I bent low before her, awed by the extremity of suffering I saw.
"Are you Signor Grandi?" she asked, in a low and trembling voice.
"Most humbly at your service, Signora Contessina," I answered. She put out her hand to me, and then drew it back quickly, with a timid nervous look as I moved to take it.
"I never saw you," she said, "but I feel as though you must be a friend—" She paused.
"Indeed, signorina, I am here for that reason," said I, trying to speak stoutly, and so to inspire her with some courage. "Tell me how I can best serve you; and though I am not young and strong like Nino Cardegna, my boy, I am not so old but that I can do whatsoever you command."
"Then in God's name, save me from this—" But again the sentence died upon her lips, and she glanced anxiously at the door. I reflected that if anyone came we should be caught like mice in a trap, and I made as though I would look out upon the stairs. But she stopped me.
"I am foolishly frightened," she said. "That man is faithful, and will keep watch." I thought it time to discover her wishes.
"Signorina," said I, "you ask me to save you. You do not say from what. I can at least tell you that Nino Cardegna will be here in a day or two—" At this sudden news she gave a little cry, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, in strange contrast with their deathly whiteness. She seemed on the point of speaking, but checked herself, and her eyes, that had looked me through and through a moment before, drooped modestly under my glance.
"Is it possible?" she said at last, in a changed voice. "Yes, if he comes, I think the Signor Cardegna will help me."
"Madam," I said, very courteously, for I guessed her embarrassment, "I can assure you that my boy is ready to give you his life in return for the kindness he received at your hands in Rome." She looked up, smiling through her tears, for the sudden happiness had moistened the drooping lids.