“Your pony looks fatter and quieter than ever,” said Maddalena dell’ Armi with a smile.  “If you do not ride him, he will turn into a fixture.”

“He is already a very solid piece of furniture,” observed Folco, looking at the sleek animal.

“He is very like the square piano I practise on,” said Aurora.  “He has such a flat back and such straight thick legs.”

“More like an organ,” put in Marcello, gravely.  “He has a curious, half-musical wheeze when he tries to move, like the organ in the church at San Domenico, when the bellows begin to work.”

“It is a shame to make fun of my horse,” answered the Signora, smiling.  “But really I am not afraid of him.  I have a little headache from the drive, that is all.”

“Take some phenacetine,” said Corbario with concern.  “Let me make you quite comfortable before we start.”

He arranged a long straw chair for her in a sheltered corner of the verandah, with cushions and a rug and a small table beside it, on which Marcello placed a couple of new books that had been brought down.  Then Folco went in and got a little glass bottle of tablets from his wife’s travelling-bag and gave her one.  She was subject to headaches and always had the medicine with her.  It was the only remedy she ever carried or needed, and she had such confidence in it that she felt better almost as soon as she had swallowed the tablet her husband gave her.

“Let me stay and read to you,” he said.  “Perhaps you would go to sleep.”

“You are not vain of your reading, my dear,” she answered with a smile.  “No, please go with the others.”

Then the Contessa offered to stay, and the good Signora had to use a good deal of persuasion to make them all understand that she would much rather be left alone.  They mounted and rode away through the trees towards the beach, whence the sound of the small waves, breaking gently under the afternoon breeze, came echoing softly up to the cottage.

The two young people rode in front, in silence; Corbario and the Contessa followed at a little distance.

“How good you are to my wife!” Folco exclaimed presently, as they emerged upon the sand.  “You are like a sister to her!”

Maddalena glanced at him through her veil.  She had small and classic features, rather hard and proud, and her eyes were of a dark violet colour, which is very unusual, especially in Italy.  But she came from the north.  Corbario could not see her expression, and she knew it.

“You are good to her, too,” she said presently, being anxious to be just.  “You are very thoughtful and kind.”

Corbario thought it wiser to say nothing, and merely bent his head a little in acknowledgment of what he instinctively felt to be an admission on the part of a secret adversary.  Maddalena had never said so much before.

“If you were not, I should never forgive you,” she added, thinking aloud.