"If you knew them you
would not want to marry me. In all the time we have been together, you
have hardly ever spoken to me of your mother."
Marcello started a little and looked up, unconsciously showing that he
was displeased.
"No," he answered. "Why should I?"
"You were right. Your mother is now one of the saints in Paradise. How
do I know it? Even Settimia knew it. I am not going to talk of her now.
I am not fit to speak her name in your hearing. Very well. Do you know
what my mother was?"
"She is dead," Marcello replied, meaning that Regina should let her
memory alone.
"Or my father?" she asked, going on. "They were bad people. I come of a
bad race. Perhaps that is why I do wrong easily, for you. My father
killed a man and left us, though he was allowed to go free, and I never
saw him again. He had reason to kill the man. I was a little girl, but I
remember. My mother took other men. They came and went; sometimes they
were drunk and they beat us. When I was twelve years old one of them
looked upon me with bad eyes. Then my mother cursed him, and he took up
a stone and struck her on the head, and she died. They sent him to the
galleys, and me to work at the inn, because I had no friends. This is
the family of Regina. It is a race of assassins and wicked women. If I
were your wife, that would be the family of your wife. If God sent
children, that would be the blood they would have of me, to mix with
that of your mother, who is one of the saints in heaven.
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