"Yes, poisonous thing!" repeated Giovanni, beside himself with
passion. "Thou hast done it! Thou hast blasted me! Thou hast
filled my veins with poison! Thou hast made me as hateful, as
ugly, as loathsome and deadly a creature as thyself--a world's
wonder of hideous monstrosity! Now, if our breath be happily as
fatal to ourselves as to all others, let us join our lips in one
kiss of unutterable hatred, and so die!"

"What has befallen me?" murmured Beatrice, with a low moan out of
her heart. "Holy Virgin, pity me, a poor heart-broken child!"

"Thou,--dost thou pray?" cried Giovanni, still with the same
fiendish scorn. "Thy very prayers, as they come from thy lips,
taint the atmosphere with death. Yes, yes; let us pray! Let us to
church and dip our fingers in the holy water at the portal! They
that come after us will perish as by a pestilence! Let us sign
crosses in the air! It will be scattering curses abroad in the
likeness of holy symbols!"

"Giovanni," said Beatrice, calmly, for her grief was beyond
passion, "why dost thou join thyself with me thus in those
terrible words? I, it is true, am the horrible thing thou namest
me. But thou,--what hast thou to do, save with one other shudder
at my hideous misery to go forth out of the garden and mingle
with thy race, and forget there ever crawled on earth such a
monster as poor Beatrice?"

"Dost thou pretend ignorance?" asked Giovanni, scowling upon her.
"Behold! this power have I gained from the pure daughter of
Rappaccini.