yes," Sabina answered.

She and Malipieri had both risen. The Signora made a timid movement with her hand, as if she expected that Sabina would offer hers, which Sabina did, rather late, when she saw that it was expected. The lady glanced at Malipieri and then at Sabina with a look of enquiry, as he held out his hand to her and she took it. He saw that she did not recognize him.

"I am Marino Malipieri," he said.

"You?" she cried in surprise.

Then a faint flush rose in her smooth cheeks, and Sabina, who was watching her, saw that her lip trembled a little, and that tears rose in her eyes.

"Forgive me," she said, in an unsteady voice. "I should have known you, after all you have done for me."

"I think it is nearly thirteen years since we met," Malipieri answered. "I had no beard then."

She looked at him long, evidently in strong emotion, but the tears did not overflow, and the clear light came back gradually in her gaze.

Then the three sat down.

"I thought I had better come," she said. "It seemed easier than to write."

"Yes," Sabina answered, not knowing what to say.

"You see," said the Signora, "I could not easily write to you frankly, as I had never seen you, and I did not like to write to Signor Malipieri about what I wanted to know."

"Yes," said Sabina, once more, but this time she looked at Malipieri.

"What is it that you wish to know, Signora?" he asked kindly, "Whether it is all exactly as my letter told you? Is that it?"

She turned to him with a look of reproach.

"Does a woman doubt a man who has done what you have done for me?" she asked. "I wanted to know something more--a little more than what you wrote to me. It would make a difference, perhaps."

"To you, Signora?" asked Sabina quickly.

"No. To you. Perhaps it would make a great difference in the way I should act." She paused an instant. "It is rather hard to ask, I know," she added shyly.

She seemed to be a timid little woman.

"Please tell us what it is that you wish to know, Signora," said Malipieri, in the same kind tone, trying to encourage her.

"I should like to ask--I hardly know just how to say it--if you would tell me whether you are fond of each other--"

"What difference can that make to you, Signora?" Malipieri asked with sudden hardness. "You know that I shall not break my word."

She was hurt by the tone, and looked down meekly, as if she had deserved the words.

"We love each other with all our hearts," said Sabina, before either of the others could say more. "Nothing shall ever part us, in this world or the next."

There was a ring of clear defiance to fate in the girl's voice, and Signora Malipieri turned to her quickly, with a look of sympathy. She knew the cry that comes from the heart.

"But you think that you can never be married," she said, almost to herself.

"How can we? You know that we cannot!" It was Malipieri who answered.

Then the timid little woman raised her head and looked him full in the face, and spoke without any more hesitation.

"Do you think that I have never thought of this possibility, during all these years?" she asked. "Do you really believe that I would let you suffer for me, let your life be broken, let you give up the best thing that any life holds, after you have done for me what perhaps no man ever did for a woman before?"

"I know you are grateful," Malipieri answered very gently. "Do not speak of what I have done. It has not been at any sacrifice, till now."