The expression in the woman's eyes did not change, but she still looked steadily at Matilde for three or four seconds.
"Yes," she said. "I thought so. I am glad that you have come, for I have suffered much on your account."
She looked as though she were suffering, Matilde thought. Then she placed the chairs, made the countess sit down, and drew the curtains, just as she had done for Bosio.
Then, in the dark, there was silence. It seemed to Matilde a long time, and she grew nervous, and moved uneasily. Then, without warning, she heard that other voice, clear, deep, and bell-like, which Bosio had heard, and she trembled.
"I see a name written on your breast,—Bosio Macomer."
The darkness, the voice, the shiver of anticipation, unnerved the strong woman.
"What does he say to me?" she asked unsteadily.
Again there was a long silence, longer than the first, and by many degrees more disturbing to Matilda, as she waited for the answer.
"Bosio loves you," said the voice. "He is watching over you. He tells you to remember what you promised each other in the room that is all yellow, long ago,—that the one that should die first would visit the other. He tells you that it is possible, and that he has kept his promise. He loves you always, and you will be spirits together."
Matilde felt that in the darkness she was horribly pale, but she was no longer frightened.