left the room, crossed the hall and went down into the garden.

It was raining so hard, the sky, still rent from time to time by
lightning, was so dark, that although it was not yet seven o'clock, on
that February evening it seemed almost like night. Just as she was, with
bare head, Jeanne went out into the cold and streaming rain. Without
hastening her steps, she took, not the avenue of orange-trees on the
right, but the path which, on the left, leads downwards, between two
rows of great agaves, to a little grove of laurels, cypresses and
olives, to which roses cling. She passed the great pine that looks
towards the Crelian and winding down, on the right by a long curve of
paths, she reached the spring which an ancient sarcophagus receives
on the steep slope, within a belt of myrtles, a few steps below the
gardener's little house. Here she stopped. A window in the little house
was lit up; surely that was Piero's window. A shadow flitted across
it--perhaps that was Noemi! Jeanne sat down on the marble rim of the
basin. Would it be possible to drown in that? Would she try to die,
if it were not for Carlino? Vain speculations! She did not linger over
them. She waited, and waited in the cold rain, her eyes and her soul
fixed on the lighted window. Other shadows passed. Were they going now?
Yes, perhaps Maria and Noemi were going, but they would not leave Piero
alone. Mayda would be there; the Benedictine and the sister would be
there. Well, at least, she would try. A hurried footstep in the avenue
of orange-trees; some one was going towards the gardener's house.
Jeanne, who had risen, sat down again. Now the unknown person
entered. More shadows at the window. Two people came out, in animated
conversation--the voices of the Professor and of Giovanni Selva. They
seemed to be speaking of some one who had come for news. Others came
out. The water from the eaves dripped on their umbrellas. It must be
Maria and Noemi. Jeanne once more rose, and started forward.

She crossed the threshold of the little house, and saw people in the
gardener's kitchen. She asked a girl to go up-stairs and see who was
with the sick man. The girl hesitated, demurred at first, but finally
went, and came down again immediately. The priest and the sister were in
the room. Jeanne asked for a piece of paper, a pencil, and a light. She
began to write.

"Padre--I appeal--" She stopped and listened. Someone was coming down
the wooden stair. A man's step,