led
out of his room, already under ether, she went and stood before the
window, pressing down her clasped hands upon the marble sill with all
her might, and resting her forehead against the green slats of the
blind. She did not move from this position while the nurse made
Marcello's bed ready to receive him on his return. It was long to wait.
The great clock in the square struck eleven some time after he had been
taken away, then the quarter, then half-past.

Regina felt the blood slowly sinking to her heart. She would have given
anything to move now, but she could not stir hand or foot; she was cold,
yet somehow she could not even shiver; that would have been a relief;
any motion, any shock, any violent pain would have been a thousand times
better than the marble stillness that was like a spell.

Far away on the Janiculum Folco Corbario sat in his splendid library
alone, with strained eyes, waiting for the call of the telephone that
stood on the polished table at his elbow. He, too, was motionless, and
longed for release as he had never thought he could long for anything. A
still unlighted cigar was almost bitten through by his sharp front
teeth; every faculty was tense; and yet it was as if his brain had
stopped thinking at the point where expectation had begun. He could not
think now, he could only suffer. If the operation were successful there
would be more suffering, doubt still more torturing, suspense more
agonising still.

The great clock over the stables struck eleven, then the quarter, then
half-past. The familiar chimes floated in through the open windows.

A wild hope came with the sound. Marcello, weak as he was, had died
under ether, and that was the end. Corbario trembled from head to foot.
The clock struck the third quarter, but no other sound broke the
stillness of the near noon-tide. Yes, Marcello must be dead.

Suddenly, in the silence, came the sharp buzz of the instrument. He
leapt in his seat as if something had struck him unawares, and then,
instantly controlling himself, he grasped the receiver and held it to
his ear.

"Signor Corbario?" came the question.

"Yes, himself."

"The hospital. The operation has been successful. Do you hear?"

"Yes. Go on."

"The patient has come to himself. He remembers everything."

"Everything!" Corbario's voice shook.

"He is Marcello Consalvi. He asks for his mother, and for you."

"How--in what way does he ask for me? Will my presence do him good-