And then Marietta fell ill.
One morning, when she came into his room, to bring his tea, and
to open the Venetian blinds that shaded his windows, she failed
to salute him with her customary brisk "Buon giorno,
Signorino."
Noticing which, and wondering, he, from his pillow, called out,
"Buon' giorno, Marietta."
"Buon' giorno, Signorino," she returned but in a whisper.
"What's the matter? Is there cause for secrecy?" Peter asked.
"I have a cold, Signorino," she whispered, pointing to her
chest. "I cannot speak."
The Venetian blinds were up by this time; the room was full of
sun. He looked at her. Something in her face alarmed him. It
seemed drawn and set, it seemed flushed.
"Come here," he said, with a certain peremptoriness. "Give me
your hand."
She wiped her brown old hand backwards and forwards across her
apron; then gave it to him.
It was hot and dry.
"Your cold is feverish," he said. "You must go to bed, and
stay there till the fever has passed."
"I cannot go to bed, Signorino," she replied.
"Can't you? Have you tried?" asked he.
"No, Signorino," she admitted.
"Well, you never can tell whether you can do a thing or not,
until you try," said he. "Try to go to bed; and if at first
you don't succeed, try, try again."
"I cannot go to bed. Who would do the Signorino's work?" was
her whispered objection.
"Hang the Signorino's work. The Signorino's work will do
itself. Have you never observed that if you conscientiously
neglect to do your work, it somehow manages to get done without
you? You have a feverish cold; you must keep out of draughts;
and the only place where you can be sure of keeping out of
draughts, is bed. Go to bed at once."
She left the room.
But when Peter came downstairs, half an hour later, he heard
her moving in her kitchen.
"Marietta!" he cried, entering that apartment with the mien of
Nemesis. "I thought I told you to go to bed."
Marietta cowered a little, and looked sheepish, as one
surprised in the flagrant fact of misdemeanour.
"Yes, Signorino," she whispered.
"Well--? Do you call this bed?" he demanded.
"No, Signorino," she acknowledged.
"Do you wish to oblige me to put you to bed?" he asked.
"Oh, no, Signorino," she protested, horror in her whisper.