tudy. It was very small and
as--out of regard for Dane and his rheums--the windows could not be
opened, the fiery Don Fare felt he should stifle, and said as much, in
his outspoken Lombard fashion. The others pretended not to have heard,
except Leyni who signed to him not to insist, and Giovanni, who opened
the door leading to the corridor, and the one beyond opening upon the
terrace. Dane at once perceived an odour of damp woods, and the doors
had to be closed again. An old petroleum lamp was burning on the
writing-desk. Professor Minucci, who had weak eyes, asked timidly for a
shade; which was looked for, found, and put in place. Don Paolo grumbled
under his breath: "This is an infirmary!" His friend Leyni, who also
thought these numerous petty cares should be set aside at such a moment,
experienced an unpleasant sensation of coldness. Giovanni experienced
the same sensation, but in a reflex manner, for he knew the impression
that those present, who were strangers to them, must receive of Dane and
perhaps also of Minucci. He himself knew them well. Dane, with all his
colds and his nerves and his sixty-two years, possessed, besides great
learning, an indomitable vigour of mind and a steadfast moral courage.
Andrea Minucci, in spite of his disordered fair hair, his spectacles,
and a certain awkwardness in his movements, which gave him the
appearance of a learned German, was a youthful and most ardent soul,
tried in the fire of life, not sparkling on the surface like the soul
of the Lombard, but enveloped in its own flame, severe, and, probably,
stronger.

Giovanni began speaking in a frank, open way. He thanked those present
for coming, and excused the absent ones, the monk and the priest, at the
same time expressing regret for their absence. He said that in any case
their adherence was insured, and he insisted upon the importance of
their adherence. He added, speaking louder and more slowly, and fixing
his eyes on the Abbe Marinier, that for the time being he deemed it
prudent not to divulge anything regarding either the meeting, or
any measures which might be adopted; and he begged all to consider
themselves bound in honour to silence. He then explained, rather more
fully than he had done at supper, the idea he had conceived, and the
object of the meeting,

"And now," he concluded, "let each one express his opinion."

A profound silence followed. The Abbe Marinier was about to speak when
Dane rose feebly to his fee