"Now may Christ forget me in the hour of death, if I have
not been true to you!"
"And me and mine if I blast your life and hers," came back the
unflinching answer.
A deep silence fell upon them both. At last Gianluca spoke again, and
his voice sank to another tone.
"She loves you, too," he said.
"Loves me?" cried Taquisara, his brows suddenly close bent. "Oh no!
Unsay that, or--no--Gianluca--how dare you even dream the right to say
that of your wife?"
It was beyond his strength to bear.
"She is not my wife," said Gianluca. "You have told me so--she is not my
wife. She has done what no other living woman could have done, to be my
wife and to love me. But she is not my wife, and what I say is true, and
right as well, your right and hers.
"No--not that--not hers." Taquisara turned half round, against the
table, where he stood, and his voice was low and broken.
"Yes, hers. You will know it soon--when I have taken my love to my
grave, and left her yours on earth."
"Gianluca!"
Taquisara could not speak, beyond that, but he laid his hand upon his
friend's arm and clutched it, as though to hold him back. His dark eyes
darkened, and in them were the terrible tears that strong men shed once
in life, and sometimes once again, but very seldom more.
Gianluca's thin fingers folded upon the hand that held him.
"You have been very true to me," he said. "She will be quite safe with
you."
For a long time they were both silent.
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