Taquisara
sat down upon the only chair there was and waited a few moments, not
realizing that he had not been recognized. But the priest forgot his
existence immediately and if not disturbed would probably have gone on
reading till noon.
"Don Teodoro!" said Taquisara, rousing him. "Pray excuse me--"
The old man looked up suddenly, with an exclamation of surprise.
"Dear me!" he cried. "Are you there, Baron? I beg your pardon. I think I
took you for some one else."
He drew his spectacles down to the level of his eyes, and let the big
book fall back upon the table.
"Our friend is very ill," said Taquisara, gravely. "That is why I have
come to disturb you."
He told the priest what the doctor had said about Gianluca's condition.
Don Teodoro listened with an expression of concern and anxiety, for he
had become fond of the sick man during the past weeks, and Gianluca
liked him, too. Almost every day they talked together, and the refined
taste and sincere love of literature of the younger man delighted in the
profound learning of the old student, while the latter found a rare
pleasure in speaking of his favourite occupations to such an
appreciative listener.
"The fact is," Taquisara concluded, "though I have not much faith in
doctors, I really believe that he may die at any moment. You know what
kind of man he is. Go and sit with him after luncheon to-day--or
before--the sooner, the better. Do not frighten him--do not tell him
that I have spoken to you about his condition.
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