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A cheap lamp was burning upon
the table, but the apartment was unoccupied.
Olinto, in surprise, passed into the adjoining room, returning a moment
later, exclaiming--
"Armida must have gone out to get something. Or perhaps she is with the
people, a compositor and his wife, who live on the floor below. They are
very good to her. I'll go and find her. Accommodate yourself with a
chair, signore." And he drew the best chair forward for me, and dusted
it with his handkerchief.
I allowed him to go and fetch her, rather surprised that she should be
well enough to get about after all he had told me concerning her
illness. Yet consumption does not keep people in bed until its final
stages.
As I stood there, gazing round the room, I could not well distinguish
its furthermost corners, for the lamp bore a shade of green paste-board,
which threw a zone of light upon the table, and left the remainder of
the room in darkness. When, however, my eyes grew accustomed to the dim
light, I discerned that the place was dusty and somewhat disordered.


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