n-eyed and thought of them. There had come into his head an idea
that attracted him mightily and suited well with his nature, so oddly
mixed of strength and weakness, greatness and smallness, courage and
bravado, the idea of a means by which he might keep the world's applause
and his wife's fascinated interest, aye, and increase them too, till they
should be more intense than they had ever been. That would be a triumph,
played before admiring eyes. But what would be the price of it, and was
the price one that he would pay. It might be the biggest price a mortal
man can pay. So for a few days more Alexander Quisante lay and thought
about it.

Once old Miss Quisante came to see him, at his summons, not of her own
volunteering. Since the blow fell she had neither come nor written, and
May, with a sense of relief, had caught at the excuse for doing no more
than sending now and again a sick-room report. Aunt Maria looked old,
frail, and very yellow, as she made her way to a chair by her nephew's
bed. He turned to her with the smile of mockery so familiar to her eyes.

"You haven't been in any hurry to see me, Aunt Maria," said he.

"You've always sent for me when you wanted me before, Sandro, and I
supposed you would this time."

"May's kept you posted up? You know what those fools of doctors say?" The
old woman nodded. Quisante was smiling still. "I'm done then, eh?" he
asked.

Her hands were trembling, but her voice was hard and unsympathetic. "It
sounds like it," she said.

Quisante raised himself on his elbow.

"You'll see me out after all," said he, "if I'm not careful. That's what
it comes to." He gave a low laugh as Aunt Maria's lips moved but no words
came. He leant over a little nearer to her and asked, "Have you had any
talk with my wife about it?"

"No," said Aunt Maria. "Not a word, Sandro."

"Nothing to be said, eh? What does she think, though? Oh, you know!
You've got your wits about you. Don't take to considering my feelings at
this time of day."

Now the old woman smiled too.

"I'm sorry you're done for, Sandro," she said. "So's your wife, I'll be
bound."

"You both love me so much?" he sneered.

"We've always understood one another," said Aunt Maria.

"I tell you, I love my wife." Aunt Maria made no remark. "And you both
think I'm done for? Well, we'll see!"

Aunt Maria looked up with a gleam of new interest in her sharp eyes, so
like the eyes of the man on the bed. Quisante met her glance