Nevil told Roland that he had spoken to Renée. He won sympathy, but Roland could not give him encouragement. They crossed and recrossed the shadow of the great campanile, on the warm-white stones of the square, Nevil admitting the weight of whatsoever Roland pointed to him in favour of the arrangement according to French notions, and indeed, of aristocratic notions everywhere, saving that it was imperative for Renée to be disposed of in marriage early. Why rob her of her young springtime! “French girls,” replied Roland, confused by the nature of the explication in his head—“well, they’re not English; they want a hand to shape them, otherwise they grow all awry. My father will not have one of her aunts to live with him, so there she is. But, my dear Nevil, I owe my life to you, and I was no party to this affair. I would do anything to help you. What says Renée?” “She obeys.” “Exactly. You see! Our girls are chess-pieces until they’re married. Then they have life and character sometimes too much.” “She is not like them, Roland; she is like none. When I spoke to her first, she affected no astonishment; never was there a creature so nobly sincere. She’s a girl in heart, not in mind. Think of her sacrificed to this man thrice her age!” “She differs from other girls only on the surface, Nevil. As for the man, I wish she were going to marry a younger. I wish, yes, my friend,” Roland squeezed Nevil’s hand, “I wish! I’m afraid it’s hopeless. She did not tell you to hope?” “Not by one single sign,” said Nevil. “You see, my friend!” “For that reason,” Nevil rejoined, with the calm fanaticism of the passion of love, “I hope all the more... because I will not believe that she, so pure and good, can be sacrificed. Put me aside—I am nothing. I hope to save her from that.” “We have now,” said Roland, “struck the current of duplicity. You are really in love, my poor fellow.” Lover and friend came to no conclusion, except that so lovely a night was not given for slumber. A small round brilliant moon hung almost globed in the depths of heaven, and the image of it fell deep between San Giorgio and the Dogana.