ened it. The man servant was just coming towards it followed by
the doctor.

The latter found Guido worse than when he had seen him in the morning.
He said it was what he had expected, a sharp attack of influenza, and
that Guido must not think of leaving his bed till the fever had
disappeared. He dilated a little upon the probable consequences of any
exposure to the outer air, even in summer. No one could ever tell what
the influenza might leave behind it, and it was much safer to be
patient.

"You see," said Guido to Lamberti, when the physician was gone. "It will
be quite impossible for me to go out to-morrow, or for several days."

"Quite," Lamberti answered, looking for his straw hat.

CHAPTER XX

Lamberti dined at home that evening, and soon after nine o'clock he was
on his way to the Palazzo Massimo. Though the evening was hot and close
he walked there, for it was easier to think on his feet than leaning
back in a cab. His normal condition was one of action and not of
reflection.

His thoughts also took an active dramatic shape. He did not try to bind
future events together in a connected sequence leading to a result; on
the contrary, he seemed to hear the very words he would soon be
speaking, and Cecilia Palladio's answers to them; he saw her face and
noted her expression, and the interview grew violent by degrees till he
felt the inward coolness stealing through him which he had often known
in fight.

He had written a note to Countess Fortiguerra which he had left at her
door on his way home. He had explained that Guido, being too ill to
move, had begged him to speak to the Contessina, and he expressed the
hope that he might be allowed to see the young lady for a few minutes
alone that evening, in the capacity of the sick man's representative and
trusted friend.

Such a request could hardly be refused, and the Countess had always felt
that Lamberti was one of those exceptional men in whom one may safely
believe, even without knowing them well. She said that Cecilia had
better see him when he came. She herself had letters to write and would
sit in the boudoir.

It was the last thing Cecilia had expected, and the mere thought was
like breaking the promise she had made to herself, never to see Lamberti
again; yet she realised that it was impossible to avoid the meeting. The
course she had taken was so extraordinary that she felt bound to give
Guido a chance to answ