Siena
while--while I am still here. But if those people in the Piazza
Tolomei are unkind--"

She came back then and sat down beside him. "I do not want to leave
Siena," she said gently.

"Thank you," he answered, and added: "It will not be for long. Why
should I pretend to you?" he went on. "I have suffered, but now I have
no pain at all, only I am very weak. Look!"

He held up his hand; it was yellowish white and so thin as to be
almost transparent, and it seemed to Olive to be most pathetic because
it was not very small or very finely made. It held the broken promise
of power, she thought sorrowfully, and she stroked the outstretched
palm gently as though it were a half-frozen bird that she would bring
to life again.

He closed his eyes, smiling. "Ah, your little fingers are soft and
warm."

"You were at the theatre last night," he said presently. "Fausto saw
you. How do you like your cousin's _fidanzato_?"

"Not at all."

"Olive, do you know that they say strange things about the Odalisque?
I am afraid there will be trouble if her Lucchese hears--"

"I do not care to hear that nickname," she said coldly. "It is
impertinent and absurd."

"Oh, do not let go of my hand," he implored. "Keep on stroking it. I
love it! I love it! If I were a cat you would hear me purring. Tell me
about England and Shakespeare and Shelley. Anything. I will be good."

"I--I have not brought the book I promised you. I would have fetched
it on my way here, but--but I had not the key. I am sorry, _nino_.
Yes, let us talk of nice things."

She was quick to relent, and soon seemed to be herself again, and he
kept his fever-bright eyes on her, watching her as in the old days men
may have watched the stars as they waited for the dawn that was to see
them pass by the Vicolo dei Moribondi.

Soon, very soon, Signora Aurelia would come out to them, and she would
stay beside her son while Olive went to put on her hat, and then they
would say "_Addio_" and leave him. And perhaps he would indeed go to
God, or to some place where he would see the dear ones no more. The
boy's beautiful lips were shut close, but the grey eyes darkened and
dilated painfully.

"Astorre! Are you ill? Do not look so. Oh, I will not go to the
Palio. I will stay with you."

"No, you must go, and to-morrow you can tell me all about it. But will
you kiss me now? Do."

"You need not ask twice, dear Astorre," she whispered, as she leant
over him and touched his