On the fourth day, no answer came, but Lamberti sent her mother a line an hour later to say that Guido had more fever than usual and could not write that morning, but was in no danger, as far as the doctor could say.
"I should like to go and see him," Cecilia said. "He is very ill, and it is my fault."
The Countess was horrified at the suggestion.
"My dear child," she cried, "you are quite mad! Why, the poor man is in bed, of course!"
"I hope so," Cecilia answered unmoved. "But Signor Lamberti could carry him to his sitting room."
"Who ever heard of such a thing!"
"We could go in a cab, with thick veils," Cecilia continued. "No one would ever know."
"Think of Petersen, my dear! Women of our class do not wear thick veils in the street. For heaven's sake put this absurd idea out of your head."
"It does not seem absurd to me."
"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," retorted the Countess, losing her temper. "You do not even mean to marry him, and yet you talk of going to see him when he is ill, as if he were already your husband!"