“Yes, Excellency.”

Elettra stuck the little slip of paper, on which the recipe was written, into her shabby pocket-book without looking at it.  She could read and write fairly well, and had been used to helping her husband the under-steward with his accounts at Muro, but even if she had looked at the recipe she would have understood nothing of the doctor’s hieroglyphics and abbreviated Latin words.  The prescription was for a preparation of arsenic, which Matilde had formerly taken for some time.  The chemist would not make any difficulty about preparing twenty doses of it for the Countess Macomer, though the whole quantity of arsenic contained in so many would probably be sufficient to kill one not accustomed to the medicine, if taken all at once.

But though Matilde was so anxious to have the stuff before luncheon, she had a number of doses of it put away in a drawer, which she took out and counted, after Elettra had gone.  She opened one of the little folded papers and looked at the fine white powder it contained, took a little on the end of her finger and tasted it.  Then, from the same drawer, she took a package done up in coarser paper, and opened it likewise, looked at it, smelt it, and touched it with the tip of her tongue very cautiously indeed.  It was white, too, but coarser than the medicine.  She was very careful in tasting it, and she immediately rinsed her mouth with water, before she tied up the package again, shut the drawer, and put the key into her pocket.

By and by Elettra came back and brought her the jet and the medicine, returning her the change without any remark.  Matilde thanked her, and laid the package of twenty doses upon her dressing-table, before the mirror.

At luncheon, she persuaded Veronica to go out with her for a drive in the afternoon.  She said that she felt ill and tired, and did not like to go alone.  Gregorio said that he was too busy to accompany her, and it would not have been easy for Veronica to refuse.  While it was still early, they drove out, past Bianca Corleone’s house, over the hill, and down to Posilippo, on the other side.  They talked very little, but Veronica enjoyed the bright afternoon air, after the long spell of bad weather.  There was no dust, for the road was not yet dry, and a gentle land breeze just roughed the surface of the calm sea to a deeper blue.  When they turned to drive home, there was already a purple mist about Vesuvius, and the great Sant’ Angelo’s crest was black against the sky, for these were the shortest days, and the sun set far to southward.  It was almost dark when they got back to the city.

“Shall we have tea in your room?” asked Matilde as they went up the stairs together.  “It is so dreary in the drawing-room.”