r he met his steward who was just coming in. The steward
greeted him, and carried a large basket of fruit into the kitchen, and,
having helped the maid put it away, he seated himself by the fire, and
said placidly:

"Signora Teresa of Castello has just passed away."

CHAPTER VI

THE OLD LADY OF MARBLE

The door was opened a little way, very, very softly; the maid looked in,
and called to Franco, who was absorbed in prayer, kneeling by a chair
near the couch upon which the dead woman lay. Franco did not hear, and
it was Luisa who rose. She went to listen to the woman's whispered
request, said something in reply, and when the maid had withdrawn, stood
waiting for some one. As no one appeared she pushed the door open and
said aloud: "Come in, come in." A great sob answered her. Luisa
stretched out both hands and Professor Gilardoni seized them. They stood
some time thus, motionless, fighting their sorrow with tightly pressed
lips, he more shaken than she. Luisa was the first to move. She gently
withdrew one hand, and, with the other, led the Professor into the
chamber of death.

Signora Teresa had passed away in the drawing-room in the armchair from
which she had never been able to rise after the night of the wedding.
They had made the sofa into a funeral couch, and laid her out upon it.
The sweet face rested there on the pillow, showing waxen in the light of
the four candles, the lips were slightly parted, and it was as if a
smile shone through the closed eyelids. The couch and the clothes were
strewn with autumn flowers; cyclamen, dahlias and chrysanthemums. "See
how beautiful she is," said Luisa, in a tender, quiet tone that went to
the heart. The Professor stood leaning upon a chair at some distance
from the bed.

"Do you realise it, Mamma," Luisa said softly, "how much you are
beloved?"

She knelt down, and taking one of the dead hands, began kissing it,
caressing it, and murmuring sweet words over it in a low voice; then she
was silent, and, replacing the hand, she rose, kissed the brow and
contemplated the face with clasped hands. She recalled her mother's
reproofs in past years, remembering every one since her childhood, for
she had always felt them deeply. Once more she fell upon her knees, and
pressed her lips to the icy hand with an impulse of affection more
ardent than if she had been dwelling upon past caresses. Then taking a
cyclamen from her mother's shoulder, she rose and offered it to the