count would return at once. They stood still, looking each at the other,
with very different expressions.

Bosio felt that, in his place, a strong, brave man would have done
something, would have stood up to deny the engagement, perhaps, or would
have left the room rather than accept the situation in submissive
silence, protesting in some way, though only Matilde should have
understood the protest. She, on her side, slowly nodded her approval of
his conduct, and in her dark eyes there was a yellow reflexion from the
predominating colour of the room; there was triumph and satisfaction,
and there was the threat of the woman who dominates the man and is sure
of doing with him as she pleases. Yet she was not so sure of herself as
she seemed, and wished to seem, for she dreaded Bosio's sense of honour,
which was not wholly dead.

"Do not deny it to Gregorio," she said, in a low tone, when she heard
her husband's footstep returning through the room beyond.

Old Macomer came back and closed the door behind him.

"What is this?" he asked, at once; but though his voice was hard, it was
trembling with the anticipation of a great victory. "Has Veronica
consented?"

"No one has spoken to her," answered Bosio, before Matilde could speak.

"As though that mattered!" cried the countess, with contempt. "There is
time for that!"

Gregorio's eyelids contracted with an expression of cunning.

"Oh!" he exclaimed thoughtfully, "I understand." He began to walk up and
down in the narrow space between the furniture of the small
sitting-room, bending his head between his high shoulders. "I see," he
repeated. "I understand. But if Veronica refuses? You have been rash,
Matilde."

"Veronica loves him," answered the countess. "And of course you know
that he loves her," she added, and her smooth lips smiled. "You need
not deny it before us, Bosio. You have loved her ever since she came
from the convent--"

"I?" Bosio's pale face reddened with anger.

"See how he blushes!" laughed Matilde. "As for Veronica, she will talk
to no one else. They are made for each other. She will die if she does
not marry Bosio soon."

The yellow reflexion danced in her eyes, as she fastened them upon her
brother-in-law's face, and he shuddered, remembering what she had said
before the Duca had come.

"If that is the case," said Macomer, "the sooner they are married, the
better. Save her life, Bosio! Save her life! Do not let her die of love
for you!"