"Is there any danger?" Peter asked.

"Not the slightest. She must remain in bed, and take frequent

nourishment. Hot milk, and now and then beef-tea. I will send

some medicine. But the great things are nourishment and

warmth. I will call again to-morrow."

Gigi's wife came. She was a tall, stalwart, blackbrowed,

red-cheeked young woman, and her name (Gigi's eyes flashed

proudly, as he announced it) her name was Carolina Maddalena.

Peter had to be in and out of Marietta's room all day, to see.

that she took her beef-tea and milk and medicine regularly.

She dozed a good deal. When she was awake, she said her

rosary.

But next day she was manifestly worse.

"Yes--bronchitis, as I feared," said the doctor. "Danger? No

--none, if properly looked after. Add a little brandy to her

milk, and see that she has at least a small cupful every

half-hour. I think it would be easier for you if you had a

nurse. Someone should be with her at night. There is a Convent

of Mercy at Venzona. If you like, I will telephone for a

sister."

"Thank you very much. I hope you will," said Peter.

And that afternoon Sister Scholastica arrived, and established

herself in the sick-room. Sister Scholastica was young, pale,

serene, competent. But sometimes she had to send for Peter.

"She refuses to take her milk. Possibly she will take it from

you," the sister said.

Then Peter would assume a half-bluff (perhaps half-wheedling?)

tone of mastery.

"Come, Marietta! You must take your, milk. The Signorino

wishes it. You must not disobey the Signorino."

And Marietta, with a groan, would rouse herself, and take it,

Peter holding the cup to her lips.

On the third day, in the morning, Sister Scholastica said, "She

imagines that she is worse. I do not think so myself. But she

keeps repeating that she is going to die. She wishes to see a

priest. I think it would make her feel easier. Can you send

for the Parrocco? Please let him know that it is not an

occasion for the Sacraments. But it would do her good if he

would come and talk with her."

And the doctor, who arrived just then, having visited Marietta,

confirmed the sister's opinion.

"She is no worse--she is, if anything, rather better. Her

malady is taking its natural course. But people of her class

always fancy they are going to die, if they are ill enough to

stay in bed. It is the panic of ignorance. Yes, I think it

would do her good to see a priest. But there is not the

slightest occasion for the Sacraments."




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