“You doubted my love for you, or you could never have entertained that notion,” he replied, passionately, “Hear what I have done to obtain this interview. To pass an hour with you, Beata, I have prevailed upon the king to undertake a new campaign in Italy. To throw myself at your feet, I have induced him to march on Milan.” “You should not have come now,” she rejoined. “Had I been able to do so, I would have warned you to avoid this infected city.” “I have no fear of the pestilence,” said Bonnivet. “And I would brave any danger to be near you. But why have you exposed yourself to so much risk? Why have you remained here?” “I could not leave,” she rejoined. “And I have an excellent physician, Doctor Nardi, who watches over me. Ah! here he is,” she added, as a grave-looking personage, attired in a black silk doublet and hose, and wearing a black silk skull-cap, entered the saloon. After respectfully saluting Bonnivet, Doctor Nardi seated himself beside the countess, and kept his eyes upon her for some moments. Bonnivet, who watched him closely, thought he detected anxiety in his looks. “You have not been quite well to-day, I think, countess?” remarked Doctor Nardi. “I had a severe headache this morning,” she replied. “But it has passed.” “Any feverish symptoms?” inquired the doctor. “Yes,” she replied. “About an hour ago, I felt stifled with heat, and then had a shivering fit. But there is nothing to be alarmed at?” she added, nervously. “Nothing--nothing,” he replied. “But you must retire to rest immediately. The fever has not quite left you, and may return.” “But why should I retire to rest, dear doctor?” appealed the countess. “I do not feel ill. Ah! I see you are alarmed about me,” she continued, gazing eagerly at him. “Tell me what is the matter?” “Do not agitate yourself, signora,” he returned. “You will soon be better--but you must attend to my directions. I will send you a febrifuge presently, and will see you in the morning. Good night, countess.” He then bowed and departed, and Bonnivet, feeling very uneasy, followed him out of the room. “I trust the countess is not seriously ill, doctor?” inquired Bonnivet. “A passing indisposition,” replied Nardi, evasively. “But you must not stay, monseigneur. Take leave of the countess. At this awful season there is no security that they who part at night may meet again on the morrow.” The last words were uttered with a significance that increased Bonnivet's uneasiness. “Do not conceal the truth from me, doctor,” he said. “The certainty, however dreadful, would be more tolerable than suspense.” “What purpose will it answer to tell you what I think?” rejoined Nardi. “Be advised by me, and leave the palace without delay. Every moment you remain here increases the risk.” “Ha!” ejaculated Bonnivet, horror-stricken. “I now understand. But I will not leave her.” “As you please, monseigneur,” said Nardi. “I have warned you.”