getting upon his legs. But Macomer was already pressing him into his
seat again, holding the old hand in both of his with an appearance of
much cordiality.

"I hope that Gianluca is no worse?" he said, with an interrogation that
expressed friendly interest.

"Better he is not," answered the Duca, sadly. "What would you? It is
passion. That is why I have come at this hour, and I have made my
excuses to the Signora Contessa for disturbing her."

"Excuses?" cried Gregorio, promptly. "We are delighted to see you, dear
friend!"

But as he spoke he turned a look of inquiry upon his wife, and she
answered by a scarcely perceptible sign of negation.

They had been taken by surprise, for they had not expected the Duca's
visit. Not heeding them, his heart full of his son, the old man
continued to speak, in short, almost tremulous sentences.

"It is certain that Gianluca is very ill," he said. "Taquisara has been
with him to-day, and Pietro Ghisleri--but Taquisara is his best friend.
You know Taquisara, do you not?"

"A Sicilian?" asked the countess, encouraging the old man to go on.

"Yes," said Macomer, answering for the Duca, for he was proud of his
genealogical knowledge, "The only son of the old Baron of Guardia. But
every one calls him Taquisara, though his father is dead. There is a