I did not answer directly, and she went
on.
"I appreciate it, Vico, that you immediately speak to me about it. That
is what I expected of you as a gentleman. But then do speak openly and
loyally too, without these wretched sophistries. Tell me what I have a
right to know. Tell me who it is. Let me know what I have to hope and
to fear. Tell me ? how bad it is. Say it as directly as possible, so
that I may know whether it is but a passing infatuation or ... worse.
That I may know what awaits us - we ... and our children."
At these last words her voice began to tremble and the tears came.
Falteringly, in my anxiety to be well understood, I continued:
"It is wholly unlike a passing infatuation. If you call the reverse of
this 'bad,' then it is as bad as you can possibly imagine, or worse ?"
"0 Lord!" Lucia sobbed into her handkerchief. "Who is it then? Who? ?
Do I know her?
"No! You don't know her at all."
"Not?" she pronounced this with great astonishment. "Does she live at
The Hague? Have you known her long? Is she a person of rank?"
"She does not live at The Hague, Lucia, but in a little provincial town
of Holland.
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