. As he went through the
archway into the street, the recognition came to him. She was the
celebrated dancer, La Favorita.

CHAPTER XXV

"THY PEOPLE SHALL BE MY PEOPLE--"

The following morning, for the first time since his injury, Giovanni was
brought into the princess's sitting-room, and propped up on a sofa. As
occasionally happens in early spring, midsummer seemed to have arrived
in one day, and the windows stood wide open to the morning breeze.

Sitting in the full light of the windows, and close by Giovanni's couch,
Nina was making a necktie--a very smart one, of dull raspberry silk; but
she was knitting rather because the occupation steadied her nerves than
for any other reason, and the charmingly tranquil picture that she made
was very far from representing her feelings. She had never been less
happy or peaceful in her life.

The princess, within easy earshot, was busily writing at her desk. But
after a while, in answer to an appealing look from Giovanni, she left
the room. Nina felt no surprise either at Giovanni's appeal or at her
aunt's response. She knew very well what he would say, and she had long
been trying to make up her mind what her answer should be. Yet no sooner
had the _portieres_ closed than an unaccountable dread took possession
of her, and she had an overwhelming desire to escape.

She knitted industriously, her head bent, her eyes intent upon her
needles. For a while Giovanni lay back against the pillows, idly
watching her progress; then he raised himself on his unbandaged elbow
and leaned forward. Even this exertion revealed his weakness: an
increasing pallor overspread his transparent features, and he spoke as
sick people do--with difficulty and as though out of breath:
"Mademoiselle, you know--what I have in my heart--to say----"

"Don't, ah--please----" Nina sprang up and put out her hand in protest.

But he paid no heed. "Donna Nina," he implored, "will you do me the
honor to be my wife? _Carissima mia_--" she heard his voice as though
from afar, as he fell back against the pillow--"I love you! Even a
portion of how much I love you would fill a life!" He took her hand as
she stood beside him, and pressed it to his lips.

She felt how thin his hand was, and how it trembled. Her conscience
smote her--it was all because of her! And for a moment the answer that
he sought hung on the very tip of her tongue--hung, faltered--and then
raced down her throat again. Her hand drew aw