She put out her hand, and he took it and pressed it. As she felt his, the bright tears started to her eyes.
"What is it?" he asked tenderly, bending towards her as he spoke.
"Nothing," she answered hastily. "Your hand is so thin—how foolish of me! I suppose you will grow to be as strong as ever?"
He saw how she still loved him, in spite of all. It was not too late even now to renew the comedy, but his resolution had grown strong and unalterable in a few moments.
"You are much too good to me," he said softly. "I have not deserved it—but I will try to."
"Do not let us speak of all this any more for the present," she replied. "Since we are friends, let us talk of other things, as friends do."
It was not easy, but Ghisleri did his best, feeling that the effort must be made sooner or later and had therefore best be made at once. He kept up the conversation for nearly half an hour, and then rose to go.
"Are you not very tired?" asked Maddalena, anxiously.
"Not at all. I am much stronger than I look."
"Indeed I hope you are!" she answered, looking at him sadly. "Good-bye. Come soon again."