“I know you have,” she said, and she turned quickly away, for she felt more than she cared to show just then.

Possibly the Duca and his wife were too much preoccupied about their son’s condition to think seriously of what was taking place, but it was strange enough in its way, and Taquisara thought so as he looked on, and wondered what Neapolitan society would think if it could stand, as one man, in his place, and see with his eyes, knowing what he knew.  But he had not much time for reflexion.  Veronica’s women had brought Gianluca wine, and his mother was giving him certain drops of a stimulant in a glass of fragrant old malvoisie, while his father bent over him anxiously, still asking useless questions.  Veronica beckoned Taquisara aside, and they stood together behind Gianluca’s chair.

“That is his bedroom,” she said, pointing to one of the doors, “and that is yours,” she added, pointing to one opposite.

“Mine?  But you did not expect me—­”

“I naturally supposed that he would have a man with him, to take care of him,” she answered.  “If you are really his friend as you say you are, stay with him.  You see that he cannot get about without you.  If either of you need anything, ask for it,” she added, before he could reply.

“I would rather not stay,” said Taquisara, looking gravely into her face.

“Have you a good reason?  What is it?” Her features hardened a little.

“I cannot tell you my reason.  It concerns myself.”

“Then try and forget yourself, for you are needed here,” she answered almost sternly.

For two or three seconds they looked into each other’s eyes, neither yielding.  Then Taquisara gave way.

“I will stay,” he said shortly, and he turned his face from her with a sort of effort.  “Is there a doctor here?” he asked, looking towards the group of persons who stood around Gianluca.

“Yes—­a good one, whom I have lately brought.  Shall I send for him?  Do you think he is worse?” She asked the question anxiously.

“No.  No doctors can do him any good—­but if he should be suddenly worse, after the long journey—­”

“Do you think it is likely?” asked Veronica, interrupting him in a tone of increasing anxiety.

He turned to her again, and watched her face, curiously, wondering whether she loved the man, after all.

“I hope not,” he answered quietly.  “But it was a fatiguing drive, and he hardly slept at all last night.  I suppose that the excitement kept him awake.  He should rest as soon as possible.”

“Very well,” said Veronica.  “I will take his father and mother away and give them tea.  Stay with him and make him lie down and sleep, if possible.  Dinner is at half-past seven.  Let me know if we are to wait for him.”

She went to Gianluca’s side and spoke to the Duchessa.

“Shall I show you your rooms?” she asked.  “Then we can have tea.  Don Gianluca must be tired, and he should have quiet and rest before dinner—­or if he prefers it, we will not expect him to-night.  Sleep first, and decide afterwards,” she added, addressing Gianluca himself, and her tone grew suddenly gentle as she spoke to him.