“I wish to ask you a question,” he said, after a short silence.  “When I fainted, that day—­did Don Teodoro pronounce all the proper words?  You must have heard him.  Was it a real marriage, without any defect of form?”

Taquisara stopped in his walk and hesitated.  After all, since Don Teodoro had written to him that the marriage must be performed again, it was much better that Gianluca should be prepared for it, since he himself had put the question.

“Since you ask me,” answered Taquisara, after a moment’s thought, “I may as well tell you what I know.  After it was done, both Don Teodoro and I had doubts as to whether the marriage were perfectly valid, and he determined to consult a bishop.  I suppose that he has done so, for he has written to me about it.  He says that the ecclesiastical authority before whom the matter was laid declares that there were informalities, and that you must be married again.  You see, in the first place, there were no banns published in church, and there was no permission from the bishop to omit publishing them.  But, of course, that might be set aside.  I fancy that the real trouble may have been that you were unconscious.  At all events, it is a very simple matter to be married again.”

“In other words, it is no marriage at all.  I thought so—­I thought so.”  Gianluca repeated the words slowly and sadly.

“What does it matter?” asked Taquisara, turning away and walking again.  “It is a question of five minutes.  I should think that you would be glad—­”

“Yes—­perhaps I am glad,” said Gianluca, so low that the words were scarcely an interruption.

“Because you can be married in your full senses,” continued Taquisara, bravely, “with your father and mother beside you, and all the rest of it.”

Gianluca said nothing to this, and again there was a short silence.  Just as Taquisara came to the table in his walk, Gianluca spoke again.

“Stop a moment,” he said.  “Look at me, Taquisara.  If you were in my place, what would you do?”

Their eyes met, and Gianluca saw the quick effort of the other’s features, controlling themselves, as though he had been struck unawares.

“I?” exclaimed Taquisara, taken entirely off his guard.  “If I were in your place?  Why—­” he recovered himself—­“I should get married again, as soon as possible, of course.  What else should any one do?”

But the bold eyes for once looked down a little, their steadiness broken.

“You would do nothing of the sort,” said Gianluca.

“What do you mean?” Again Taquisara started almost imperceptibly, and his brows contracted as he looked up sharply.

“If you were in my place,” said Gianluca, “you would cut your throat rather than ruin the life of the woman you loved, by tying your misery to her for life, a load for her to carry.”

“Do not say such things!” exclaimed the Sicilian, turning suddenly from the table and resuming his walk.  “You are mad!”