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Updated: June 15, 2025
There was more of living humanity in the fast fainting echo of Bosio's last words to her than in Gianluca's clear, sweet tones.
There is a story which says that they are descended from Tancred." "It may be," said the old Duca. "There are so many legends but he is Gianluca's best friend, and he comes to see him every day. The boy is ill very ill." He shook his head, and bent it almost to his breast. "He wastes away, and I do not know what to do for him."
From day to day the family had been on the point of moving to Avellino, and the departure had been put off because Gianluca's condition seemed altogether too precarious. It would be an even more serious matter to convey him safely to Muro; and between her extreme anxiety for his health, and her wish that he might be able to go, the Duchessa was almost distracted.
There was the reaction, too, after the strong emotion and the heart-rending anxiety, the relaxation of mind and nerve, and the willingness to be happy again after so much strain and stress. As Gianluca's general health improved, the Duca and Duchessa began to speak of an early departure for their own place near Avellino.
The things were brought, the tables and chairs were moved away, Taquisara drew Gianluca's big easy-chair, with him in it, towards the window, and Veronica put on her leathern jacket and glove, and stood holding her mask in her hand, as she bent over the foils looking for her favourite one. She found it, and came forward, carrying both mask and foil, while Taquisara got ready.
She would miss Gianluca's letters far more than Bosio, if they should suddenly stop, and the mere thought that the correspondence might be broken off gave her a sharp little pain.
Veronica made a slight effort of instinct, to loose his hold and to take the hand that had fallen from hers. But it was only instinctive and hardly conscious at all. Her eyes were on Gianluca's face, and the blackness of a vast grief already darkened her soul. There was but an instant. The tall old priest, with eyes lifted heavenwards, neither saw nor heard.
There was a sort of undefined restraint from time to time, together with the certainty that they would write what they really meant, within a day or two, and understand each other far better than by spoken words. In Gianluca's case such a condition of things was natural enough.
After expressing her cordial thanks for the invitation, she went on to say that besides the pleasure it would give her and her son to spend a few days under Veronica's hospitable roof, she was too well acquainted by hearsay with the splendid climate and situation of Muro to refuse an offer, by accepting which she might contribute much to Gianluca's recovery, and she went on to speak of the high mountain air and the sunshine of the Basilicata.
He remembered, too, that the Duca had spoken of him as Gianluca's friend, and in the terrible position in which Bosio himself was placed, it seemed to him possible that one of Gianluca's friends might help him, how, he had not the power of concentrating his mind enough to guess, and he ordered the servant to admit him. Bosio had not slept that night.
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