"Why do you now wish to hide yourself?" pursued Gherardi. "Now when
you are an honest man at last, and have shown yourself in your true
colors? You were a liar hitherto, but now you have discovered
yourself to be exactly as the devil made you, why you can look at me
without fear--we understand each other!"
Still Varillo hid his eyes and moaned, and Gherardi thereupon laid a
rough hand on his shoulder.
"Come, man! You are not a sick child to lie cowering there as though
seized by the plague! What ails you? You have done no harm! You
tried to kill something that stood in your way,--I admire you for
that! I would do the same myself at any moment!"
Slowly Varillo lifted himself and looked up at the dark strong face
above him.
"A pity you did not succeed!" went on Gherardi, "for the world would
have been well rid of at least one feminine would-be 'genius,' whose
skill puts that of man to shame! But perhaps it may comfort you to
know that your blow was not strong enough or deep enough, and that
your betrothed wife yet lives to wed you--if she will!"
"Lives!" cried Florian. "Angela lives!"
"Ay, Angela lives!" replied Gherardi coldly. "Does that give you
joy? Does your lover's heart beat with ecstasy to know that she--
twenty times more gifted than you, a hundred times more famous than
you, a thousand times more beloved by the world than you--lives, to
be crowned with an immortal fame, while you are relegated to scorn
and oblivion! Does that content you?"
A dull red flush crept over Varillo's cheeks,--his hand flenched the
coverlet of his bed convulsively.
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