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Updated: June 1, 2025
It had been one thing to praise Gianluca to her, and to press his suit for him; it was quite another to lie in wait for her, as it were, at the end of a drawing-room and to reproach her brutally and angrily with wishing to break Gianluca's heart. As she thought of his eyes, and his face, and his low voice, she grew pale with anger herself, at the mere memory of his insolence.
Veronica remained silent, scarcely conscious of his presence, leaning back in her chair, with folded hands and sorrowful eyes. The thought that Gianluca was to die was becoming more and more unceasingly painful, day by day.
But she did not ask herself questions, for she had never had the smallest inclination to analysis or introspection. It was as clear to her as ever that she did not love Gianluca in the least, but that she should find it hard to be happy without him. She had been nearer to loving poor Bosio than Gianluca, though the truth was that she had never loved any one yet.
He looked occasionally at one or another of the party, and once or twice his eyes fixed themselves on Veronica's face. She could not understand why his presence chilled her, but she was aware that she spoke more coldly than usual to Gianluca. At the end of half an hour, the latter rose to go, glancing at Veronica as he did so.
But neither she nor her husband knew that the doctors despaired of his life. The truth had been kept from them, and Taquisara had extracted it from one of the physicians with considerable difficulty, having more than half guessed it during the past two months. At the mere suggestion of going to Muro, Gianluca had revived, reading Veronica's letter alone to himself in his room.
You must not expect much of me but what little there is to expect will be practical. Perhaps Ghisleri could advise you better than I. He is a queer fellow. If he ever cuts his throat, he will not die of it his heart and his head will go on living separately, just as they do now." Gianluca smiled again, for the description of the man was keen and true, as men knew him.
You have no idea how young girls feel about marriage, Bosio. How should you? You cannot comprehend the horror a girl like Veronica feels of a stranger, of a man like Gianluca, even, whom she has met half a dozen times and talked with. It seems so dreadful to think of spending a lifetime with a man about whom she knows nothing, or next to nothing.
"It is true," he added, "that things look easy to me here, which would be utterly impossible in Palermo. We are different with our women and we are different when we love. Thank Heaven, for the present I am as I am." He smiled and relit his cigar, which had gone out. "No," said Gianluca. "You have never been in love, I think."
"Do you think that I would marry any one under pressure?" asked Veronica, with a soft laugh. "I will tell you something that will convince you. It is a secret. You must not tell my aunt that I know. I could have married Don Gianluca della Spina. Perhaps you know that. Did you? I did; but I will not tell you how. Only, you see I did not care for him."
They do say that it rains a good deal in those mountains well, when it rains, you can write to Signor Ghisleri, while I write to Don Gianluca." Her innocent laughter at the idea startled Bianca, and the beautiful face grew paler, until it was almost wan. Veronica thought she was like a passion flower, just then. A short silence followed.
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