Again, as in the early days, he avoided Veronica when he could do so,
without attracting Gianluca's attention, and Veronica herself kept out
of his way as much as she could. Without words they had a tacit
understanding that they would never be left alone together, even for an
instant.

One day, by chance, going in opposite directions through the house, they
opened opposite doors of the same room and faced each other
unexpectedly. For a single instant both paused, and then came forward to
pass each other. Veronica held her head high and looked straight before
her, for they had met already on that day, and there was no reason why
she should speak to him. But Taquisara could not help looking into her
face, and he saw how hard it tried to be and yet how, in spite of
herself, it softened almost before she had passed him. He turned and
glanced at her retreating figure, and her head was bent low, and her
right hand, hanging by her side, opened and shut twice convulsively, in
his sight.

He had not dared to suggest to himself until then that she might
possibly love him, but in the flash of that quick passing he almost knew
it. Then, before he had closed the door behind him and entered the next
room, the knowledge was gone, and he cursed himself for the thought, as
though it had been an insult to her. If he should have to pass her alone
again, he would rather cut off his right hand than turn and look at her.
But that one moment, past and gone, had life in it to torment him night
and day.

Gianluca was no better, and no worse. He wheeled himself about the great
rooms, and on fine mornings Veronica took him to drive. She read to him,
played besique with him, fenced with Taquisara to amuse him; she devoted
herself to him in every way; but as day followed day, she invented all
sorts of occupations and games which should take the place of
conversation. Anything was better than talking with him, now; anything
was better than to hear him say that he loved her, expecting her to
pronounce the words.

He himself lost heart suddenly.

"I shall never walk again," he said, one afternoon, as they sat together
in the big room.

The days were very short, for it was mid-December, and the lamps had
been brought. They had been out in the carriage, and when Taquisara had
lifted him from his seat, he had made a desperate attempt to move his
legs, a sudden effort into which he had thrown all the concentrated
hope and will that were still in