At once Nina went to the piano and silently opened it.
"I will go and talk to him," he whispered. "Just you play a little, and we'll see."
Mangan went into the next room and began to say a few casual words, in a careless kind of way, but all the time keeping watchful and furtive observation of his friend's face. And even as he spoke there came another sound—soft and low and distant—that seemed to say, "A la fenesta affaciate—nennela de stu core—io t'aggio addo che spasemì, ma spasemo d'amore—e cchiù non trovo requia, nennella mia, ppe te!—"
"Maurice!" said Lionel, with staring eyes. "What is that? Who is there?"
"Don't you know, Linn?" his friend said, tranquilly. "She has been here all through your illness—she has played those airs for you—"
"Nina? Nina herself?" Lionel exclaimed, but in a low voice.
"Yes. If you like I will bring her in to see you. She has been awfully good. I thought it would please you to know she was here. Now be quite quiet, and she will come in and speak to you for a minute—for just a minute, you know."
He went and asked Nina to go into the room, but he did not accompany her; he remained without. Nina went gently forward to the bedside.
"Leo, I—I am glad you are getting on so well," she said, with admirable self-possession; it was only her lips that were tremulous.
As for him, he looked at her in silence, and tears rolled down his cheek—he was so nerveless. Then he said, in his weak voice,