It was his nature, to suffer without complaint, when he must suffer at all.  No one can tell whether those feel pain most who show least what they feel.  The measure of pain is always man, and no man can really be measured except by himself.  We often believe that they who utter no cry are the most badly hurt, perhaps because silence has suggestion in it, and noise has none.  No one knows the truth.  No one has stood in the fire that scorches his brother’s soul, to tell us which can suffer the more.

Taquisara lay long awake that night, and every word that had passed between Veronica and him came back to his thoughts.

More than once he rose and, crossing the intermediate room, went to Gianluca’s side.  Once the latter was awake, still half dreaming, and looked up wonderingly into his friend’s eyes.  He scarcely knew that he spoke, as his lips moved.

“I am going to die,” he said, in a far-off tone.

Taquisara bent over him quickly, trying to smile.

“Nonsense—­no—­no!” he said cheerfully.  “You have been dreaming—­you are better.”

“Yes—­I am dreaming—­let me sleep,” answered the sick man, hardly articulating the words.

And in a moment, he was asleep again.  Taquisara listened to his breathing, bending down a moment longer.  Then he went softly away.  He himself slept a little, but it seemed long before the morning broke.

When it was broad daylight, Gianluca seemed better, for the deep sleep had refreshed him.  It was still very early, when the professor appeared and paid him a long visit, asking a few questions at first and then suddenly, beginning to talk of politics and the public news.  Taquisara left the room with him, and they stood together in Gianluca’s sitting-room.

“He is better, is he not?” asked the Sicilian, eagerly.

To his surprise the doctor shook his head and was silent a long time.

“I know nothing,” he said, at last.  “Nobody knows anything.  Surgery is a fine art, but medicine is witchcraft, or little better.  You see, I speak frankly.  I can only give you my experience, and that may be worth something.  I have seen two cases of this kind in which, when the change came, the patients partially recovered, and lived for several years, paralyzed downwards from the point in the spine where the disease begins.  I have seen several cases where death has resulted rather suddenly.”

“And do you see a change coming?”

“Yes.  It has begun already.  Is he a devout man?”

“A religious man, at all events,” answered Taquisara, gravely.

“Then, if he wishes to see a priest, it would be as well to send for one this morning.  But if he wishes to be moved as usual, and dressed, let him have his way.  Do not frighten him, if you can help it.  No moral shock can do any good.  I leave it to you.  It is of no use to tell his father and mother.  They are here, and you will see if he is worse.  I suppose you know that he suffers great pain when he is moved?”