.
And Hope, that is ever last to leave a breaking heart, nestled back into
her own sweet place, breathing soft things of love, and life, and golden
years to be.

"Thank you," he said. "I should not have asked you. It was kind to
answer."

They did not speak again, and presently the door opened. The old Duca
held it back with a stately bow, and the Duchessa swept into the room
with that sort of uncertain swaying motion, which is all that weakness
leaves of grace. And the Duca shuffled in after her, and closed the door
most precisely, for he was a precise old man.

"I thought it was time for tea, my dear," said the Duchessa. "We have
had such a good sleep!"

CHAPTER XXIV.

Though Gianluca had seemed to gain strength during the first week of his
stay at Muro, he appeared to lose it even more rapidly after that
memorable afternoon. It was not that he lost heart and control of
courage; on the contrary, he spoke all at once more hopefully, and grew
most particular in the carrying out of each detail of the day, precisely
in the manner prescribed by the doctors. He forced himself to eat, he
did his best to sleep a certain number of hours, he made Taquisara carry
him out into the air and back again at fixed times, in order that the
extreme regularity of his life might help his recovery if possible. But
all this was of no use. It had seemed inconceivable that he should grow
more thin, and yet his face and throat and hands shrunk day by day. He
could not use his legs at all, now, and he told no one that he had
hardly any sensation in them.

The Duchessa prayed for her son, always in her own room and sometimes in
the church, whither she went often alone in the afternoon, and sometimes
accompanied by her husband. She even curtailed her daily siesta in order
to have more time for prayer. No doubt, she would have given anything
in the world for Gianluca, but she had very little else to give, beyond
that sacrifice, which did not seem small or laughable to her. The Duca
said little, but often shook his head, unexpectedly, and his weak eyes
were watery. He sometimes walked twenty-five times round the top of the
big lower bastion, under the vines that grew upon the trellis over it,
before the midday breakfast, while the Duchessa was at her devotions. At
every round, when he came to the point fronting the valley he paused a
moment and repeated very much the same words each time.

"My poor son! My poor Gianluca!" he said, a