d out of temper; and when, at
the group meeting, Dr. Riccardo asked, "Isn't Rivarez here?" he answered
rather sulkily: "No; he seems to have got something more interesting on
hand, and can't come, or doesn't want to."

"Really, Martini," said Galli irritably, "you are about the most
prejudiced person in Florence. Once you object to a man, everything he
does is wrong. How could Rivarez come when he's ill?"

"Who told you he was ill?"

"Didn't you know? He's been laid up for the last four days."

"What's the matter with him?"

"I don't know. He had to put off an appointment with me on Thursday on
account of illness; and last night, when I went round, I heard that he
was too ill to see anyone. I thought Riccardo would be looking after
him."

"I knew nothing about it. I'll go round to-night and see if he wants
anything."

The next morning Riccardo, looking very pale and tired, came into
Gemma's little study. She was sitting at the table, reading out
monotonous strings of figures to Martini, who, with a magnifying glass
in one hand and a finely pointed pencil in the other, was making
tiny marks in the pages of a book. She made with one hand a gesture
requesting silence. Riccardo, knowing that a person who is writing in
cipher must not be interrupted, sat down on the sofa behind her and
yawned like a man who can hardly keep awake.

"2, 4; 3, 7; 6, 1; 3, 5; 4, 1;" Gemma's voice went on with machine-like
evenness. "8, 4; 7, 2; 5, 1; that finishes the sentence, Cesare."

She stuck a pin into the paper to mark the exact place, and turned
round.

"Good-morning, doctor; how fagged you look! Are you well?"

"Oh, I'm well enough--only tired out. I've had an awful night with
Rivarez."

"With Rivarez?"

"Yes; I've been up with him all night, and now I must go off to my
hospital patients. I just came round to know whether you can think of
anyone that could look after him a bit for the next few days. He's in a
devil of a state. I'll do my best, of course; but I really haven't the
time; and he won't hear of my sending in a nurse."

"What is the matter with him?"

"Well, rather a complication of things. First of all----"

"First of all, have you had any breakfast?"

"Yes, thank you. About Rivarez--no doubt, it's complicated with a lot of
nerve trouble; but the main cause of disturbance is an old injury
that seems to have been disgracefully neglected. Altogether, he's in
a frightfully knocked-about state; I suppose it