Despite Matteo’s care, the upstairs department looked cold, dreary, and unhabited. She shivered when she entered the drawing-room, where she had passed so much of her country life.
“No; we’ll soon have a fire burning in the grate.”
While he knelt down and blew the lighted wood she drew off her gloves, stretched them, and placed them on the table.
“Beg pardon, Signorina, but how is the Signora Donna Lucia?”
“She’s well.”
“All the better, poor young thing; she was always so sickly. And that husband of hers, who hadn’t a ha’p’orth of health, the Signor Don Alberto, how is he?”
“He’s ill.”
“The severe weather, eh? But when the Lord calls we must obey.”
“True, Matteo; so the house is in order.”
“From top to bottom, Signorina mia. What you have told me to do, that I have done. The Signora Donna Lucia’s room is just as she left it. Would you like to see it?”