She knew also, for
Noemi had told her so, that Piero was feverish. She determined to
send her carriage to wait for him at the door of the Ministry of the
Interior, with the footman who had known Maironi at Villa Diedo. It was
imprudent, but what did it matter? Nothing mattered save that dear life.
The announcement of the death of Marchesa Nene had reached her that very
evening by the last post. She wished Piero to have it immediately, that
he might at once pray for the poor dead woman. It was strange, but
nevertheless true, that she could merge herself in him, forget herself,
her own incredulity, could feel that which he with his faith must feel
and desire. That same night the footman gave her an account of his
errand. He described Maironi as a ghost, a corpse. She was in
despair. She knew of the conflict between Professor Mayda and his
daughter-in-law, knew the Professor was often called away from Rome; she
considered him a great surgeon, but not a great doctor; she believed
that daring these absences the young lady would take no care of the sick
man, would show him no attentions.
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