The old Duca appeared again, and slipped quietly into his place, as before.  But at the end of a week there was an unexpected flaring-up of energy, as it were, in his docile and affectionate being.  When he and his wife and Veronica were with Gianluca, he suddenly declared that the situation must end, and that they must all go down to Naples.  Veronica should send for the syndic, and have the legal marriage at once, and then they would all go down together.  It was quite clear in his mind, as simple as daylight, as easy of performance as breathing, as satisfactory as satisfaction itself.  The Duchessa was with him, and supported all he said with approving nods and futile gestures and incoherent phrases thrown in, as one throws straws upon a stream to see the current carry them away.

Gianluca said nothing, and Veronica stood alone against them all, for she knew that he was on his father’s side.  She guessed, perhaps, that Gianluca had made up his mind never to leave her roof except as her lawful husband, clinging to her, as he had tried to cling to her skirt on that most eventful day when she had gone to the window for a moment; and she understood why, having spoken once, he would not speak again.  He was too proud to repeat such a request, but his love was far too obstinate to be satisfied with less than its fulfilment.  But his own hope for his recovery was more alive than hers.

Instinctively, as she opposed them all, Veronica looked round for Taquisara.  It was not often that she needed help, and she knew that he could have helped her, had he been there.  But she had to speak for herself.  She said what she could; but in that self-examination which self-defence forces upon those who have never dissected their own hearts, a new and fearful truth sprang up, clear of all others, bright, keen, and terrible.

It was no longer for her people’s sake that she was waiting in the hope of Gianluca’s recovery.  It was no longer for her own, nor for his.  It was out of her deadly love for Taquisara that all her nature rose against that final bond of the law, and the world, and society.  So long as that was not yet welded and made fast upon her, there was the fleeting shadow of a desperate hope that she might still be free.

It rose and smote her between the eyes, and clutched at her heart; and when she knew its face, she stopped in the midst of her speech, and turned white, even to her lips and her throat.

“I do not know.  I will think about it,” she said faintly.

As her power to oppose gave way, the Duca’s astonishment at his victory swelled his weakness to violence; and he raved of duties and obligations, of paternal authority, of the obedience of children and children-in-law, in all the boundless, self-assured incoherence of feebleness suddenly let loose against smitten strength.

Veronica seemed to hear nothing.  She had resumed her seat beside Gianluca, and was stroking his white hand,—­less thin than it had been, but somehow even more lifeless,—­and she looked down at it very thoughtfully, while he watched her face.  He was happier than he had been for a long time, for he knew that she was going to make a concession, and that he had not asked for it.