As soon as Franco had closed the door behind him his friend whispered: "Is it done?" "It is done," Franco answered. The other embraced him and kissed him in silence. Then he took him up stairs to the little study. On the way he explained that, secundum Raspail, he had applied a compress of some sedative water to his head, for he was threatened with a headache. He was an apostle of Raspail, and had converted Franco—who often suffered from inflammatory sore throats—from leeches to camphor cigarettes.
In the little study there was another very close and long embrace. "So much! So much! So much!" Gilardoni exclaimed, meaning a world of things.
Poor Gilardoni, his eyes were glistening. He himself had longed in vain for a happiness similar to his friend's! Franco understood and, much embarrassed, did not know what to say to him, and a silence so significant followed that Gilardoni could not stand it, and set about lighting a little fire to heat some coffee he had prepared. Franco offered to do this for him, and the Professor accepted, pleading his headache, and began unrolling his turban before a basin of the sedative water. "Well," said he, controlling his emotion by an effort of his will, "tell me all about it." Franco told him everything, from his grandmother's dinner-party, to the wedding ceremony in the church at Castello, except of course, his private talk with Signora Teresa. Professor Beniamino, meanwhile, had replaced his turban, and now summoned up all his courage. "And——" said he, substituting a sort of low groan for the beloved name, "how is she?" Upon learning of the hallucination he exclaimed: "A letter? She thought she saw a letter? But what letter?" This Franco did not know. A hissing on the fire interrupted the conversation; the coffee was boiling hard and bubbling over.
Gilardoni also resembled his young friend in that his heart might be read from his face. The young friend who was, however, a far cleverer and quicker reader of faces than he, at once perceived that he had thought of some special letter, and inquired, while the coffee was settling, if he could explain this hallucination. The Professor hastened to say "no," but no sooner had he uttered that "no" than he weakened it by adding several other negatives, mingled with inarticulate grumblings: "Ah, no!—no indeed!—I cannot say—certainly not!" Franco did not insist, and another extremely significant silence ensued. When he had taken his coffee, with many involuntary signs of uneasiness, the Professor promptly proposed that they go to bed. Franco, who must leave before daybreak, preferred not to go to bed, but wished his friend to do so, and, after an infinite number of protests and ceremonies, after hesitating on the very threshold, his basin of sedative water in his hand, the Professor suddenly faced about, and throwing a "good-night" over his shoulder, disappeared.
When he was alone Franco put out the lamp and stretched himself in an easy-chair with the good intention of going to sleep, seeking sleep in some indifferent thought if he could possibly fix his mind on such a thought. Not five minutes had passed when there was a knock at the door and immediately the Professor rushed in, without a light, and exclaiming: "Well, here I am again!" "What is the matter?" Franco inquired. "I am sorry I put out the light." At the same moment he felt the arms of the worthy Beniamino about his neck, his beard brushed Franco's face, and he smelt the camphor and heard the voice. "Dear, dear, Don Franco! I have an enormous load on my heart! I did not intend to speak now; I wanted to leave you in peace, but I cannot, I cannot!"
"But speak! Calm yourself, calm yourself!" said Franco, gently freeing himself from that embrace.
Gilardoni let him go, and pressed his hands to his forehead, groaning: "Oh, what a stupid fool, what a stupid fool, what a stupid fool I am! I might have left him alone; I might have waited until to-morrow or the next day. But now it is done! It is done!"
He seized Franco's hand. "I tell you I had begun to undress when a sort of giddiness came over me, and then it was all up with me. I must needs put on the dressing-gown again, and rush in here without a light, like a lunatic. In my haste I even tipped over the basin of sedative water."
"Shall we light the lamp?" Franco asked.
"No, no, no, we had better talk in the dark, better talk in the dark! See, I am going way over there!" And he sat down at his writing-desk, to escape the faint glimmer of light which fell through the window. Then he began. He always spoke in a nervous and disorderly fashion, and it may easily be imagined how he spoke now, in his present state of agitation.