‘An Englishwoman, then, in such a moment as this would lie, would she?’ retorted the signora with unbroken calm; but her eyes plunged themselves into those of Minna with a look of hatred which the other never forgot. ‘Of course you are Signor Oriole’s advocate. His devoted attentions to you deserve some reward. I am of course ignorant as to how you are in collusion in this attempt to divide me and my child.’ Minna received this unexpected backhanded stab with great presence of mind; looking her adversary full in the face the whole time; but there was a strange, whirling sensation in her head, the like of which she had never felt before. ‘You have accused him behind his back. You bid your daughter choose, without letting him tell his side of the story. You have not told her all,’ she added, fixing her eyes ever more resolutely on the signora’s face. For one instant Signora Dietrich’s eyes wavered, flickered--for one instant her lips twitched. Then she looked herself again. It was at this moment that Fulvia’s voice was heard. ‘I hear what you both say,’ she observed. ‘I have heard all that is needful. Mamma is quite right. The choice must be made now. Suppose she called Beppo, and told all this story over again. Do you suppose I want to see poor Beppo more unhappy than he already is? Some people are born to be happy, and some to be miserable; I know now what I have to expect. I should be unhappy now, either way. I should be unhappy now, even with you, signora carissima.’ She looked at Minna. ‘The more I feel myself justified in accepting your generosity, the more unhappy I should be, because one must feel one’s friends to be very wicked before one can leave them all and go away with a stranger. I will not do that. But I love you for being willing to let me come to you. The other unhappiness is perhaps not greater; it is different, that is all. I take it. That is my choice. I only ask one thing of you.’ She turned to her mother, and they could both see that a subtle change had come over her. Her eyes looked straight into those of Signora Dietrich, but without any expression, coldly, stonily; and her attitude took a certain rigidity, she drew herself back as it were. ‘Let everything go on without change, as quickly as possible, and do not let us ever speak of this again. It is over--it is done with. Do you understand?’ ‘Perfectly, carissima mia. You have taken the wisest resolution imaginable,’ said her mother, rising, and pressing a kiss upon her forehead. ‘I knew,’ she added, with a sweet smile, ‘that the lessons I had so diligently inculcated could not be without fruit, sooner or later.’ ‘Then we can go,’ said Fulvia, who had all in a moment lost her childish retirement of manner, and who now spoke as if she were the person to order how things should be. ‘I wish to speak one word with Signora Hastings,’ she added; ‘do not be afraid to leave me with her. I shall follow you in a moment. Everything is quite decided now.’