ti asked him what had happened, fearing the truth. Guido had felt
a little better in the afternoon and had asked for his letters and
papers. Half an hour later his servant had gone in with his tea and had
found him raving in delirium. That was all, but Lamberti knew what it
meant. Guido did not take the _Figaro_, but some one had sent the
article to him and he had read it. He had brain fever, and Lamberti was
not surprised, for he had suffered as much on that day as would have
killed some men, and might have driven some men mad.

Lamberti did not wish to frighten Cecilia or her mother, but he sent
them word that he would not leave Guido that night, nor till he was
better, and that he had seen the lawyer and had recovered a number of
forged papers.

After that there was nothing to be done but to watch and wait, and hear
the broken phrases that fell from the sick man's lips, now high, now
low, now laughing, now despairing, as if a host of mad spirits were
sporting with his helpless brain and body and mocking each other with
his voice.

So it went on, hour after hour, and all the next day, till his strength
seemed almost spent. Lamberti listened, because he could not help it
when he was in the room, and again and again Cecilia's name rang out,
and the first passionate words of speeches that ran into incoherent
sounds and were drowned in a groan.

Lamberti had nursed men who were ill and had seen them die in several
ways, but he had never taken care of one who was very near to him. It
was bad enough, but it was worse to know that he had an unwilling share
in causing his friend's suffering, and to feel that if Guido lived he
must some day be told that Lamberti had taken his place. It was
strangest of all to hear the name of the woman he loved so constantly on
another's lips. When the two men talked of her she had always been "the
Contessina," while she had been "Cecilia" in the hearts of both.

There was something in the thought of not having told Guido all before
the delirium seized him, that still offended Lamberti's scrupulous
loyalty. It would be almost horrible if Guido should die without knowing
the truth. Somehow, his consent still seemed needful to Lamberti's love,
and it seemed so to Cecilia, too, and there was no denying that he was
now in danger of his life. If he was to die, there would probably be a
lucid hour before death, but what right would his best friend have to
embitter those final moments for one wh