"Father," she said, in a tender voice, "no, you shall never be
abandoned by your Ginevra. But love her a little for her own sake. If
you know how he loves me! Ah! _He_ would never make me unhappy!"

"Comparisons already!" cried Piombo, in a terrible voice. "No, I can
never endure the idea of your marriage. If he loved you as you deserve
to be loved he would kill me; if he did not love you, I should put a
dagger through him."

The hands of the old man trembled, his lips trembled, his body
trembled, but his eyes flashed lightnings. Ginevra alone was able to
endure his glance, for her eyes flamed also, and the daughter was
worthy of the sire.

"Oh! to love you! What man is worthy of such a life?" continued
Piombo. "To love you as a father is paradise on earth; who is there
worthy to be your husband?"

"_He_," said Ginevra; "he of whom I am not worthy."

"He?" repeated Piombo, mechanically; "who is _he_?"

"He whom I love."

"How can he know you enough to love you?"

"Father," said Ginevra, with a gesture of impatience, "whether he
loves me or not, if I love him--"