"You've done a good bit already, Sandro," she said. "And you're only thirty-nine."
"And I'm to die at thirty-nine, or else live like an idiot, bored to death, and boring to death everybody about me!"
"I shall go now," said Aunt Maria. "Good-bye, Sandro. Send for me again when you want me."
"Aunt Maria!" She stopped at his call. "Go and see May. Go and talk to her."
"Yes, Sandro."
"Tell her what you think. You know: I mean, tell her that perhaps it's not as bad as the doctors say; that I may get about a bit soon and—and so on—You know."
"I'm to tell her that?" asked Aunt Maria.
"She's not to conclude it's all over with me yet." Miss Quisanté nodded and moved towards the door.
"Oh, and before you go, just pick up that book and give it me again, will you?"
She returned, picked up the engagement-book and gave it him; then she stood for a moment by the bed, beginning to smile a little.