Then she will be what
people call pretty."
"Yes," assented Jacopo. "That is very amusing. But just suppose, for the
sake of discussion--it is impossible, of course, but suppose it--that
instead of there being only one perfectly beautiful woman in the world,
whose name is Arisa, there should be two, and that the name of the other
chanced to be Marietta Beroviero."
Arisa raised her eyes and gazed steadily at Jacopo.
"You have seen her," she said in a tone of conviction. "She is
beautiful."
"No. I give you my word that I have not seen her. I only wanted to know
what you would do then."
"I do not believe that any woman is as beautiful as I am," answered the
Georgian, with the quiet simplicity of a savage.
"But if there were one, and you saw her?" insisted the man, to see what
she would say.
"We could not both live. One of us would kill the other."
"I believe you would," said Jacopo, watching her face.
She had forgotten his presence while she spoke; a fierce hardness had
come into her eyes, and her upper lip was a little raised, in a cruel
expression, just showing her teeth. He was surprised.
"I never saw you like that," he said.
"You should not make me think of killing," she answered, suddenly
leaving her seat and kneeling beside him on the divan.
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