heard her aunt's voice calling to her hoarsely. She rose at once, and
went into the bedroom. The abbess's pale face was very thin and yellow
now, as it lay upon the white pillow; the coverlet was drawn up to her
chin, and a grimly carved black crucifix hung directly above her head.

"The doctor did not stay long to-day," she said, in a hollow tone.

"No, mother," answered the young nun. "He thinks you are doing very
well. He wishes you to eat a wing of roast chicken."

"If I could have a little salad," said the abbess. "Maria," she added
suddenly, "you are careful to keep your face covered when you are in the
next room, are you not?"

"Always."

"You generally do not raise your veil until you come into this room,
after the doctor is gone," said the elder lady.

"He went so soon, to-day," answered Maria Addolorata, with perfectly
innocent truth. "I stayed a moment in the parlour, thinking over his
directions, and I lifted my veil when I was alone. It is close to-day."

"Go into the garden, and walk a little," said the abbess. "It will do
you good. You are pale."

If she had felt even a faint uneasiness about her niece's conduct, it
was removed by the latter's manner.

CHAPTER VIII.

ONCE more Dalrymple was sitting over his supper at the table in the
vaulted room on the ground floor which Stefanone used as a wine shop. To
tell the truth, it was very superior to the ordinary wine shops of
Subiaco and had an exceptional reputation. The common people never came
there, because Stefanone did not sell his cheap wine at retail, but sent
it all to Rome, or took it thither himself for the sake of getting a
higher price for it. He always said that he did not keep an inn, and
perhaps as much on account of his relations with Gigetto's family, he
assumed as far as possible the position of a wine-dealer rather than
that of a wine-seller. The distinction, in Italian mountain towns, is
very marked.

"They can have a measure of the best, if they care to pay for it," he
said. "If they wish a mouthful of food, there is what there is. But I am
not the village host, and Nanna is not a wine-shop cook, to fry tripe
and peel onions for Titius and Caius."

The old Roman expression, denoting generally the average public,
survives still in polite society, and Stefanone had caught it from Sor
Tommaso.

Dalrymple was sitting as usual over his supper, by the light of the
triple-beaked brass lamp, his measure of wine beside him,