"How could he marry me ?" "You love him," Kalmon answered.
Again she nodded, and laughed too.
"What would you do for him ?" asked Kalmon, looking at her keenly.
"Die for him!" She meant it, and he saw that she did.

Her eyes shone as she spoke, and then the lids drooped a little and she looked at him almost fiercely.

He turned from her and his fingers softly tapped the marble window-sill.

He was asking himself whether he could swear to Marcello's identity, in case he should be called upon to give evidence.

On what could he base his certainty?
Was he himself certain, or was he merely moved by the strong resemblance he saw, in spite of long illness and consequent emaciation?
Was the visiting surgeon right in believing that the little depression in the skull had caused a suspension of memory?
Such things happened, no doubt, but it also happened that doctors were mistaken and that nothing came of such operations.