“I shall not go back to Rome to-day,” said the Contessa.  “I cannot leave you in such anxiety.”

“Folco will take care of me,” answered the Signora in a dull tone.  “Do not change your plans on my account.  The carriage is ordered at three o’clock.”

She spoke so coldly that Maddalena felt a little pardonable resentment, though she knew that her friend was not at all herself.

“Very well,” she answered quietly.  “If you had rather that I should not stay with you we will go back this afternoon.”

“It will be much better.”

When the carriage appeared neither Folco nor any of the men had returned.  The Signora made an evident attempt to show a little of her habitual cordiality at parting, and she even kissed Aurora coldly on the forehead, and embraced Maddalena with something like her usual affection.  The two looked back as they drove away, calling out a last good-bye, but they saw that the Signora was not even looking after them; she was leaning against one of the wooden supports of the verandah, gazing towards the trees, and pressing one hand to her forehead.

“Do you think it was my fault, mamma?” asked Aurora, when they were out of sight of the cottage.

“No, dear,” answered Maddalena.  “Something has happened, I wish I knew what!”

“I only told him he was a baby,” said Aurora, settling herself in the corner of the carriage, and arranging her parasol behind her so that it rested on the open hood; for the weather had cleared and the sun was shining brightly after the storm.

So she and her mother went back to Rome that afternoon.  But when the Signora was alone, she was sorry that her friend was gone, and was all at once aware that her head was aching terribly.  Every movement she made sent an agonizing thrill through her brain, and her hand trembled from the pain, as she pressed her palm to her forehead.

She meant to go down to the beach alone, for she was sure that she could find Marcello, and at least she would meet the men who were searching for him, and have news sooner than if she stayed in the cottage.  But she could not have walked fifty steps without fainting while her headache lasted.  She would take five grains of phenacetine, and in a little while she would be better.

She found the glass tube with the screw cap, and swallowed one of the tablets with a little water.  Then she sat down on the edge of her long chair in the verandah to wait for the pain to pass.  She was very tired, and presently, she scarcely knew how it was, she was lying at full length in her chair, her head resting comfortably against the cushion.

The sunlight fell slanting across her feet.  Amongst the trees two or three birds were twittering softly; it was warm, it was dreamy, she was forgetting Marcello.  She tried to rouse herself as the thought of him crossed her mind, and she fancied that she almost rose from the chair; but she had hardly lifted one hand.  Then she saw his face close before her, her lips relaxed, the pain was gone, she smiled happily, and she was asleep.