Sister Giovanna was the supervising nurse for the week, and in the
natural course of her duty it was she who went to the telephone when
Doctor Pieri called up the hospital at seven o'clock. In a few words
he explained the case as far as was necessary, and begged the Sister
to have a good room ready for the patient; he believed that Number Two
was vacant.
It was, and the wounded man could have it. The Doctor said he would
bring him in a motor towards nine o'clock.
'The patient's name, if you please,' said Sister Giovanna in a
businesslike tone.
'Captain Severi. I do not know his first name. What is the matter,
Sister?'
The nun had uttered a low exclamation of surprise, which Pieri had
heard distinctly.
'Nothing,' she answered, controlling her voice. 'Is he a son of the
late general of that name?'
'I do not know, Sister. He is a friend of the Princess Chiaromonte. Is
it all right? I am busy.'
'Yes,' answered the nun's voice. 'It is all right.'
She hung up the receiver and went to give the necessary orders, rather
whiter about the lips than usual. The fact that the injured officer
was a friend of her aunt's seemed to make it certain that he was one
of the brothers of whom Giovanni had often spoken, and the mere
thought that she was to see him in an hour or two was disturbing. For
a moment she was strongly impelled to beg the Mother Superior that
some one else might take her place during the morning; but in the
first place it seemed cowardly to leave her post; and secondly, in
order to explain her position, she would have been obliged to tell the
Mother Superior her whole story, which she had never done. Monsignor
Saracinesca knew it, and Madame Bernard, but no one else whom she ever
saw nowadays.
Then came the comforting inward suggestion that Giovanni would have
wished her to do all she could for his brother, and this at once made
a great difference. She went to see that the room was in perfect
order, though she was quite sure that it was, and she sent for the
orderlies on duty and told them to be especially careful in moving a
patient who would soon be brought, and to get ready a certain new
chair which was especially constructed for carrying persons who had
received injuries of the feet only, and who did not require to be
transported on the ordinary stretcher, which always gives a patient
the idea that his case is a serious one.
She also went out to the lodge, to warn the portress that Captain
Severi was expected, and must not be kept waiting even a few seconds
longer than was necessary. The excellent Anna looked up with some
surprise, for she had never kept any one waiting without good cause,
since she had been in charge of the gate, but she bent her head
obediently and said nothing. It seems to be a general rule with
religious houses that no one is ever to wait in the street for
admittance; the barrier, which is often impassable, is the door that
leads inward from the vestibule.
When everything was prepared for Ugo's reception, Sister Giovanna went
back to the duties which kept her constantly occupied in the morning
hours and often throughout the day. She was personally responsible to
the house-surgeon for the carrying out of all directions given the
nurses, as he was, in grave cases, to the operating surgeon or
visiting physician. It was her business to inspect everything
connected with the hospital, from the laundry, the sterilising
apparatus, and the kitchen, to the dispensary, where she was expected
to know from day to day what supplies were on hand and what was
needed. She was ultimately answerable for the smallest irregularity or
accident, and had to report everything to the Mother Superior every
evening after Vespers and before supper. During her week, every one in
the establishment came to her for all matters that concerned the
hospital and the nurses on duty by day or night; but she had nothing
to do with those who were sent out to private cases. They reported
themselves and gave an account of their work to the Mother Superior,
whenever they returned to the Convent.
The supervising nurse for the week did not sleep in her cell, but lay
down on a pallet bed behind a curtain, in her office on the first
floor, close to the dispensary, where she could be called at a
moment's notice, though it rarely happened that she was disturbed
between ten o'clock at night and five in the morning.
The Mother Superior had introduced the system soon after she had taken
charge of the Convent hospital, of which the management now differed
from that of most similar institutions in this respect, for the most
competent Sisters took turns in the arduous task of supervision, from
week to week. At other times they went to private cases when required,
or acted as ordinary nurses. Any one who has any knowledge of
hospitals managed by religious orders is aware that no two of them
work by precisely the same rules, and that the rules themselves are
largely the result of the Mother Superior's own experience, modified
by the personal theories and practice of the operating surgeon and the
principal visiting physician. The scale of everything relating to the
administration is, of course, very small compared with that of any
public hospital, and all responsibility therefore weighs more directly
on the doctors and nurses in charge at any given moment than on a
board of management; in other words, on the right individuals rather
than on a body.
Princess Chiaromonte rose early and drove to the Convent in a cab,
intending to come home in the motor which was to bring Ugo and the
doctor. She rang, was admitted, and asked for the supervising nurse.
The portress, who knew her by sight, at once led her to the large hall
already mentioned, and rang the bell which gave warning that some one
was waiting who had business in the hospital. She drew one of the
chairs forward for the Princess and went back to the lodge. A moment
later a novice opened the door that led to the wards, and the visitor
repeated her request, without mentioning her name.
The novice bowed and disappeared, and several minutes passed before
Sister Giovanna came. She had last seen her aunt ill in bed and
flushed with fever, but the Princess had changed too little in five
years not to be instantly recognised by any one who had known her so
recently.
Both women made a movement of surprise, and the nun stood still an
instant, still holding the handle of the door. Of the two, however,
she was the first to regain her composure. Her aunt rose with alacrity
indeed, and held out her hand, but she coloured a little and laughed
with perceptible awkwardness. She had long wished to see her niece,
but the meeting had come too unexpectedly to be pleasant.
'I hope you have felt no ill effects from your illness?' Sister
Giovanna spoke calmly, in a tone of civil inquiry.
'Oh, none at all!' answered the Princess. 'Thanks to your wonderful
nursing,' she added, with rather too much eagerness. 'I had hoped to
tell you before now how grateful I am; but though I have been here
more than once, you were never here when I came.'
Sister Giovanna bent her head slightly.
'There is really nothing to thank me for,' she said. 'The novice said
you wished to see me; can I be of any service to you?'
The elder woman inwardly resented the tone of superior calm. She was
now convinced that Sister Giovanna was no other than her niece Angela,
though she had not yet given any direct sign of recognition. She was
not quite sure of being able to meet the young eyes steadily, and when
she answered she fixed her own on the line where the veil was drawn
tightly across the nun's forehead. In this way she could not fail to
see any quick change in the other's features.
'It is about Captain Severi,' she said very distinctly, 'Ugo, as we
call him--the brother of that poor Giovanni who was murdered by savages
in Africa.'
She saw what she had hoped to see and felt that she had already got
the upper hand, for the nun's face turned the colour of smouldering
wood ashes when they are a greyish white, though the faint, hot glow
still rises in them with every passing breath of air and then fades
fitfully away.
'Captain Severi's room is ready,' said Sister Giovanna steadily.
'Yes, of course!' The Princess nodded as she spoke. 'It is not that,
Sister. He is a great friend of mine and I was quite devoted to his
unfortunate brother, so I have come to beg that he may have the very
best care while he is here.'
'You need not have any anxiety.'
Sister Giovanna sat bolt upright in her straight chair, with her hands
folded on her knees. The Princess rested one elbow on the table, in an
easy attitude, and glanced at her once or twice during the silence
that followed. Each was wondering whether the other was going to admit
that she recognised her, and each was weighing the relative advantages
of remaining on the present footing, which was one of uncertainty for
Sister Giovanna and of armed quiescence on the Princess's part.
'Thank you,' said the latter, after a long time, with a bright smile,
as if she had quite understood the nun's answer. 'It will be such a
comfort to know that he is being well cared for, poor fellow. I
believe he will be here in a few minutes.'
'We are expecting him,' answered the nun, not stirring.
Another long silence followed, and she sat so perfectly still that the
Princess began to fidget, looked at the tall old clock in the corner
and then compared her pretty watch with it, laid her olive-green
parasol across the table, but took it off again almost immediately and
dropped the tip to the floor. The Sister's impassive stillness seemed
meant for a reproach and made her nervous. The certainty that the
motionless woman opposite her was Angela, calmly declining to know
her, was very disagreeable. She tried the excuse of pretending in her
thoughts that there was still a reasonable doubt about it, but she
could no longer succeed; yet to address her niece by her baptismal
name would be to acknowledge herself finally beaten in the contest of
coolness, after having at first succeeded in making her adversary
change colour.
The ticking of the clock was so distinct that it made an echo in the
high hall; the morning sun streamed across the pavement, from the
cloistered garden the chirping of a few sparrows and the sharper
twitter of the house-swallow that had already nested under the eaves
sounded very clearly through the closed glass door.
The Princess could not bear the silence any longer, and she looked at
Sister Giovanna with a rather pinched smile.
'My dear Angela,' she said, 'there is really no reason why we should
keep up this absurd little comedy any longer, is there?'
The nun did not betray the least surprise at the sudden question.
'If you have no reason for it, I have none,' she answered, but her
gaze was so steady that the Princess looked away. 'I prefer to be
called Sister Giovanna, however,' she added, after an instant's pause.
The Princess, though not always courageous, was naturally overbearing
and rather quarrelsome, and her temper rose viciously as soon as the
restraint which an artificial situation had imposed was removed.
'I really think you should not have kept me in doubt so long,' she
said. 'After playing nurse to me in my own house, you can hardly have
taken me for another person. But as for you, your dress has changed
you so completely, and you look so much older than any one would have
thought possible, that you need not be surprised if I was not quite
sure it was really you!'
Her niece listened unmoved. A trained nurse, even if she be a nun, may
learn a good deal about human nature in five years, and Sister
Giovanna was naturally quick to perceive and slow to forget. She
understood now, much better than the Princess supposed.
'I am not at all surprised,' she said, almost smiling, 'and it cannot
possibly matter.'
The older woman began to think that her recollections of what she
thought she had said in her delirium were nothing more than the record
of a dream, but the fear of having betrayed herself still haunted her,
although four months had passed, and the present opportunity of
setting her mind at rest might not return. Rather than let it slip
away she would be bold, if not brave.
'And besides,' she said, as if finishing her last speech, 'I believe I
was more or less delirious during most of the time that you were with
me. Was I not?'
Sister Giovanna was sorely tempted to speak out. But though it would
be so easy to humiliate the woman who had injured her, it looked too
much like vengeance; and she remembered how she had told the sick
woman that she forgave, with all her heart, meaning what she said, but
it had been hard to keep the passion-flower of forgiveness from fading
as soon as it had opened.
'You were rather quiet on the whole,' she answered with truth, and so
calmly that the Princess was relieved. 'I wish all my patients were as
submissive.'
'Really? How delightful! No one ever said I was a submissive person, I
am sure!'
'You were very much so. And now, since your friend has not come yet,
and you will wish to wait for him, I must ask you to let me leave you,
for I am on duty and must not stay here too long. Should you like to
see the Mother Superior?'
Sister Giovanna rose as she spoke, for though she was sure of herself
after making the first effort, she did not mean to tell an untruth if
her aunt asked a still more direct question; she was well aware, too,
that she had turned very pale at the first mention of Giovanni, and
she did not intend to expose herself to any further surprises which
her enemy might be planning.
The Princess was disappointed now, and was not satisfied with having
so greatly diminished her own anxiety. She felt that she had come into
contact with a force which she could not hope to overcome, because it
did not proceed only from Angela's own strength of character, but was
backed by a power that was real though it was invisible. It is hard to
express what I mean, but those will understand who have personally
found themselves opposed by a member of any regular order whom they
wish to influence. It has been well said that there is no such
obstacle in life as the inert resistance of a thoroughly lazy man; but
in certain circumstances that is far inferior to the silent opposition
of a conscientious person belonging to a large body which declines, on
grounds of belief rather than of logic, to enter into any argument.
That was what Princess Chiaromonte felt.
She rose from her chair a moment after her niece had stood up.
'Thank you,' she said. 'I will wait here, if I may.'
'You are welcome.'
Sister Giovanna made a slight inclination of the head and left the
hall at once. When she was gone her aunt did not resume her seat, but
walked slowly up and down, and twice, as she reached the door that led
to the wards, she stood still for a second and smiled. It was all very
well to be as strong as Angela, she reflected, and to have a great
religious order behind one, supported by the whole body of the Roman
Catholic and Apostolic Church; and it was a fine thing to have so much
character, and such a beautiful, grave face, and solemn, saintly eyes;
but it showed weakness to turn as white as a sheet at the mention of a
man's name, though he might be dead, and in a few minutes it would be
a satisfaction to note the signs of inward distress when the grave
supervising nurse came face to face with the brother of the man she
had loved.
That was what the Princess was thinking of when she heard the distant
gate-bell tinkling, and stopped once more in her walk, preparing
herself to receive Ugo Severi with an expression of cordiality and
affectionate concern.
The portress opened the door into the hall and a confused sound of
voices came from the passage. The Princess started slightly and then
smiled, reflecting that she had never noticed the resemblance between
Ugo's tone and poor Giovanni's.
Doctor Pieri entered first, tall, grave, fair-bearded, and he was
looking back to be sure that the orderlies were careful. They followed
him closely, bringing Captain Ugo in a chair in which he sat upright
with his injured foot lying on a raised rest before him and a rug from
the motor car over his knees. He wore a covert coat and a grey felt
hat.
The Princess went forward with a bright smile, looking into his face.
'I have seen the head nurse,' she said, 'and you are to have the best
room in the hospital, and all sorts of extra care.'
Ugo said something as the orderlies set down the chair, but almost at
the same moment the Princess heard another voice. It was hard and
cold, and did not match the words it spoke.
'You have been extremely kind,' said Giovanni Severi.
She had fairly good nerves, and had been in a very small measure
prepared for the surprise by having heard him talking in the passage,
though in a very different tone; but she started and gasped audibly as
she looked up and met his resentful eyes.
'Giovanni!' she cried in amazement. 'Is it you? Are you alive?'
But she had no doubt about it, in spite of the heavy beard that hid
the lower part of his face.
'Oh, yes,' he answered rather coldly. 'Quite alive, thank you.'
She held out her hand now, but it was shaking when he took it. Doctor
Pieri looked on in some surprise, but said nothing. One of the
orderlies rang the bell that summoned the supervising nurse.
'Where have you been all these years?' asked the Princess. 'Why have
you never written to your friends?'
'That is a long story,' Giovanni answered, in the same tone as before.
'If you happen to be on friendly terms with the Ministry, you will be
doing the Government a service by not speaking of my return till it is
made public.'
'How mysterious!' The Princess was recovering from her surprise.
Ugo looked from one to the other, watching their faces. It was quite
clear that his brother disliked the middle-aged woman of the world
now, whatever their relations had been in the past, and from her
behaviour when she had recognised him it looked as if the two must
have once been very intimate.
'What are we waiting for?' asked the Captain cheerfully, in order to
break off the conversation.
'The supervising nurse,' answered Pieri. 'She will be here directly.'
'A nun, I suppose,' observed Giovanni carelessly. 'Old and hideous
too, no doubt. Poor Ugo!'
'Not so much to be pitied as you think,' said the Princess. 'She is
still young, and must have been very pretty! She is worth looking at,
I assure you.'
Her own astonishment and recent emotion were already forgotten in the
pleasure of looking forward to the recognition which must take place
within a few moments. She had hated her niece long and unrelentingly,
and she had never forgiven Giovanni for what she called in her heart
his betrayal; but the reckoning was to be settled in full at last, and
she knew that if Sister Giovanna could choose, she would rather pay it
with her flesh and blood than meet what was before her now.
Giovanni was looking towards the door when the nun opened it, and the
strong morning light fell full on her face as she came forward.
Naturally enough, her eyes were at first turned downwards towards
Ugo's face, for she had already seen the Princess and Pieri was a
familiar figure. She was aware that a bearded officer was standing on
the other side of the chair, but she did not look at him.
Giovanni's expression changed quickly; at first he saw only a strong
likeness to Angela, a striking resemblance that made him wonder
whether the nun could possibly be an elder sister of hers, of whom he
had never heard; but by quick degrees he became sure that it was
herself. She spoke to the wounded man.
'Shall we go up to your room at once?' she asked in her soft voice,
bending over him.
Before Ugo could answer, a name he did not know rang out, in a tone he
had never heard. He did not recognise his brother's voice, it was so
full of passion and joy, mingled with amazement, yet trembling with
anxiety.
'Angela!'
Sister Giovanna straightened herself with a spring and stood
transfixed, facing Giovanni. The chair was between them. In an
instant, that was an age to both, sharp lines furrowed her brow, her
cheeks grew hollow, and her pale, parted lips were distorted with
pain. Her face was like the Virgin Mother's, at the foot of the Cross.
It was only for a moment; she threw up her arms, stiff and straight,
as a man who is shot through the heart. One loud cry then, and she
fell backwards.
Pieri was in time and caught her before her head struck the pavement;
but though he was strong and she was slightly made, the impetus of her
fall dragged him down upon one knee. Giovanni could not reach her at
once, for the hospital chair with the bars by which it was carried was
between them and the foremost of the orderlies stood exactly in his
way. He almost knocked the man over as he dashed forwards.
The Princess was already bending over the unconscious Sister, with
every appearance of profound sympathy; she was trying to loosen the
wimple and gorget that confined the nun's cheeks and throat too
closely, but the fastenings were unfamiliar and she could not find
them. Giovanni, pale and determined, pushed her aside as he stooped to
lift the woman he loved. Pieri helped him, and the Princess rose and
stepped back to look on, now that she had shown her willingness to be
of use. Ugo gazed at the scene with wide, astonished eyes, turning
half round in his chair and grasping its arms to hold himself in the
position.
'Open the glass door!' said the Doctor to the nearest orderly.
They carried Sister Giovanna into the cloistered garden, towards the
stone seat by the well, where the three old nuns used to sit in the
afternoon. Before they reached the place, she opened her eyes and met
Giovanni's, already haggard with fear for her, but brightening wildly
as her consciousness returned; for he had believed that she had fallen
dead before him.
Even through the closed glass doors the Mother Superior had heard her
cry and known her voice, for the window had been open to the April
sunshine. The Mother could be swift when there was need, and she was
downstairs and at the well almost as soon as the two men could get
there, walking slowly with their burden. Exerting a strength that
amazed them, she took the young nun into her arms and sat down with
her, and laid the drooping head tenderly to her heart. Her own face
was as still and white as marble, but neither Giovanni nor Pieri saw
her eyes.
'You may go,' she said. 'I will take care of her.'
In the presence of the strange officer she would not ask the Doctor
what had happened.
'She fainted suddenly,' he said.
'Yes. I understand. Leave her to me.'
Pieri saw that Giovanni could not move of his own free will; so he
passed his arm through the young man's and whispered in his ear while
he drew him away.
'You must obey for the present,' he said. 'She is in no danger.'
For he had understood the truth at once, as was easy enough; and
Giovanni went with him, looking back again and again and unable to
speak, not yet knowing all.
When the Princess had seen the Mother Superior crossing the garden,
she had drawn back within the door, and the Doctor shut it when
Giovanni had come in. The woman of the world had believed that she
could still face the man after what she had done, and perhaps find
words that would hurt him; but when she saw his eyes, she was
frightened, for she had known him well. When he went straight towards
her she made one step backwards, in bodily fear of him; but he spoke
quietly and not rudely.
'It was your duty to warn us both,' he said.
That was all, but he stood looking at her, and her fright grew; for
men who live long in the wilderness gather a strength that may inspire
terror when they come back to the world. The Princess turned from him
without answering, and left the hall.
One of the orderlies had called another nurse from within, and Ugo was
taken to his room, still surprised, but already understanding, as
Pieri did. The latter soon took his leave, the nurse followed him for
instructions, and the brothers were alone together.
'When I left her,' Giovanni said, 'we were engaged to be married. I
wrote to her just before I sailed, but she has not received the letter
yet.'
'What shall you do?' asked Ugo, watching him with sympathy.
'Do? Marry her, of course! Do you suppose I have changed my mind?'
'But she is evidently a nun,' objected Ugo. 'She must have taken
irrevocable vows. These nurses are not like Sisters of Charity, I
believe, who make their promise for a year only and then are free
during one night, to decide whether they will renew it.'
Giovanni Severi laughed, but not lightly, nor carelessly, nor
scornfully. It was the short, energetic laughter of a determined man
who does not believe anything impossible.