‘Yes,’ she observed. ‘I am glad to find you so truthful. I knew this, and have long known it. We do not always bestow our greatest love on the most worthy objects. But I have known this thing, and though it has many a time lacerated my heart, I have not spoken of it nor reproached you with it. But the time, however, has now come in which I must speak. My kindness to you, my good intentions towards you, have been called in question. Though I have absolute right to dispose of you as I please, without explaining or justifying myself, I do not choose to do so. Your mother is weak where her child is concerned--as she was once, in far other circumstances, weak before, to her cost. Fulvia----’ She rose from her place beside her daughter, and stood before her. They both had to look up to her. For a moment she preserved silence, then said, in a distinct, unfaltering voice: ‘Signor Oriole is your father.’ Minna, though she had so long known this thing, felt her heart spring to her throat. Her emotion caused her physical agony. She sat silent, her fingers unconsciously tightening themselves, and clutching at her dress. And she watched breathlessly. There was a short silence, during which Fulvia stared, as if fascinated, at her mother, with wide-open, frightened eyes and a dazed, bewildered expression. Then suddenly she buried her face in her hands, as if she could no longer bear to look upon what she saw. But she was silent still. Presently Signora Dietrich, in the same unbroken voice, went on: ‘This was your mother’s weakness. This is your mother’s sin. Now you may judge your mother, if you choose. She can have nothing to answer you. She is at your mercy. She has been punished. Women are made weak, and then are punished for not being strong. One hard punishment of mine has been that the man to whom I gave my whole heart, my whole soul, everything that I had to give--this man has never made me his wife. Do you suppose that was not hard for a proud woman to bear? Even after nothing stood in the way--even after I had humbled myself with tears and prayers for your sake--to ask him for this deed of justice, he refused it to me. My other punishment--and I swear it has been the harder of the two to bear--has been that I had to live my life day by day and see that my child, whom I adored, loved this man better than she loved me. The heart and the soul must be strong which can go on with such a life and not succumb to the wretchedness of it. It pleased God to make me strong in these respects--yes, to give me the strength even to tell you this story. Now, my daughter, speak! What have you to say to your mother? Choose between me and your new friend.’ Fulvia uncovered her face. Minna was surprised at its expression. It had aged, but there was no more any indecision, any pleading, any look of submissive dependence in it. She, too, rose, made a step towards her mother, and, looking at her, said: