One day it rained,—­for it was in August,—­and from time to time the enormous thunder-storms rolled up out of the valley and crashed and split themselves upon the sharp peak above Muro, and rumbled away to northward up the pass, while the deluge of cold rain descended in their track.

It was afternoon.  The windows were all shut, the Duca and Duchessa had disappeared for their daily sleep, as they always did, and Veronica and Taquisara kept Gianluca company in one of the big rooms.  He was better than usual, but Veronica found it hard to amuse him, and tried to imagine some diversion for the long hours.

“Can you fence?” she asked suddenly, of Taquisara.

“Of course—­after a fashion,” he answered, with a laugh of surprise at the question, which seemed absurd to him.

“Will you fence with me?”

“I?  Oh—­I remember hearing that you took fencing lessons at the Princess Corleone’s.  If it amuses you, of course I will.”

“I have all my things here,” said Veronica.  “There are any number of foils, and I got two men’s jackets and masks, just in the hope that they might be wanted some day.  I am very fond of it, you know.  We can move the table away from the middle of the room—­it will be something to do.  It is dull, when it rains, and Don Gianluca can watch us and tell me when I make mistakes.  It will amuse us all.”

“Gianluca could give us both lessons,” said Taquisara.  “He fences beautifully.”

“Ah—­if I only could!” exclaimed Gianluca, in a tone that hurt Veronica.

The invalid looked down at his long, thin legs and emaciated hands, and he tried to smile bravely.

“You would rather not see us—­we will not do it,” said Veronica, gently, bending a little to see his face, as she stood near him.

“Oh no!  Please do!” he answered.  “I have never seen a woman fence—­I cannot imagine how you could.  It would amuse me very much.  Please send for the foils.”

The things were brought, the tables and chairs were moved away, Taquisara drew Gianluca’s big easy-chair, with him in it, towards the window, and Veronica put on her leathern jacket and glove, and stood holding her mask in her hand, as she bent over the foils looking for her favourite one.  She found it, and came forward, carrying both mask and foil, while Taquisara got ready.  Gianluca looked at her and smiled.  There was something defiant and warlike about the small, well-poised head, the aquiline features, and the bright eyes.  With one foot a little in advance she stood up, straight and daring, in the middle of the room, waiting for her adversary.  The grey light of the rainy afternoon gleamed coldly along the steel.

Taquisara took the one of the two masks which fitted him the better, and picked out a foil.  He did not think of putting on a jacket to fence with a woman.

“No jacket?” asked Veronica, with a short laugh, as she slipped her mask over her head.