with kisses. But he misunderstood her, believed she was seeking
forgiveness, and pushed her aside. "I know! Yes, I know!" she cried,
once more casting herself passionately upon his breast. "But I found out
afterwards, when it was already done, and I was as indignant as you are,
even more indignant!" But Franco was too anxious to give vent to his
feelings, too anxious to offend. "How can I know you are speaking the
truth?" he exclaimed. She started back with a cry, and then once more
coming a step nearer, she held out her arms to him. "No, no!" she
entreated in agony, "Tell me you believe me! Tell me so now, for if you
do not say so, you don't know, you can't realise what will happen!"

"What is it I can't realise?"

"You don't know me as I am, for though I may love you still, I can never
again be a wife to you, and though I may suffer deeply, I shall never
change, never again. Do you realise what that means, _never again_?"

He drew her slender, trembling figure towards him, pressed her hands as
if to crush them, and said, in a stifled voice: "I will believe you!
Indeed I will believe you!" But Luisa, gazing at him through her tears,
was not satisfied. "I _will_ believe you?" she said. "I _will_ believe
you?"

"I do believe you, I do believe you!"

Indeed he did believe her; but where there is anger there is always
pride as well. He did not wish to surrender entirely, and at once, and
his tone was rather condescending than convinced. Both were silent,
holding each other's hands, and then with a slow, almost imperceptible
movement they began to draw apart. It was Luisa who at last gently drew
away completely. She felt this silence must be broken; he could find no
glowing words, and cold words she would not speak, so she began to tell
him how she had heard of the unfortunate journey to Lodi from Gilardoni
himself. Seated at the table opposite her husband, she spoke in a calm
voice that was not precisely cold, but rather grieved. While she was
relating the Professor's disclosures Franco again took fire, and often
interrupted her. "And did you not say that to him?--And did you not say
this to him?--Did you tell him he was a fool?--Did you not call him an
ass?" At first Luisa ignored these exclamations, but finally she
protested. She had already said that Gilardoni's blunder had filled her
with indignation, but now it would almost seem as if her husband doubted
this. Franco was reduced to unwilling silence.

Her story