He died in 1902, the
highest life official in Italy; since 1897 he had been President of the
Council.
XLIX.
I came under an even greater debt of gratitude than to Saredo, to the
good-natured people in whose house I lay ill. I was as splendidly looked
after as if I had made it a specified condition that I should be nursed
in case of illness.
My landlady, Maria, especially, was the most careful nurse, and the best
creature in the world, although she had the physiognomy of a regular
Italian criminal, when her face was in repose. The moment she spoke,
however, her features beamed with maternal benevolence. After the
hospital, it was a decided change for the better. I was under no one's
tyranny and did not feel as though I were in prison; I could complain if
my food was bad, and change _trattoria_, when I myself chose.
Everything was good.
As long as I was well, I had taken hardly any notice of the people in
the house, hardly exchanged a word with them; I was out all day, and
either hastily asked them to do my room, or to put a little on the fire.
It was only when I fell ill that I made their acquaintance.
Let me quote from my notes at the time:
Maria is forty, but looks nearly sixty. Her husband is a joiner, a
stout, good-looking man, who works all day for his living, and has a
shop.
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