She did not understand him, but she
knew that he meant to express something which was not bad. Gouache
waited for her to speak.
"It was not for that I asked you to come with me," she said at
last.
"I am glad I said it," replied Gouache. "I am going away to-
morrow, and it might never have been said. You asked me if I loved
her. I trust you. I say, yes, I do. I am going to say good-bye
this afternoon."
"I am sorry you love her. Is it serious?"
"Absolutely, on my part. Why are you sorry? Is there anything
unnatural in it?"
"No, on the contrary, it is too natural. Our lives are unnatural.
You cannot marry her. It seems brutal to tell you so, but you must
know it already."
"There was once a little boy in Paris, Madame, who did not have
enough to eat every day, nor enough clothes when the north wind
blew. But he had a good heart. His name was Anastase Gouache."
"My dear friend," said Corona, kindly, "the atmosphere of Casa
Montevarchi is colder than the north wind. A man may overcome
almost anything more easily than the old-fashioned prejudices of a
Roman prince."
"You do not forbid me to try?"
"Would the prohibition make any difference?"
"I am not sure." Gouache paused and looked long at the princess.
"No," he said at last, "I am afraid not.
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