With one backward glance, tearful, soft, but utterly resolute, the girl was gone.
“Gianetta!” called Mrs. Mazetti.
Gianetta came in from the kitchen with the querulous expression natural to her. She had been the old lady’s servant for nearly twenty years. She adored her, and had never found her anything but just, kind, and generous. Nevertheless, Gianetta had a great many grievances, and did not keep them to herself.
“Telephone,” said her mistress, “and order me a taxi.”
“You? You a taxi?” cried Gianetta. “But that is mad!”
“Quick, Gianetta!”
“But you are very ill! With this rheumatism, you can’t walk! How do you think then that you—”
“Quick, Gianetta!”
“Patience! Patience!” said Gianetta, in her most annoying tone. “I order this taxi, but you cannot get into it. It is only a waste of money. No matter—you are the mistress. I telephone!”
“Now!” said the old lady to herself, “I must get up. Leo always said that what one ought to do, one would find strength for. I must do this. For one minute more I shall sit quietly here, and then I shall rise and get myself ready.”