Ruggiero held the key to the
situation. He knew that San Miniato was poor and that the Marchesa was
very rich. He knew very well that San Miniato was not at all in love,
for he knew what love really meant, and he could see how the Count
always acted by calculation and never from impulse. Best of all he saw
that Beatrice was a mere child who was being deceived by the coolly
assumed passion of a veteran woman-killer. It was bitterly hard to bear.
And he had felt a foreboding of it all in the afternoon--and he wished
that he had risked all and brought down the brass tiller on San
Miniato's head and submitted to be sent to the galleys for life. He
could never have forgotten Beatrice; but San Miniato could never have
married her, and that satisfaction would have made chains light and hard
labour a pastime.
It was too late to think of such things now. Had he yielded to the first
murderous impulse, it would have been better. But he had never struck a
man from behind and he knew that he could not do it in cold blood. Yet
how much better it would have been! He would not be lying now on the
rock, holding his breath and clenching his fists, listening to his
Excellency the Count of San Miniato's love making.
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