"It is much to have loved twice," said the young girl at last, in a
dreamy voice. She was thinking of what had passed through her mind that
afternoon.
"It is much--but not enough. What has never been lived out, is never
enough."
"Perhaps--but who could love three times?"
"Any man--and the third might be the best and the strongest, as well as
the last."
"To me it seems impossible."
San Miniato had got his chance and he knew it. He was nervous and not
sure of himself, for he knew very well that she had but a passing
attraction for him, beyond the very solid inducement to marry her
offered by her fortune. But he knew that the opportunity must not be
lost, and he did not waste time. He spoke quietly, not wishing to risk a
dramatic effect until he could count on his own rather slight histrionic
powers.
"So it seems impossible to you, Donna Beatrice," he said, in a musing
tone. "Well, I daresay it does. Many things must seem impossible to you
which are rather startling facts to me. I am older than you, I am a man,
and I have been a soldier. I have lived a life such as you cannot dream
of--not worse perhaps than that of many another man, but certainly not
better.
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