She could not help pitying him.  But it is only pity for sorrow, or for trouble, that is akin to love, not pity for physical weakness; unless, perhaps, a woman is very certainly sure that such weakness is indeed the result of love for herself, wearing the man out night and day—­and then the pity she feels is instantly all but love itself and in fact often more than love in deeds.  But Veronica had no such certainty.  She still believed that Taquisara had overshot the mark of truth.  She waited for Gianluca to speak.

“We have met—­I have had the honour of meeting you—­several times already, Donna Veronica, since you came from the convent,” he said at last, after a little preliminary cough.

“Oh yes!” answered Veronica, with a smile.  “We have often met.  I know you very well.”

“I was not quite sure whether you remembered me,” he said.

He looked at her, and the blood rose and fell quickly in his cheeks, and his hands moved uneasily as he clasped them upon one of his knees.

“You must think that I have a very poor memory,” observed Veronica, still smiling, not intentionally, but because she was young enough, and therefore cruel enough, to be amused by his embarrassment.  “The last time I saw you was at the theatre, I think—­at the opening night, last week—­ten days ago—­when was it?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly.  “That was the last time I saw you; but the last time we spoke was at the San Giuliano’s.”

“Was it?  I do not remember.  We have often talked—­a little—­at different places.”

“I remember very well,” said Gianluca, with a good deal of emphasis and looking earnestly at her.

Veronica tried to recall the conversation on the occasion to which he referred, but could not remember a word of it.

“Did I say anything especial, that time?” she asked, wondering whether she had then unfortunately answered ‘yes,’ in a fit of absence of mind, to some question of hidden import which he had perhaps addressed to her.

“Oh yes!” he answered promptly.  “You told me that you liked white roses better than red ones.  You see, I have a good memory.”

“That was a tremendously important statement.”  Veronica laughed, somewhat relieved by the information.

“I always remember everything you say,” said Gianluca.  “I think I know by heart all you have ever said to me.”

He spoke with a sort of grave and almost child-like conviction.

“I shall remember everything you say to-day,” he added, after a moment’s pause.

“I hope not!” exclaimed Veronica.  “I sometimes say very foolish things, not at all worth remembering, I assure you.”

“But what you say is worth everything to me,” he said, with another sudden blush, and a quick glance, while his hands twitched.