When he
calls me I will come, as you shall direct me. I am strong. See, I am no
longer crying! Telegraph to Don Clemente that his disciple is dying, and
that he must come. Let us do all we can. It is late. Go now. You, in one
way or another, will see Piero to-night. Tell him----"
At this point a spasm of grief checked her words. Chieco came in,
whistling, and beating one hand against the other in his own peculiar
fashion, Selva slipped out through the door. Jeanne ran after him into
the dark corridor. She seized one of his hands and pressed a wild kiss
upon it.
* * * * *
A few hours later, towards ten o'clock, Jeanne was reading the Figaro to
Carlino, who was--buried in an easy-chair, his legs enveloped in a rug,
a large cup of milk, which he was holding with both hands, resting
upon his knee. Jeanne read so badly, was so heedless of commas and of
full-stops, that her brother was continually interrupting her, and was
growing impatient. She had been reading about five minutes when her maid
entered and announced that Signorina Noemi was there.
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