SIESTA.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXII, Issue 46, 23 February 1901, Page 3 (Supplement)

SIESTA.

LATEST STORY BY GABRIEIj

DANNONZIO.

CHAPTER I.

The Marquis di Fontanella was dying. .When Donna Laura heard that she was seized by intense anxiety. The thought of her son drove her from her own home to her former lover's. Before death carried him off she was determined to wring from him the secret.

"When she reached the house she was almost too weak to enter. She walked twenty paces further on, turned back and passed It again. Finally she crossed the threshold, but she ai rived in the ante-room of the apartmeut more dead than alive. Silence reigned; servants went about on tiptoe; subdued voices were whispering in the corridor. The Marchioness, a corpulent lady with grey hair, appeared. Her eyes ■were full of tears. She embraced her friend without a word. "Can I see him?" asked Donna Laura. She spoke wilh half-closed lips to conceal the emotion that shook her limbs. "Come." The sick room was redolent of the odour of medicines; blinds and double curtains tept out the light. The Marquis, his face waxen, was in bed. He smiled feebly as he extended his hot, clammy hand to Donna Laura. "A thousand thanks, Baroness." Then It seemed as if, by some tremendous effort of will power, he had momentarily regained his old-tlmo brilliancy. He talked interestingly on many topics in the choice language and in the fascinating style that distinguished him when he was young and healthy. But out of the shadow of the darkened window embrasure Donna Laura gazed at him with such supplicating eyes that he ceased his chatter and Bald to his wife: "I pray thee, Giovanna, make up my luncheon thyself, as thou didst breakfast. I think I will be able to eat it then." When the Marchioness' steps sounded in the corridor Donna Laura bent over the old man with an expression of indescribable emotion. Convulsively clutching his hand, she bored her eyes into his and by this act of unconscious intimidation tore from him these words in monosyllables:— "In Pentl—Luca Marino—he has a wife and children—ah, he is quite well off. No, thou must not attempt to see him—promise me— In Penti—Luca Marino. Never let him know who thou art, never—promise me." It took him ten minutes to pronounce these 'few words. As he uttered the last Donna Giovanna returned with a plate of milk toast and a glass of lemonade, from which the patient drank ravenously, as if desirous of refreshing his spirits once more. Then he sank back in deep silence. After awhile he fell asleep; his features sharpened, black shades settled around his hollow eyes, on his cheeks, all over the face.