When the carriage was out of sight, Kalmon looked up at the hot sky and down at the flagstones, and then made up his mind what to do.

“To the hospital of San Giovanni,” he said, as he got into a cab.

He seemed to be well informed, for he inquired at the door about a certain Marcello Botti, who was in a private room; and when he gave his name he was admitted without even asking permission of the Superintendent, and was at once led upstairs.

“Are you a friend of his, sir?” asked Regina, when he had looked a long time at the patient, who did not recognise him in the least.

“Are you?” Kalmon looked at her quietly across the bed.

“You see,” she answered.  “If I were not, why should I be here?”

“She has saved my life,” said Marcello suddenly, and he caught her hand in his and held it fast.  “As soon as I am quite well we shall be married.”

“Certainly, my dear boy, certainly,” replied Kalmon, as if it were quite a matter of course.  “You must make haste and get well as soon as possible.”

He glanced at Regina’s face, and as her eyes met his she shook her head almost imperceptibly, and smiled.  Kalmon was not quite sure what she meant.  He made a sign to her to go with him to the window, which was at some distance from the bed.

“It may be long before he is well,” he whispered.  “There must be an operation.”

She nodded, for she knew that.

“And do you expect to marry him when he is recovered?”

She shook her head and laughed, glancing at Marcello.

“He is a gentleman,” she whispered, close to Kalmon’s ear.  “How could he marry me?”

“You love him,” Kalmon answered.

Again she nodded, and laughed too.

“What would you do for him?” asked Kalmon, looking at her keenly.

“Die for him!”

She meant it, and he saw that she did.  Her eyes shone as she spoke, and then the lids drooped a little and she looked at him almost fiercely.  He turned from her and his fingers softly tapped the marble window-sill.  He was asking himself whether he could swear to Marcello’s identity, in case he should be called upon to give evidence.  On what could he base his certainty?  Was he himself certain, or was he merely moved by the strong resemblance he saw, in spite of long illness and consequent emaciation?  Was the visiting surgeon right in believing that the little depression in the skull had caused a suspension of memory?  Such things happened, no doubt, but it also happened that doctors were mistaken and that nothing came of such operations.  Who could prove the truth?  The boy and girl might have a secret to keep; she might have arranged to get him into the hospital because it was his only chance, but the rest of the story, such as it was, might be a pure invention; and when Marcello was discharged cured, they would disappear together.  There was the coincidence of the baptismal