Then, wondering at his silence, and conscious of his gaze, Veronica turned her face to his, with a shy look of girlish inquiry, and their eyes met.  Taquisara was too dark to blush, but to his own surprise he felt that the blood had mounted in his face, and in Veronica’s own thin, young cheeks there was a faint and lovely tinge which lasted but a moment and then faded, coming again more strongly as she turned her eyes away.  Then he felt that he must speak.  Ghisleri and Bianca, on the other side, had begun at once to talk, and their voices, unknown to themselves, had sunk to a low key.

“I am very glad I have met you here, this morning, Donna Veronica,” said Taquisara, leaning forward so as to speak close to her, but looking down at the gravel under his feet.  “I had something especial to say to you.”

Veronica glanced at him, half startled.  His tone and manner were quite different from anything she had hitherto heard and seen.  She saw that he was not looking at her, and her eyes went back to the roots of the trees.

“Yes,” she said, almost inaudibly, for she did not know whether he expected her to say anything.

“I have a very good friend, Donna Veronica,” he continued; “I have been with him this morning.  You have heard his name often of late, I think, and you know him—­Gianluca della Spina.”

Veronica started a little, and again the colour came and went in her delicate face.

“Yes,” she said.  “I—­I know him a little.”

“He loves you, Donna Veronica,” Taquisara said, his voice softening almost to a whisper, for he did not wish Bianca Corleone to hear him.  “He loves you so much that he is almost dangerously ill—­indeed, I think it is dangerous—­because you will not marry him.”

He paused to see what she would do.  She quickly turned her startled eyes to him, and her lips parted, but she said nothing.  He raised his face and met her look as he went on.

“Last night, his father was at your house, and he was told that there was no hope, because you were betrothed to Count Bosio Macomer.”

“They told him that?” asked Veronica, quickly, and the colour mounted a third time in her cheeks.  “But it is not true!” she added; and her eyes set themselves sharply, for she was angry.

“No,” said Taquisara, “I know that it is not quite true, for I have been to see Count Bosio.  I was there half an hour ago.”

“You have quarrelled?” asked Veronica, in sudden anxiety.

“Quarrelled? no.  Why should we quarrel?  He gave me to understand that nothing was settled.  I thanked him, and came away.  I did not hope to see you; but I knew that the Princess Corleone was your best friend, as I am Gianluca’s.  I thought I would speak to her.  Since, by a miracle, we have met, I have spoken directly to you.  Do you forgive me?  I hope so, though I daresay that no mere acquaintance has ever talked as I am talking.  If you blame me, remember that it is for Gianluca, that he is my friend, that he knows nothing of my speaking to you, since you and I have met by chance, and that he is perhaps dying—­dying for you, Donna Veronica.”