"Does he often have attacks like this?"

"That depends---- It's so irregular. Last summer, in Switzerland, he was
quite well; but the winter before, when we were in Vienna, it was awful.
He wouldn't let me come near him for days together. He hates to have me
about when he's ill."

She glanced up for a moment, and, dropping her eyes again, went on:

"He always used to send me off to a ball, or concert, or something, on
one pretext or another, when he felt it coming on. Then he would lock
himself into his room. I used to slip back and sit outside the door--he
would have been furious if he'd known. He'd let the dog come in if it
whined, but not me. He cares more for it, I think."

There was a curious, sullen defiance in her manner.

"Well, I hope it won't be so bad any more," said Martini kindly. "Dr.
Riccardo is taking the case seriously in hand. Perhaps he will be able
to make a permanent improvement. And, in any case, the treatment gives
relief at the moment. But you had better send to us at once, another
time. He would have suffered very much less if we had known of it
earlier. Good-night!"

He held out his hand, but she drew back with a quick gesture of refusal.

"I don't see why you want to shake hands with his mistress."

"As you like, of course," he began in embarrassment.

She stamped her foot on the ground. "I hate you!" she cried, turning on
him with eyes like glowing coals. "I hate you all! You come here talking
politics to him; and he lets you sit up the night with him and give him
things to stop the pain, and I daren't so much as peep at him through
the door! What is he to you? What right have you to come and steal him
away from me? I hate you! I hate you! I HATE you!"

She burst into a violent fit of sobbing, and, darting back into the
garden, slammed the gate in his face.

"Good Heavens!" said Martini to himself, as he walked down the lane.
"That girl is actually in love with him! Of all the extraordinary
things----"

CHAPTER VIII.

THE Gadfly's recovery was rapid. One afternoon in the following week
Riccardo found him lying on the sofa in a Turkish dressing-gown,
chatting with Martini and Galli. He even talked about going downstairs;
but Riccardo merely laughed at the suggestion and asked whether he would
like a tramp across the valley to Fiesole to start with.

"You might go and call on the Grassinis for a change," he added
wickedly. "I'm sure madame would be delighted to see you,