Even in her dream,
it flashed upon her that it might all be true except that one part of it
which said that Bosio had loved Matilde and not herself. That was not
true. He had loved her, Veronica; they had known it, and had taken
advantage of it. She did not blame them for that. She had been so fond
of him,--she knew that she should soon have loved him,--and the dream
swung back upon itself, and she was again standing beside the fire in
the yellow room, with him so near to her. And after she awoke, she shed
tears.
On that morning, after eleven o'clock, Matilde came to Veronica's room,
bringing a piece of needlework with her, and she sat down to stay a
while. They talked idly about dull subjects, and from time to time
Matilde looked up and smiled sadly. She sat so that she could not see
Bosio's photograph on the mantelpiece. After she had been there half an
hour, she started, suddenly remembering something.
"I have done such a stupid thing!" she exclaimed, with an expression of
annoyance. "I believe I am losing my memory!"
"What is it?" asked Veronica, naturally.
"I sent my maid out, just before I came to you, with a number of errands
to do, and I forgot two things that I wanted very much. There was some
medicine which I was to take before luncheon, and some jet beads that I
needed. I do not care so much about the beads, but I need the medicine.
I feel so horribly tired and weak, all the time."
"Send one of the men," suggested Veronica.
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