“No.  He is very ill, and in no condition for that sort of amusement.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Bosio, with cold civility.  “But you come to represent him, in some way.  Do I understand?”

“He is ill—­of love, as they say.”  Taquisara smiled at the idea, in spite of himself.  “It is serious, at all events—­so serious, that I have come in person to ask whether it is really true that you are betrothed to Donna Veronica, in order that I may take him the truth as I hear it from your lips.  I daresay you think me indiscreet, Count Macomer, for I am only slightly acquainted with you.  But I am sincerely devoted to Gianluca, and if you were a total stranger to me, I should come to you as I have come now.”

“And if I refuse to answer your question, Baron Taquisara—­what then?”

“As the answer—­yes or no—­cannot possibly involve anything in the slightest degree indelicate, I shall of course infer that you have no answer to give, and that the matter is not yet really settled.”

Bosio’s eyebrows contracted spasmodically, and his white hand stroked his silky beard, while his eyes turned quickly from his guest and looked down at the carpet.  In two passes, as though they had been fencing together, this singularly direct man had thrust him to the wall, and was forcing him to make a decision.  Of course it was still in his power to answer in one way or the other, though he was yet undecided.  But he honestly could not bring himself to say that he would marry Veronica, and yet, if he denied that he was betrothed to her, he must put his brother and Matilde in the position of having told a deliberate lie to Gianluca’s father.  He felt that he was growing confused, and that his hesitation and confusion were every moment making it clearer to Taquisara that the betrothal was by no means as yet a fact.  He tried to temporize.

“It depends upon what you understand by an engagement,” he said.  “With us, here in Naples, the betrothal means the signing of the marriage contract.  Now, the contract has not even been discussed.  I think that my brother’s announcement was premature, though it was perhaps justifiable, as he wished to discourage any false expectations on the part of Don Gianluca.”

“I am not a diplomatist,” answered the Sicilian.  “The statement was categorical—­that you were betrothed to Donna Veronica.  For the sake of my friend, I am indiscreet enough to wish to hear the confirmation of the statement from your own lips, without in the least questioning the right of the Count Macomer to make it last night.  Gianluca is honestly and very deeply in love.  The happiness of his whole life is involved.  With his delicate constitution and sensitive temper, I believe that his life itself is in danger.  You will be doing him an honourable kindness in letting him know the truth, through me.”

“I will,” said Bosio, absently, “I will—­as soon as—­” He checked himself and glanced nervously at Taquisara.