‘You’re going to get well very soon,’ he said in a tone of patronising conviction. ‘Good-bye.’
She watched him as he crossed the room to the door. He was thinner and taller, but he looked square and tough. He already had the figure of a little man, and at the back of his neck, above the broad turned-down collar, the short and thick brown hair seemed trying to curl more vigorously than ever. Maria saw it and shut her eyes.
She was still very weak, for it sometimes takes a long time to recover from brain fever, but she gained daily. Giuliana Parenzo came and spent long hours in the room, for she was a healthy, soothing woman, who made no noise and told Maria just how she wanted to know, asking no questions about how she felt.
At last they began to drive out together, near the end of February, when the almond-trees were in blossom and there was a breath of spring in the air.
One day they were in the Campagna and almost in sight of Acqua Santa, on the New Appian, and neither had spoken for some time. Giuliana broke the silence.
‘I have a great admiration for you, Maria,’ she said. ‘I mean, quite apart from our friendship. I did you a great injustice in my thoughts at the beginning of the winter, and I want to tell you how sorry I am. You have been very brave and good all through this.’
‘Thank you, Giuliana,’ Maria touched her friend’s hand affectionately.
‘I’m not the only one of your friends who thinks so, either. Shall I repeat something that Ippolito Saracinesca told me the other day?’
‘If it is kind, tell me. I am not quite strong yet.’