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It had been different on that day, now long ago, when he had first spoken for Gianluca in the garden. He had not loved her then. She had been no more to him than any other woman. But even on that day, when he had left her, he had half guessed that he might love her if opportunity gave possibility the right of way. He had guessed it, and even to guess it was to fear it, for Gianluca's sake.
Bosio said nothing, but turned from her and moved towards a table covered with books. In an objectless way he opened a volume and looked at the title page. Matilde followed him with her eyes. "Well?" she said presently, "I am waiting. What did Taquisara have to say? He is Gianluca's friend he came with a message. That is clear. What did he say? I am waiting to hear."
In spite of the strong impression he had produced upon her when they had met in the garden three or four weeks earlier, she now looked away from him, watching the other two as they talked. She saw at a glance that Gianluca's manner with Bianca was not at all what it was with herself.
Even Taquisara thought substantially as they did, and he was a man singularly regardless of conventions. It was true that he was almost as ignorant of the state of affairs as Gianluca's father and mother. After the first exchange of letters Gianluca had grown suddenly reticent.
It was for love of her that once or twice, when she took his hand in greeting, it was icy cold not like Gianluca's, half dead, and dull, and chilly, and very thin but cold from the heart, as it were, and more wildly living than if it had burned like fire; trembling, and not in weakness, with something that caught her own fingers and ran like lightning to the very core and quick of her soul, hurting it overmuch with its bolt of joy and fear.
But Don Teodoro sighed softly when he had spoken, for he thought of Taquisara and of what that brave and silent man would suffer when he was forced to stand by Gianluca's side and see the rings exchanged and the hands joined, and hear the words spoken which must cut him off forever from all hope.
He never spoke of himself, and she did not afterwards remember that he had made any very brilliant observation; and yet, when dinner was over, she wished to hear him talk more, just as she had once longed to hear him say again the things he had said to her for Gianluca's sake in Bianca's garden.
Seasoning about it with herself, she took an imaginary case. Suppose, she thought, that she had begun to be Taquisara's friend, instead of Gianluca's, on that day in Bianca's garden. Her mind worked quickly.
She sent her saddle horse and two pairs of strong cobs with two country carriages and a coachman a very young man, who had served in Gianluca's regiment and had been his man. He was to find a man in Muro to help him in the stables, and he was the only servant, not a native, whom she meant to employ. Don Teodoro had kept ten people at work for a month in cleaning the vast old place.
Of course it was still in his power to answer in one way or the other, though he was yet undecided. But he honestly could not bring himself to say that he would marry Veronica, and yet, if he denied that he was betrothed to her, he must put his brother and Matilde in the position of having told a deliberate lie to Gianluca's father.
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