There is something of habit in all hope that has been with us long, and
the habits we notice the least are sometimes the hardest of all to
break.
When Veronica said that Gianluca would yet stand up and walk, no one
contradicted her, except the doctors, and she had no faith in them.
They came and went. The great professor came three times from Naples and
saw the patient, ate his dinner, slept soundly, and went away assuring
Veronica that it was useless to send for him unless some great change
took place. To please her, he recommended a little electricity, baths,
light treatment such as could give little trouble, and he carefully
instructed the young doctor of Muro in all he was to do. When he had
finished, and the young man had promised to do everything regularly,
they looked at each other, smiled sadly, but professionally, and parted
with mutual good will and understanding, both knowing that the case was
now perfectly hopeless. Their coming and going made little intervals in
the tragic play of life, but never broke its continuity.
The old Duca appeared again, and slipped quietly into his place, as
before. But at the end of a week there was an unexpected flaring-up of
energy, as it were, in his docile and affectionate being. When he and
his wife and Veronica were with Gianluca, he suddenly declared that the
situation must end, and that they must all go down to Naples. Veronica
should send for the syndic, and have the legal marriage at once, and
then they would all go down together.
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