“You are not grateful--now. Ah! I understand that very well. But you will thank me hereafter. Come”--she caught at my sleeve, “sit once more, side by side as in the olden days. Let us pretend these are the Vatican gardens, and we are under the roses by the Pope’s belvedere. Far away are they not, but we will see them again. You will not, you will not refuse even this?” Her voice trembled, but I stood before her obdurate. I remembered that other hour at Mainz when honor spoke one voice, and Marianna another, and Marianna had prevailed. But, thank God, I was stronger now. She was looking up at me with every manner of entreaty springing out of her eyes,--the entreaty of a Cleopatra saying to Antonius, “Choose now, Rome or me?” But I, looking upon her, yet beyond her, saw other figures whom she might not see, a figure in the veil of a nun, a figure in the cowl of a friar. “Get thee behind me, Satan!” were the words that almost crossed my teeth, but I would not wound too harshly. I only removed her hand gently from my sleeve and motioned her away. “You talk of that which can never be, Madonna,” I said. “I am sorely grieved that you will still live in memory.” “In memory?” she cried, her voice now rising almost to a shriek, “in memory? And can the memory of a Roman woman ever die? Because I have laughed and lived merrily do you think that I have never loved you? Oh! Santa Maria! one need not turn nun every time one has a broken heart. Curse me, beat me, flay me, slay me, do not say you will quit me forever!” Alas for Marianna! even as she cast herself at my feet in a paroxysm of tears, I was reflecting, “How far is this real, how far the actress?” This scene however I well knew could not be prolonged. With a pitilessness I did not wholly feel, I drew myself up haughtily. “Noble lady,” I spoke distantly; “If in the past I have erred by giving you friendship and more than friendship, I am heartily repentant. The wrong that I may have done to you I may never be able to efface. So heaven orders things--that much of evil cannot be undone, however much the doer would. If you have had your bitter hours in past years, believe me I have had mine. Believe me, too, God has laid His comforting hand upon me and given me a peace and hope such as not Filelfo or Chrysoloras or Porphyry or Plato or any other of those philosophers we worshipped at Rome could give. I have chosen my path with open eyes, and I follow it boldly. It may lead through the sunlight, may lead under only the starlight, nay clouds and darkness may wrap thick about me. The path is still before me. I will follow. For you I will ever crave that peace which neither the world nor the Church as you know it can give. Curse you I will not, and I will remember you often and not with hate, but for the final time I say it, your path you must follow, and leave me free to follow mine.” I bowed ceremoniously and moved toward the door. She lifted her face towards me; it was struggling with entreaty.