She stood still a couple of paces from him and looked at the sea.

She felt a capricious desire to make the big sailor talk and tell her something about himself.

It would be sure to be interesting and honest and strong, a contrast, as she fancied, to the things she had just heard.
"Ruggiero---" she began, and then she stopped and hesitated.
"Yes, Excellency." The continual repetition of the two words irritated her.

She tried to frame a question to which he could not give the same answer.
"I would like you to tell me who it is whom you love so dearly--is she good and beautiful and sensible, too, as you said ?" "She is all that, Excellency." His voice shook, not as it seemed to her with weakness, but with strength.
"Tell me her name." Ruggiero was silent for some moments, and his head was bent forward.

He seemed to be breathing hard and not able to speak.
"Her name is Beatrice," he said at last, in a low, firm tone as though he were making a great effort.
"Really!" exclaimed the young girl.