"You love him?" cried Piombo.

Ginevra bent her head softly.

"You love him more than you love us?"

"The two feelings cannot be compared," she replied.

"Is one stronger than the other?"

"I think it is," said Ginevra.

"You shall not marry him," cried the Corsican, his voice shaking the
window-panes.

"I shall marry him," replied Ginevra, tranquilly.

"Oh, God!" cried the mother, "how will this quarrel end? Santa
Virgina! place thyself between them!"

The baron, who had been striding up and down the room, now seated
himself; an icy sternness darkened his face; he looked fixedly at his
daughter, and said to her, in a gentle, weakened voice,--

"Ginevra, no! you will not marry him. Oh! say nothing more to-night
--let me think the contrary. Do you wish to see your father on his
knees, his white hairs prostrate before you? I supplicate you--"

"Ginevra Piombo does not pass her word and break it," she replied. "I
am your daughter."