"
"Do not tire yourself, mamma. I know what you are going to say, and I
have made up my mind."
"Have you? That will save me infinite trouble. I am so glad."
"Are you really? Do you know what I mean?"
"Of course. You are going to marry San Miniato, and we have the best
excuse in the world for going to Paris to see about your trousseau."
"I will not marry San Miniato," said Beatrice. "I have made up my mind
that I will not."
The Marchesa started slightly as she took her cigarette from her lips,
and turned her head slowly so that she could look into Beatrice's eyes.
"You are engaged to marry him," she said slowly. "You cannot break your
word. You know what that means. Indeed, you are quite mad!"
"Engaged? I? I never gave my word! It is not true!" The blood rose, in
Beatrice's face and then sank suddenly away.
"What is this comedy?" asked the Marchesa, raising her brows. For the
first time in many years she was almost angry.
"Ah! If you ask me that, I will tell you. I will tell you everything and
you know that I speak the truth to you as I do to everybody--"
"Except to San Miniato when you tell him you love him," interrupted the
Marchesa.
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