"She is a friend of Ragna's, I can see that," said Ingeborg, folding and unfolding the letter, "and I am sure that if she can help her she will. As for the rest, the reasons for this marriage, perhaps Ragna does not wish her to speak of them, or else she is too good a friend to pry and spy. I like her, I wish I could have a talk with her."
As time went on, the Valentinis became rather pinched for means. Shortly after the birth of Ragna's son, whom they called "Egidio," they removed to a smaller and cheaper apartment on the other side of the river. Carolina, whose baby had been born a month before her mistress's, served as balia and so avoided the expense of a professional wet-nurse, for Ragna's health was at this time too delicate and her recovery too slow, to permit of her nursing the child herself. The long strain had told on her severely, and for some time she was obliged to spend most of the day in her rattan reclining-chair. She welcomed this weakness—it was good just to lie there set apart from the everyday worries, and to let life slip past unresistingly. Egidio, to be just to him, was kind to her at this period, bringing her flowers and fruit and any little dainty he could afford. Her pale face and listless hands appealed to him, also he had a sort of vicarious pride in the plump sturdy child, and graciously accepted as his due the compliments that such of his friends as were admitted to his intimacy, lavished on his first born. As he had always been of a secretive nature as to his own affairs, the sudden appearance on the scene of a wife and child, surprised no one particularly,—the only wonder was that after keeping his marriage secret so long, he should have divulged it at all,—but again the birth of a son explained that.
Virginia often came to sit with Ragna during these days of languor, and the girl welcomed her as she never had before. Virginia was touched by the affectionate warmth of Ragna's manner towards her and during these visits her busy fingers fashioned many little garments for the baby. He was fair, like his mother, round and rosy, with great blue eyes, and from the first moment they had laid him in her arms she had loved him with a fierce tenderness that was almost aggressive in its intensity. She looked to the child for compensation for all she had been through. Virginia often observed the change in the young mother's expression, when Carolina left the baby with her; all the languor, all the listlessness disappeared, the thin pale cheeks took on the colour and the eyes the brightness that was natural to them. Virginia said to her one day:
"I am sure that if you made an effort, Ragna cara, you could overcome this weakness. It is because you voluntarily let yourself go that you get no better. Tell me, why is it that you don't want to get well and strong?"
Ragna lifted her head. She was dressing little Egidio. Her eyes, torn from the contemplation of his plump rosy body had a startled expression.
"How did you guess that, Virginia?"
The other smiled.
"It was not very difficult to guess. But seriously, carissima, you should make an effort,—for the child's sake, at least."
"I suppose I ought to, for the child's sake," said Ragna slowly, caressing the coral-pink feet and dimpled legs, "but I can't somehow, I can't make the effort. I—I'm afraid."
"Afraid of what, cara?"