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The worst of the case was that Squarci had been an accomplice from the beginning, and had doubtless enriched himself while Macomer had lost everything. In the event of a suit brought by the ward against the guardians, it would be in Squarci's power to turn evidence in favour of Veronica, and expose the whole enormous theft; and it would be like him to keep on the side of wealth against ruin.
On that same night, when Veronica had gone to her room, Bosio Macomer remained alone with the countess in the small drawing-room in which the family generally spent the evening. Gregorio was presumably in his study, busy with his perpetual accounts or otherwise occupied.
It might have been a quarter of an hour or more; but though he watched the clock's face, his eyes saw no movement of the hands upon the dial. It seemed to him that the room was dark. Then the door opened again, and he started and looked round, fearing lest Veronica might have come back or her ghost, for he felt as though he had killed her with his hands. But it was Matilde Macomer.
It all passed through his hands, and he managed everything, with the assistance of Lamberto Squarci the notary and of other men of business mostly shabby-looking men in black, with spectacles and unhealthy complexions, who came and went in the morning when old Macomer was in his study attending to affairs. Veronica knew none but Squarci by name, and never spoke with any of them.
And the countess? Is she wholly disinterested? Has she been disappointed by the marriage she made, or not? She was born a Serra, like yourself, and she married Macomer in the days of the old court, when he was a favourite with the old king and had a brilliant position, and people said that he might be one of the first men in the kingdom.
Her voice was firm and clear, for the die was cast. When she had spoken, she turned from them both towards the fireplace, and hid her face in her hands. If he could act his madness out, she, at least, would still be free and alive. Veronica stood still a moment longer, looking back. "That is the other piece," said Macomer, thoughtfully. "Pulcinella does not go mad in this one.
Bosio had entered the main apartments in order to inquire for Veronica, had passed through the long outer hall with its red walls, its matted floor and its great table covered with green baize, to the antechamber within, where, with some ostentation, as Bosio had always thought, Gregorio had hung up the escutcheon with the quartered arms of Macomer and Serra, flanked by half a dozen big old family portraits on either side, opposite the three windows.
For the hard-working country parish priest came yearly to Naples for a few days before Christmas, as he had said, and the first visit he made, after depositing his slender luggage at the house of the ecclesiastic with whom he always stopped, was to Bosio Macomer, his old pupil. In his loneliness, that morning, Bosio had thought of Don Teodoro and had wished to see him.
Suddenly, as they were speaking together, Veronica's face changed, and she grasped the corner of the piece of furniture convulsively. Though she had taken the poisoned lump from her cup in time to save her life, enough had been dissolved already to make her very ill. Again there was dire confusion and fear in the Palazzo Macomer, by night. It was a wholesale poisoning.
"They want me to marry Bosio," she said, and then drew breath, holding both of Bianca's hands and looking into her eyes. "You? Marry Bosio Macomer? Oh! no Veronica no!" Bianca's voice expressed the greatest apprehension, for Veronica was almost her only intimate friend. Veronica seemed surprised. "Why not?" she asked. "That is, if I wished to. Why do you speak in that way?
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