No one quite remembered why the late King
had made Volterra a baron, but he undoubtedly had done so, and no one
disputed Volterra's right to use the title.
Sabina read her letter aloud, and the Baroness listened attentively,
with a grave expression.
"Your dear mother--" she began in a soothing tone.
"She is not my 'dear mother' at all," said Sabina, interrupting her.
"She is not any more 'dear' to me than I am to her."
"Oh!" exclaimed the Baroness, affecting to be shocked by the girl's
heartlessness.
"If it were not for my 'dear mother,' I should not be a beggar," said
Sabina.
"A beggar! What a word!"
"There is no other, that I know of. I am living on your charity."
"For heaven's sake, do not say such things!" cried the Baroness.
"There is nothing else to say. If you had not taken me in and lodged
me and fed me, I should like to know where I should be now. I am quite
sure that my 'dear mother' would not care, but I cannot help wondering
what is to become of me. Are you surprised?"
"Are you not provided for here?" The question was put in a tone almost
of deprecation.
"Provided for! I am surrounded with every sort of luxury, when I ought
to be working for my living."
"Working!" The Baroness was filled with horror. "You, my dear, the
daughter of a Roman Prince! You, working for your living! You, a
Conti!"
Sabina smiled and looked down at her delicate hands.
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