The Gadfly started up with a shrinking, scared look. “Is it my turn?” he said hurriedly in Spanish. “Keep the people amused a minute; I---- Ah! I didn't see you, Riccardo.” He looked round the room and drew one hand across his forehead as if bewildered. “Martini! Why, I thought you had gone away. I must have been asleep.” “You have been sleeping like the beauty in the fairy story for the last ten hours; and now you are to have some broth and go to sleep again.” “Ten hours! Martini, surely you haven't been here all that time?” “Yes; I was beginning to wonder whether I hadn't given you an overdose of opium.” The Gadfly shot a sly glance at him. “No such luck! Wouldn't you have nice quiet committee-meetings? What the devil do you want, Riccardo? Do for mercy's sake leave me in peace, can't you? I hate being mauled about by doctors.” “Well then, drink this and I'll leave you in peace. I shall come round in a day or two, though, and give you a thorough overhauling. I think you have pulled through the worst of this business now; you don't look quite so much like a death's head at a feast.” “Oh, I shall be all right soon, thanks. Who's that--Galli? I seem to have a collection of all the graces here to-night.” “I have come to stop the night with you.” “Nonsense! I don't want anyone. Go home, all the lot of you. Even if the thing should come on again, you can't help me; I won't keep taking opium. It's all very well once in a way.” “I'm afraid you're right,” Riccardo said. “But that's not always an easy resolution to stick to.” The Gadfly looked up, smiling. “No fear! If I'd been going in for that sort of thing, I should have done it long ago.” “Anyway, you are not going to be left alone,” Riccardo answered drily. “Come into the other room a minute, Galli; I want to speak to you. Good-night, Rivarez; I'll look in to-morrow.” Martini was following them out of the room when he heard his name softly called. The Gadfly was holding out a hand to him. “Thank you!” “Oh, stuff! Go to sleep.” When Riccardo had gone, Martini remained a few minutes in the outer room, talking with Galli. As he opened the front door of the house he heard a carriage stop at the garden gate and saw a woman's figure get out and come up the path. It was Zita, returning, evidently, from some evening entertainment. He lifted his hat and stood aside to let her pass, then went out into the dark lane leading from the house to the Poggio Imperiale. Presently the gate clicked and rapid footsteps came down the lane. “Wait a minute!” she said. When he turned back to meet her she stopped short, and then came slowly towards him, dragging one hand after her along the hedge. There was a single street-lamp at the corner, and he saw by its light that she was hanging her head down as though embarrassed or ashamed. “How is he?” she asked without looking up.