The strangely agitated state of his friend did not escape Bianchi's penetration. But he never attempted to discover its cause, as he avoided conversations upon personal subjects or inner experiences. This same restless manner seemed to attach closer to Theodore day by day. He was tamer and more cheerful in all his words and actions since his sickness. When he heard Theodore's knock, he threw a cloth over his clay sketch and opened hastily. He was still sparing of the smallest proofs of his affection, but his face could not conceal the fact that the presence of his friend was all in all to him. He sat by the window, and worked diligently at his cameo shells whilst they talked, or a book inspirited them both. Through Theodore's intervention he had found customers for his cameos, who paid him twice as much as the dealers had hitherto given him, yet his new dwelling was in no respect more richly furnished than his former one. Truly the sun gilded the naked walls on which the Medusa's head hung, and before the window lay the exquisite distance. One evening, in sunny May, when all was solitary without, on the banks of the Tiber, and the flies played undisturbed over the bushes, the knocker on Bianchi's door resounded more loudly and vehemently than usual. He arose from his work, before which he had been sitting pondering, and did not, as usual, throw the cloth over it. "He may see it to day," he said to himself, "if it really be he who thunders so immeasurably!" and therewith he opened the door. Theodore burst in impetuously--his face was vividly flushed, and his eyes gleamed, "Bianchi," he cried, "Bianchi, I come from her! I have seen her--spoken to her! The miracle has penetrated again into my inmost soul! and you, best, unkindest one--did you not tell me that she was gone, away to her mountains, run away from the old woman, and however the story went? Or did you really hear it? for she is here--not a footstep has she stirred out of Rome these two months long. Speak, Bianchi, what say you? Bless the fate that led me to her side, which makes me feel still out of my senses for joy." He walked up and down the room without looking round. He did not perceive that Bianchi had remained standing by the door, pale as death, following his steps with a searching glance: "Caterina!" at last broke from his lips.