Franco, who had answered Pasotti with such violence, now answered his
wife weakly.

"Yes, yes, yes! But after all----"

It was her turn to be violent now. The idea that his grandmother should
dare propose that they forsake the uncle drove her nearly out of her
mind. "You will at least acknowledge this," she cried, "that she
deserves no mercy? My God! And to think that will still exists!"

"Oh!" Franco exclaimed. "Are we to begin over again?"

"_Let us begin over again!_ Have you any right to demand that I shall
neither think nor feel save in such a way as is pleasing to you? Did I
obey you I should be cowardly, I should deserve to become a slave. And I
will be neither cowardly nor a slave!"

The rebel he had suspected, even felt at times lurking behind the loving
woman, the creature possessed of an intellect intensely proud, and
stronger than love, whom he had never succeeded in conquering
completely, now stood before him, quivering in the consciousness of her
rebellion.

"Well, well!" said Franco, as if speaking to himself, "so you would be
cowardly, would be a slave? Do you at least reflect that I am going away
to-morrow?"

"Do not go! Stay here! Carry out your grandfather's wishes. Remember
what you told me concerning the origin of the Maironi wealth. Give it
all back to the Ospitale Maggiore. See that justice is done!"

"No," Franco retorted. "These are idle dreams. The end does not justify
the means. The real end with you is to strike my grandmother. This talk
of the Ospitale is simply a means of justifying the blow. No, I will
never make use of that will. I declared as much to Pasotti, in such
strong language that should I ever change, I should deserve to be spit
upon. I shall certainly leave to-morrow."

A long silence followed, then the dialogue was once more resumed, but
the two voices were cold and sad as if now some dead thing lay in the
heart of either.

"Do you realise," said Franco, "that I should be dishonouring my own
father?"

"In what way?"

"In the first place by the outrageous nature of the terms in which the
document is couched, and then by implying my father's complicity in the
suppression of the will. But then you don't understand these matters.
And, after all, what do you care?"

"But there is no need to speak of suppression. It is quite possible the
will was never found."

Another silence. Even the tallow candle that was burning on the table
had a lugubrious look. Luisa rose,