ubstance, as follows: God really exists, and is
powerful and wise as you believe, but He is perfectly indifferent to our
adoration of Him, and prayers to Him. What He demands of us is what we
may learn from the heart he has formed for each one of us, from the
conscience He has given us, from the surroundings in which He has placed
us. He wishes us to love all that is good, to hate all that is evil, to
labour with all our strength, according to this love and this hatred,
and to occupy ourselves exclusively with the things of this world, with
things we can comprehend, that can be felt! Now you will understand what
my idea really is of my duty, of our duty, in the face of all injustice,
all tyranny!"

The further she went in this definition, this exposure of her own views,
the greater was the relief she experienced in so doing, in being
perfectly sincere at last, in frankly taking her stand on her own firm
ground, and gradually all indignation against her husband died down
within her, and in her heart there arose a tender pity for him.

"Indeed," she added, "if it had been only this trouble about your
grandmother, do you think I would not rather have sacrificed my own
opinion a thousand times, rather than grieve you? There was something
else underlying that. Now you know all. Now I have laid my bare soul in
your hands."

She read dull pain and hostile coldness on her husband's brow. She rose
and moved towards him very slowly, with clasped hands, gazing at him,
seeking his eyes, which avoided hers, and then halted on the way,
repulsed by some higher power, for he had neither spoken nor made a
gesture.

"Franco!" she entreated, "can you no longer love me?"

He did not answer.

"Franco! Franco!" she cried, stretching out her clasped hands. Then she
started to move forward. He drew back with a rapid movement. Thus they
stood in silence, face to face, for half a minute that seemed an
eternity.

Franco's lips were pressed tight together, and she could hear his quick
breathing. It was he who broke the silence.

"What you have said is exactly what you feel?"

"Yes!"

His hands were clutching the back of a chair. He shook it violently,
saying bitterly: "Enough!" Luisa looked at him with inexpressible
sadness, and murmured: "Enough?" He answered angrily, "Enough, enough,
enough!" After a moment's silence he went on harshly: "I may be
indolent, sluggish, selfish, anything you like, but I am not a boy to be
soothed by a