" His voice shook, not as it seemed to her
with weakness, but with strength.
"Tell me her name."
Ruggiero was silent for some moments, and his head was bent forward. He
seemed to be breathing hard and not able to speak.
"Her name is Beatrice," he said at last, in a low, firm tone as though
he were making a great effort.
"Really!" exclaimed the young girl. "That is my name, too. I suppose
that is why you did not want to tell me. But you must not be afraid of
me, Ruggiero. If there is anything I can do to help you, I will do it.
Is it money you need? I will give you some."
"It is not money."
"What is it, then?"
"Love--and a miracle."
His answers came lower and lower, and he looked at the ground, suffering
as he had never suffered and yet indescribably happy in speaking with
her, and in seeing the interest she felt in him. But his brain was
beginning to reel. He did not know what he might say next.
"Love and a miracle!" repeated Beatrice in her silvery voice. "Those are
two things which I cannot get for you. You must pray to the saints for
the one and to her for the other. Does she not love you at all then?"
"She will never love me.
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