Everything seemed enormous and without boundary; the only thing which moved in that vast solitude was the color of the sea. He felt that in the whole of nature at that moment he was the only active force, he alone was in love.

He spoke to her about what Sorniani had told him and ended by questioning her about her past. She at once put on a very serious face and talked in a dramatic tone about her adventure with Merighi. Abandoned by him? That was hardly the way to put it, seeing that it was she who had spoken the decisive word which had released the Merighis from their obligation towards her. It was true that they had worried the life out of her by making it plain that they looked on her as a burden on the family. Merighi’s mother, horrid, grumbling, jealous old cat that she was, had certainly not minced matters; she had let her have it plain: “You are a perfect plague,” she had said; “if it wasn’t for you my son could be looking about for someone with a fortune.” At that she had left their house of her own free will, and gone home to her mother (she pronounced the sweet word “mother” in a softer tone) and she was so unhappy that she fell ill very soon after. Her illness was a relief, for if you are in a high fever you forget all your worries.

Then she wanted to know who it was had told him all this. “Sorniani.”

At first she seemed unable to remember his name, but then she burst out laughing and exclaimed: “Why, that horrible, bilious-looking creature who is always about with Leardi!”

So she knew Leardi too, a youth who had only just come to the fore, but who was already living at a pace which had made him notorious among the young voluptuaries of the town. Merighi had introduced him to her many years ago when they were all three scarcely more than children; they had often played together. “I am very fond of him,” she wound up, with an engaging frankness which gave a color of sincerity to everything else she said. Even Brentani, who was already beginning to tremble at the mention of that formidable young Leardi with whom he could not dream of competing, had his suspicions laid to rest by her last words. Poor child! She was honest and disinterested.

Would it not have been better to teach her to be less honest and a trifle more calculating? He had no sooner asked himself this question than he conceived the splendid idea of educating the girl himself. In return for the love he hoped to receive from her he could only give her one thing, a knowledge of life and the art of making the most of it. His would also be an inestimable gift, for such beauty and such grace as hers, under the guidance of an experienced person like himself, were bound to be victorious in the struggle for existence. Thanks to him, then, she would win for herself the fortune he was unable to give her. He wanted to tell her on the spot some of the ideas which were passing through his head. He stopped kissing and flattering her, and as a preparation for her initiation into vice he assumed the severe aspect of a professor of virtue.

Adopting an ironic tone which it often amused him to assume towards himself, he began by pitying her for having fallen into the hands of someone like him, who had very little money, and at the same time very little courage or energy. For if he had had more courage, and his voice trembled with emotion as he made her his first serious declaration of love, he would have taken her in his arms, clasped her to his breast, and never let her go while life lasted. But he had not sufficient courage. It was bad enough to be poor if one was alone, but together it was horrible; it was the most wretched form of slavery. He dreaded it for himself and still more for her.

But here she broke in with: “I should not be afraid. I should be quite happy to live with the man I loved, no matter how poor he was.” He had the feeling that she was going to take hold of him by the neck and fling him into the condition he most dreaded.

“But I never could,” he said, after a moment’s pause which was meant to give the impression that he had hesitated before making his decision. “I know myself too well.” And after another pause he added in a grave, deep voice the one word “Never!” while she gazed seriously at him, her chin resting on the handle of her parasol.

Having thus put everything in its proper place, he observed by way of introducing the subject of the education he intended to give her, that it would have been better for her if she had been approached by any one of the five or six other young men who had agreed with him in admiring her that day, rather than by him: the richard Carlini, the featherheaded Bardi, who was amusing himself by throwing away the last dregs of his youth and of his immense fortune; or the financier Nelli, who was piling up more money every day.

Each and all of them, for one reason or another, were more worthwhile than he was.

For a moment she succeeded in adopting the right tone. She took offense. It was, however, only too obvious that her anger was feigned and exaggerated, and Emilio could not fail to be aware of it. But he did not blame her for playing a part. She began twisting herself about as if she were trying to escape from his embrace and get away, but she contrived that her efforts should not extend to her arms by which he was holding her. These she continued to leave lying passive in his grasp, till at last he gave up holding them tight and ended by stroking them and covering them with kisses.

He asked her to forgive him, he had expressed himself badly, he said, and then he went boldly on to repeat in other words exactly what he had said before. She did not make any comment on this fresh insult, but continued for some time to speak in an injured tone. “I don’t want you to think that it would have been all one to me whichever of those young men had accosted me.