Bosio had entered the main apartments in order to inquire for Veronica, had passed through the long outer hall with its red walls, its matted floor and its great table covered with green baize, to the antechamber within, where, with some ostentation, as Bosio had always thought, Gregorio had hung up the escutcheon with the quartered arms of Macomer and Serra, flanked by half a dozen big old family portraits on either side, opposite the three windows.  He had waited there until the footman returned after looking for Veronica in the drawing-room, and when he heard that she was not there, he turned to reach the staircase again and go up to his own bachelor’s quarters, for he feared to meet Matilde and hoped to put off seeing her until dinner-time, when he might so manoeuvre as not to be left alone with her.

But the footman had hardly delivered his answer, and Bosio was in the act of turning, when one of the two masked doors under the pictures opened suddenly, and Matilde spoke into the room, calling him by name.  He turned pale and stopped short, as though a cold hand had taken him by the throat.  The footman went out to the hall, as Bosio met Matilde’s eyes.

“Come,” she said briefly, “I want to speak to you.”

He obeyed silently, and followed her through the narrow door and through a passage beyond, to her own morning-room.  Matilde shut the door.  The afternoon sun streamed in through two high windows, filling every corner with light and turning the crimson carpet blood red, where Matilde stood, all round her feet and the folds of her loose dark gown, so that she seemed to rise out of a pool of vivid colour, a dark, strong figure with the brightness all behind her and the gleam of her eyes just lightening in the shadow of her face.

“Why did you go out without seeing me this morning?” she asked in a hard tone.  “And why did Taquisara come to see you early?  You scarcely know him—­”

“I certainly did not send for him,” said Bosio, uneasily.

“He did not come for nothing,” retorted Matilde.  “He is no friend of yours.  He must have come for some particular reason.”

Bosio said nothing, but turned from her and moved towards a table covered with books.  In an objectless way he opened a volume and looked at the title page.  Matilde followed him with her eyes.

“Well?” she said presently, “I am waiting.  What did Taquisara have to say?  He is Gianluca’s friend—­he came with a message.  That is clear.  What did he say?  I am waiting to hear.”

“He came because he chose to come,” answered Bosio, still looking at the title page of the book.  “Gianluca did not send him.  He wished to know whether it were true that I was to marry Veronica.”

“I thought so.  And what did you answer?  Of course you told him that it was quite settled.”

“We had a long conversation—­I do not remember all that we said—­”

“You do not remember whether you told him that you were to marry Veronica or not?” Matilde laughed angrily and came forward.