The days passed on; Rome was becoming depopulated, though the first brief spell of heat had been followed by renewal of incessant and tiresome rain.
Antonio counted the days.
"Another ten—another eight—and you'll be gone. What's to become of me all alone for a month?"
Such expressions irritated her. She wished neither to speak nor to think of her departure.
"Alone? Why need you be alone? You've got your mother and your brothers!"
"A wife is more than brothers, more than a mother."
"But if I were to die? Suppose I fell ill and the doctors prescribed a long stay in my home?"
"That's impossible."
"You talk like a child. Why is it impossible? It's very possible indeed!" she said, still vexed; "whatever I say you think it nonsense—a thing which can't happen. Why can't it happen? It's enough to mention some things——"
"But, Regina," he exclaimed, astonished, "what makes you so cross?"