'She, nurse lepers! It is not possible! It is certain death.' 'No, it is not certain death, by any means, but you will admit the risk.' Giovanni was beside himself in an instant.
'She shall not go!' he cried furiously.

'You shall not make her kill herself, make her commit suicide, for your glorification--that what you call your Church may add another martyr to its death-roll! You shall not, I say! Do you hear me ?' He grasped the prelate's arm roughly.

'If you must have martyrs, go yourselves! Risk your own lives for your own glory, instead of sacrificing women on your altars--women who should live to be wives and mothers, an honour to mankind!' 'You are utterly unjust----' 'No, I am human, and I will not tolerate your human sacrifice! I am a man, and I will not let the woman I love be sent to a horrible death, to delight your Moloch of a God!' 'Captain Severi, you are raving.' Giovanni's fiery rage leapt from invective to sarcasm.
'Raving! That is your answer, that is the sum of your churchman's argument! A man who will not let you make a martyr of the woman he adores is raving! Do you find that in Saint Thomas Aquinas, or in Saint Augustine, or in Saint Jerome ?' He dropped his voice and suddenly spoke with cold deliberation.

'She shall not go.

I swear that I will make it impossible.' Monsignor Saracinesca shook his head.
'If that is an oath,' he said, 'it is a foolish one.