"
"Gaspare loved Maurice more than he loved me."
By the way she said that Artois knew that Gaspare was forgiven. And a
sort of passion of love for woman's love welled up in his heart. At
that moment he almost worshipped Hermione for being unable, even in
that moment, not to love Gaspare because Gaspare had loved the dead
man more than he loved her.
"But Gaspare loves you," he said.
"I don't believe in love. I don't want love any more."
Again the voice was transformed. It had become hollow and weary,
without resonance, like the voice of some one very old. And Artois
thought of Virgil's Grotto, of all they had said there, and of how the
rock above them had broken into deep and sinister murmurings, as if to
warn them, or rebuke.
And now, too, there were murmurings about them, but below them from the
sea.
"Hermione, we must speak only the truth to-night."
"I am telling you the truth. You chose to follow me. You chose to hunt
me--to hunt me when you knew it was necessary to me to be alone.
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