He shook his head thoughtfully.
It was true Italian advice—against poison and smothering. Veronica smiled, even in her sadness.
"I have no fear," she said. "Let us say no more about it. Can I do anything for the people at Muro?" she asked, by way of preparing to send him away.
"The people at Muro—the people at Muro," he repeated dreamily. "Oh yes—they are all poor—almost all. Money would help them. The best would be to come and see us yourself, princess. But if you are not careful, you will never come now," he added, turning the big spectacles slowly towards her and looking long into her face. "I have done what I could to warn you," he said, beginning to rise. "I will do anything I can to watch over you—but it will be little. Good bye. God preserve you."
As she rose she rang the bell beside her that her maid might come and show him the way out. She knew that by this time Elettra must have returned from her errands. The afternoon light was already failing.
She held out her hand, and he took it and kept it for a moment.
"God preserve you," he repeated earnestly.
He turned just as Elettra opened the door. The woman recognized him at once, came forward and kissed his hand, he having long been her parish priest. Then she led the way out. Don Teodoro turned at the door and bowed again, and Veronica, standing by the fire, nodded and smiled kindly to him. She was sorry for him. She had never seen him before, and he seemed to be devoted to her, and yet she was sure that his mind was feeble and unsettled. No sane person could believe the monstrous things he had told her.
Outside, he made a few steps and then stopped Elettra, laying his emaciated hand upon her shoulder. He looked behind him and saw that they were alone in the passage.
"Take care of your mistress, my daughter," he said. "Naples is not Muro, but it is no better. Let her eat what others eat, drink what others drink, and take no medicines except from you, and make her lock her door at night. This is not a good house."