nderstood at last that he was in the private hospital of the
White Sisters, badly injured but alive, it was too late to think of
sending an officer to make inquiries in person. On the other hand, six
o'clock in the morning is not too early for most modern sovereigns,
general officers, and members of the really hard-working professions,
among which literature is sometimes included. In half-an-hour
Giovanni's little report had been read, copied, telephoned, and
telegraphed, and in less than half-an-hour more a magnificent
personage in the uniform of a colonel of cavalry on the General Staff,
accompanied by a less gorgeous but extremely smart subaltern, stopped
at the door of the Convent hospital in a Court carriage. He came to
ask after Captain Severi on behalf of the Sovereign, and to ascertain
whether he could perhaps be seen during the morning. He was told that
this must depend on the surgeon's decision; he expressed his thanks to
the portress with extreme civility and drove away again. Before long
other officers came to make similar inquiries, in various uniforms and
in slightly varying degrees of smartness, from the representative of
the War Office and the Commander-in-Chief's aide-de-camp to
unpretending subalterns in undress uniform, who were on more or less
friendly terms with Giovanni and were suddenly very proud of it, since
he had become a hero.

Then came the reporters and besieged the door for news--an untidy lot
of men at that hour, unshaven, hastily dressed, and very sorry for
themselves because they had been beaten up by their respective papers
so early in the morning. They were also extremely disappointed because
the portress had no story to tell and would not hear of letting them
in; and they variously described her afterwards as Cerberus, Argus,
and the Angel of the Flaming Sword, which things agree not well
together. The portress had a busy morning, even after Doctor Pieri had
come and had written out a bulletin which she could show to all comers
as an official statement of the injured man's condition.

The great surgeon and the Mother Superior sat on opposite sides of his
bed, and now that the sun had risen high the blinds were half drawn
together and hooked in the old-fashioned Roman way, to keep out some
of the light, while the glass was left open. A broad stripe of
sunshine fell across the counterpane below Giovanni's knees, and a
sharp twittering and a rushing of wings broke the stillness every f