"You see. I can walk
very well to-day, with scarcely any help."
But his first step was unsteady, and the next was slow. Veronica heard
the uncertain footfall on the flagstones and turned again.
"Will you take my arm on this side?" she asked gently, placing herself
on his right, away from Taquisara.
He hesitated, smiled, and then laid his hand upon her arm, and she and
Taquisara led him in together, the old couple following, and looking at
each other in silence from time to time. Through the dark, inclined way,
they all went up slowly into the courtyard and under the low door, dark
even on that summer's afternoon, slowly, stopping at every dozen paces
and then moving on again. Taquisara almost carrying his friend with his
right arm, while Veronica steadied him on the other side, till they came
out at last into a room which had been furnished as a sort of
sitting-room and library, especially for Gianluca's use. He sank down
into a deep chair facing the window, and drew breath, as he sought
Veronica's eyes.
"You are very kind," he said faintly. "But you see how much better I
am," he added at once, in a more cheerful tone. "It is the first walk I
have taken for several days, Donna Veronica. I have really been ill, you
know."
"I know you have," she said, and she turned quickly away, for she felt
more than she cared to show just then.
Possibly the Duca and his wife were too much preoccupied about their
son's condition to think seriously of what was taking place, but it was
strange enough in its way, and Taquisara thought so as he looked on, and
wondered what Neapolitan society would think if it could stand, as one
man, in his place, and see with his eyes, knowing what he knew.
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