“DI VALDO.”

Nina folded the letter and locked it away in her jewel case, moving as if in a daze.  She felt faint and suffocated.  Giovanni had risked his life—­for her sake!  He was hurt—­what if the wound should prove serious, what if he should lose his arm!  Oh, if only she might go to her aunt and pour out the whole story!  But she was in honor bound to say nothing without Giovanni’s permission, and she must master herself at once in order to appear as usual at luncheon.

A little later, as she entered the dining-room, she heard the prince saying—­“Pretty serious accident.”  He turned at once to her: 

“You have heard?” he said, and as she merely inclined her head, he hastened to explain:  “Giovanni, it seems, slipped this morning and broke his arm.  But, though the fracture is a very serious one, he is in no danger.”

Nina tried to speak, but her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth.  Naturally enough, both Eleanor and Sansevero interpreted her pallor and agitation as a sign of interest in Giovanni.  “He broke the elbow,” the prince continued; “a ‘T’ break, it is called, which may leave the joint stiff.  There was a piece of bone splintered.”  Nina gripped the under edge of the table—­she knew what had splintered the bone!  She almost screamed aloud, but she set her lips, held tight to the table, and tried to appear calm; while Sansevero, in spite of his anxiety for his brother’s condition, could not help feeling great satisfaction in what looked so encouraging to Giovanni’s suit.

“Giovanni went to the surgeon’s,” he continued.  “Imagine—­he walked there!  He should never have attempted such a thing.  He had quite an operation, for the splintered portions of the bone had to be cut away.  The arm is now in plaster, and they won’t be able to tell for weeks whether he ever can move his elbow again.  They brought him home a couple of hours ago.  He is now a little feverish, but a sister has come to nurse him, and we have left him to rest.”  Then Sansevero turned to his wife:  “It all sounds very queer to me, Leonora.  What was the matter with the boy, anyway?  Why did he not send for me?  And why did he not go to bed like a sensible human being and stay there?”

Nina was on tenterhooks.  She so wanted to ask her aunt and uncle what they really thought!  She wondered if they truly had no suspicions.  Or were they perhaps dissimulating as she herself was trying with poor success to do?  She could not understand how the princess, who was usually quick of perception, could possibly be blind to the real facts of the case.  She felt choked—­as if she herself had fired the shot that might bring far more horrible consequences than her aunt and uncle knew.

The princess, seeing Nina’s face grow whiter and whiter, asked anxiously if she felt ill.