As for what Veronica ate and drank, Elettra was wise, too.  She felt sure that if any attempt were made to poison her, Matilde would manage it quite alone; and she seriously expected that such an attempt would be made, after what Don Teodoro had told her.  Veronica, like most Italians in the south, never took any regular breakfast, beyond a cup of coffee, or tea, or chocolate, with a bit of bread or a biscuit, as soon as she awoke.  It was easy to be sure that such simple things had not been within Matilde’s reach, and it was Elettra’s duty to go to the pantry where coffee was made, and to bring the little tray to Veronica’s room.  At night, the young girl had a glass of water and a biscuit set beside her, when she went to sleep, but she rarely touched either.  Elettra now brought the biscuits herself and kept them in a cupboard in the dressing-room, and she herself drew the water every night to fill the glass.  So far as any food and drink which came to her room were concerned, Veronica was perfectly safe.  But Elettra could not control what she ate in the dining-room.  She would not communicate her fears to Veronica, either, for she knew her mistress well; and at the same time she did not know what or how much Don Teodoro had told her during his visit.  Veronica was perfectly fearless, and was inclined to be impatient, at any time, when any one insisted upon her taking any precautions, for any reason whatsoever—­even against catching cold.  She was not rash, however, for she had not been brought up in a way to develop any such tendency.  She was naturally courageous, and that was all.  She was unconscious of the quality, for she had not hitherto been aware of ever being in any real danger.

As for Don Teodoro’s warning, she put it down as the result of some mental shock which had weakened his intelligence.  Possibly Bosio’s sudden and terrible death had affected him in that way.  At all events, she was enough of an Italian to know how often in Italy such extraordinary ideas of fictitious treachery find their way into the brains of timid people.  On the face of it, the whole story seemed to her utterly absurd and foolish, from the tale of Macomer’s ingenious frauds upon her property, to the supposition that she was in danger of being murdered for her fortune.  Murder was always found out in the end, she thought, and of course such people as her aunt and uncle, even if they had any real reason for wishing their niece out of the way, would never really think of doing anything at once so wicked and so unwise.  But the whole thing was absurd, she repeated to herself, and she found it easy to put it out of her thoughts.

Meanwhile, the first days after the catastrophe passed in that sad, unmarked succession of objectless hours by which time moves in a house where such a death has taken place.  It is not the custom among the upper classes of Italians to attend the funerals of relations and friends.  The servants are sent, in deep mourning, to kneel before the catafalque in church during the first requiem mass.  Occasionally some of the men of a family are present at the short ceremony in the cemetery.  But that is all.  The family, as a rule, leaves the city at once.