“My dear child!” cried the Duchessa.  “We shall never forget your kindness, and all the trouble you have taken!  Gianluca is in the next carriage.  I think you have saved his life!”

There was a sort of inoffensive motherliness in her tone which surprised Veronica—­a suggestion of possession that irritated her.  But she smiled, said a few words, and ordered the carriage to move on,—­an operation which, though difficult in such a narrow way, was possible since she had improved and paved the streets.  A couple of her men walked before the horses to clear the way of the women and children and the few men who were not away at work, for the news of the arrival had spread, and the people flocked together to see whether the visitors would bear comparison with their princess.

As the carriage rolled into the street, Veronica went up to meet the next.  It was a very long landau, and in it Gianluca was almost lying down, his pale face and golden beard in strong relief against a dark brown silk cushion.  To Veronica’s amazement, Taquisara sat beside him, calmly smoking one of those long black cigars which he preferred to all others.  He threw it away, when he saw her.  She shook hands frankly with Gianluca.

“I am very glad you are here,” she said kindly and cheerfully.  “You will get well here.  How do you do?” she added, turning to Taquisara as naturally as though she had expected him, for she supposed that there must have been some misunderstanding.

He explained his coming in a few words, before Gianluca could finish the sentence he began.

“He hates strangers,” he said, “and I came up with him, to be of use on the journey.  I am going back at once.”

“You will not go back this evening, at all events,” answered Veronica, with a little hospitable smile.

She was grateful to him for Gianluca’s sake, both for his letter and for having accompanied his friend.  For what had gone before, he had apologized and was forgiven.

“I beg your pardon,” he answered.  “I think I shall be obliged to go back this afternoon.”

“Has he any engagement that obliges him to return?” asked Veronica of Gianluca.

As she turned to him, she met his deep blue eyes, fixed on her face with a strange look, half happy, half hungry, half appealing.

“He has no engagement that I know of,” he answered.

“Then you will stay,” she said to Taquisara.  “Go on!” she added to the coachman, without giving time for any further answer.

There was a note in her short speech which the Sicilian had never heard before then.  It was the tone of command—­not of the drill-sergeant, but of the conqueror.  He almost laughed to himself as the carriage moved slowly on, while Veronica and Don Teodoro followed on foot.

“You must stay, if she wishes it,” said Gianluca, in a low voice.

“I am not used to being ordered to quarters in that way,” answered Taquisara, smiling in genuine amusement.  “I can be of no more use to you when I have got you up to your room, and I think I shall go back as I intended.”