The old priest did not refer to the strange story he had told her ten days earlier.  But he recalled her question concerning the people at Muro and their condition.  They were indeed desperately poor, he said, and the winter was a hard one in the mountains.  There were many sick, and there was no hospital,—­not so much as a room in which a dying beggar might lie out of the cold.  It was a very pitiful tale, told carefully and accurately.  And at the end the good man humbly begged that the most Excellent Princess would deign to allow his stipend to be paid in advance, in order that he might do something to help his poor.

Veronica read the letter twice, and judged it.  Then she determined to do something at once, for she knew that the man had written the truth.  She should have liked to send for him, and talk with him of what should be done; but she could not forget the things he had said about Bosio, and for that reason she did not wish to see him again—­at least, not yet.  His mind was unbalanced about that matter; but charity was a different thing.

His address in Naples was in the letter.  She wrote a note in answer, begging him to tell her how much money he should need to hire a vacant house, since there was no time to build one, and to fit it decently with what he thought necessary, in order that it might serve as a refuge and hospital for the very poor.  She sent Elettra with the letter.

It was raining again, and by good fortune Don Teodoro was at home, though it was still before noon.  While the maid waited, he wrote his answer.  His thanks were heartfelt on behalf of his parish, but shortly expressed.  He said that in order to do what Veronica proposed so generously, at least two thousand francs would be necessary.  He briefly explained why the charity would need what he looked upon as a large sum, and he begged pardon for being so frank.

Again Veronica read the letter carefully over, and she put it into the desk.  Half an hour later she went to luncheon.  The meal was as silent and gloomy as usual, and scarcely half a dozen words were said.  Afterwards the three came back to the yellow drawing-room for their coffee.  When the servant was gone, Veronica, stirring the sugar in her cup, turned to her uncle.

“Will you please give me three thousand francs, Uncle Gregorio?” she asked quietly.  “I want it this afternoon, if you please.”

Gregorio Macomer grew slowly white to the tips of his ears.  Matilde sipped her coffee, and turned her back to the light.

“Three thousand francs!” repeated Macomer, slowly recovering a little self-control.  “My dear child!  What can you want of so much money?”.

“Is it so very much?” asked Veronica, innocently surprised.  “You have told me that I have more than eight hundred thousand a year.  It is for charity.  The people at Muro have no hospital.  I shall be glad if you will give it to me before four o’clock; I wish to send it at once.”