“I see,” said the Superintendent, smiling.  “I am much obliged for your advice.  And now, if you will come with me, you shall see Botti.  He has a room by himself and is very well cared for.”

The orderlies and nurses who came and went about the hospital glanced with a little discreet surprise at the handsome peasant girl who followed the Superintendent, but she paid no attention to them and looked straight before her, at the back of his head; for her heart was beating faster than if she had run a mile uphill.

Marcello put out his arms when he saw her enter, and returning life sent a faint colour to his emaciated cheeks.

“Regina—­at last!” he cried in a stronger and clearer tone than she had ever heard him use.

A splendid blush of pleasure glowed in her own face as she ran forward and leaned over him, smoothing the smooth pillow unconsciously, and looking down into his eyes.

The Superintendent observed that Marcello certainly had no difficulty in recalling the girl’s name, whatever might have become of his own during his illness.  What Regina answered was not audible, but she kissed Marcello’s eyes, and then stood upright beside the bed, and laughed a little.

“What can I do?” she asked.  “It is a passion!  When I see him, I see nothing else.  And then, I saved his life.  Are you glad that Regina saved your life?” She bent down again, and her gentle hand played with Marcello’s waving fair hair.  “What should you have done without Regina?”

“I should have died,” Marcello answered happily.

With much more strength than she had been used to find in him, he threw his arms round her neck and drew her face down to his.

The Superintendent spoke to the nurse in a low tone, by the door, and both went out, leaving the two together.  He was a sensible man, and a kind-hearted one; and though he was no doctor, he guessed that the peasant girl’s glorious vitality would do as much for the sick man as any medicine.

CHAPTER VIII

Corbario reached Rome in the afternoon, and the footman who stood waiting for him on the platform was struck by the change in his appearance.  His eyes were hollow and bright, his cheeks were sunken, his lips looked dry; moreover, he moved a little nervously and his foot slipped as he got out of the carriage, so that he nearly fell.  In the crowd, the footman asked his valet questions.  Was he ill?  What had happened to him?  Was he consuming himself with grief?  No, the valet thought not.  He had been much better in Paris and had seen some old friends there.  What harm was there in that?  A bereaved man needed diversion.  The change had come suddenly, when he had decided to return to Rome, and he had eaten nothing for thirty-six hours.  The valet asked if the youth at the hospital, of whom Corbario had told him, were really Marcello.  The footman answered that none of the servants thought so, after they had all been taken to see him.