It is true, I am not such a match for you as
Frangipani. Tell me, do they abuse me at your house?"
"No--what can they say, except that you are an artist? That is not
abuse, nor calumny."
"It depends upon how it is said. I suppose it is San Giacinto who
says it." Gouache's face darkened.
"San Giacinto has guessed the truth," answered Faustina, shaking
her head. "He knows that we love each other, and just now he is
very powerful with my father. It will be worse if he wins the suit
and is Prince Saracinesca."
"Then that is another reason for acting at once. Faustina--you
followed me once--will you not go with me, away, out of this
cursed city? I will ask for you first. I will behave honourably.
But if he will not consent, what is there left for us to do? Can
we live apart? Can you marry Frangipani? Have not many people done
before what we think of doing? Is it wrong? Heaven knows, I make
no pretence to sanctity. But I would not have you do anything--
what shall I say? Anything against your conscience." There was a
shade of bitterness in the laugh that accompanied the last words.
"You do not know what things he will say," repeated Faustina, in
despairing tones.
"This is absurd," said Gouache. "I can bear anything he can say
well enough.
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