"You cannot stay here," she said, turning to Zorzi again. "You cannot
lie on this bench all day."
"I shall soon be able to stand," answered Zorzi confidently. "I am much
better."
"You will not stand on that foot for many a day," said Nella, shaking
her head.
"Then Pasquale must get me a pair of crutches," replied Zorzi. "I cannot
lie on my back because I have hurt one foot. I must tend the furnace, I
must go on with my work, I must make the tests, I must--"
He stopped short and bit his lip, turning white again as a spasm of
excruciating pain shot along his right side, from his foot upwards.
Marietta bent over him, full of anxiety.
"You are suffering!" she said tenderly. "You must not try to move."
"It is nothing," he answered through his closed teeth. "It will pass, I
daresay."
"It will not pass to-day," said Nella. "But I will bring you some syrup
of poppies. That will make you sleep."
Marietta seemed to feel the pain herself. She smoothed the leathern
cushion under his head as well as she could, and softly touched his
forehead. It was hot and dry now.
"He is feverish," she said to Nella anxiously.
"I will bring him barley water with the syrup of poppies. What do you
expect? Do you think that such a wound and such a burn are cooling to
the blood, and refreshing to the brain? The man is badly hurt.
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