Veronica did not perhaps acknowledge that, little by little, Gianluca’s letters were beginning to fill the place of poor Bosio’s conversation in former times.  But that was what was taking place.  She was more lonely in mind than in heart, and without making the slightest pretence to talent or unusual cultivation, she craved a mental companionship of some sort to take up the thread where it had been broken.  She had found it unexpectedly in her new friend’s letters, and she recognized it and clung to it, as to something almost necessary in her existence.  When she was ready to go up to Muro, she knew that without those letters life in such a solitude would be well nigh unsupportable, whereas, being able to look forward to them, and to answering them, her hours of idleness were already a foretasted pleasure.

She had not even told the cardinal that she was going, and she was going alone.  In Naples this seemed so incredible that after she was gone, people spontaneously invented a companion for her and assured one another that she had sent for a distant and elderly old-maid cousin as a chaperon and protectress.  Even the cardinal believed it, taking it almost for granted.

On the afternoon of the day before her departure Gianluca came, walking with difficulty and excusing himself for bringing his stick with him into the drawing-room.  He was very pale, and looked more ill than for a long time past.  But he spoke calmly enough, though saying little more than was required, while Bianca and Veronica kept up the conversation.  Veronica was in good spirits and was evidently looking forward to the journey with pleasure and curiosity.

Then Ghisleri appeared, followed shortly by Taquisara, who had called very rarely during the winter.  Veronica thought that he had grown very cold and silent.  He slowly stirred a cup of tea which he did not drink, and he scarcely joined in the conversation at all.  He looked occasionally at one or another of the party, and once or twice his eyes fixed themselves on Veronica’s face.  She could not understand why his presence chilled her, but she was aware that she spoke more coldly than usual to Gianluca.

At the end of half an hour, the latter rose to go, glancing at Veronica as he did so.  Taquisara, on pretence of setting down his tea-cup, rose also and managed to place himself in front of Bianca, and said something to which Ghisleri gave an answer, just as Veronica and Gianluca were standing close together.

“May I go on writing to you?” asked Gianluca, in a low tone and quickly.

Veronica looked up at him with a startled expression.

“Oh please—­please!” she answered anxiously.  “As often as you can—­I count on it!  Of course!”

Gianluca’s thin, pale face brightened suddenly as he heard her vehement request and the anxiety in her tone.

“Thank you,” he said.  “Good-bye.”