studs, to keep
them safe, he said. Regina knew what that meant, but Paoluccio had
ordered her to take care of him, and she had done her best. Paoluccio
felt that if the boy died it would be the will of heaven, and that he
probably would not live long with such care and such nourishment as he
would get up there in the attic. When he was dead, it would be time
enough to tell the carabineers who passed the house twice every
twenty-four hours on their beat; they would see that a sick boy had been
taken in, and that he had died of the fever, and as they need never know
how long he had been in the inn, the whole affair would redound to
Paoluccio's credit with them and with customers. But as long as he was
alive it was quite unnecessary that any one should know of his
existence, especially as the watch and chain had been converted into
money, and the money into a fine young cow. That Marcello could get well
on bread and water never entered Paoluccio's head.

But he had counted without Regina; that is to say that he had overlooked
the love and devotion of an intensely vital creature, younger, quicker,
and far cleverer that he, who would watch the sick boy day and night,
steal food and wine for him, lose sleep for him, risk blows for him, and
breathe her strong life into his weak body; to whom the joy of saving
him from death would be so much greater than all fatigue, that there
would be no shadow under her eyes, no pallor in her cheek, no weariness
in her elastic gait to tell of sleepless nights spent by his bedside in
soothing his ravings, or in listening for the beat of his heart when he
lay still and exhausted, his tired head resting on her strong white arm.
And when he seemed better and at ease she often fell asleep beside him,
half sitting, half lying, on the pallet bed, her cheek on the straw
pillow, her breath mingling with his in the dark.

He was better now, and she felt the returning life in him, almost before
he was sure of it himself; and while her heart was almost bursting with
happiness, so that she smiled to herself throughout her rough work all
day long, she knew that he could not stay where he was. Paoluccio
expected him to die, and was beginning to be tired of waiting, and so
was Nanna. If he recovered, he would ask for his watch and other things;
he was evidently a fine young gentleman to whom some strange accident
had happened, and he must have friends somewhere. Half delirious, he had
spoken of them and o