His fair, straight hair was brushed away from his thin, bluish temples, and the golden young beard could not conceal the emaciation of his throat when his head leaned against the back of his easy-chair.
Taquisara sat down and looked at him, lighted a black cigar and looked again, got up, stirred the fire and then went to the window.
"You are worse to-day," he said, looking out.

"What has happened ?" He turned again, for the answer.
"It is all over," said Gianluca.

"My father was there last night.

She is betrothed to Bosio Macomer." His voice sank low, and his head fell forward a little, so that his chin rested upon his folded hands.

Taquisara uttered an exclamation of surprise, and bit the end of his cigar.
"She?
To marry Bosio Macomer?
No--no--I do not believe it." "Ask my father," said Gianluca, without raising his eyes.