summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
diff options
context:
space:
mode:
Diffstat
-rw-r--r--.gitattributes3
-rw-r--r--33778-8.txt14003
-rw-r--r--33778-8.zipbin0 -> 285258 bytes
-rw-r--r--33778-h.zipbin0 -> 304946 bytes
-rw-r--r--33778-h/33778-h.htm19488
-rw-r--r--33778.txt14003
-rw-r--r--33778.zipbin0 -> 285130 bytes
-rw-r--r--LICENSE.txt11
-rw-r--r--README.md2
9 files changed, 47510 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/33778-8.txt b/33778-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c1d87b2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/33778-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,14003 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Patriot, by Antonio Fogazzaro, Translated
+by M. Prichard-Agnetti
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Patriot
+ Piccolo Mondo Antico
+
+
+Author: Antonio Fogazzaro
+
+
+
+Release Date: September 20, 2010 [eBook #33778]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PATRIOT***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Julia Neufeld, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+THE PATRIOT
+
+(PICCOLO MONDO ANTICO)
+
+by
+
+ANTONIO FOGAZZARO
+
+Author of "The Saint"
+
+Translated from the Italian by M. Prichard-Agnetti
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+G. P. Putnam's Sons
+New York and London
+The Knickerbocker Press
+
+Copyright, 1906
+by
+G. P. Putnam's Sons
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+_The Patriot (Piccolo Mondo Antico)_ was published in Milan in 1896, and
+has reached its forty-fourth edition, which is in itself sufficient
+proof of its popularity; for Italians do not purchase books largely, and
+one volume will often make the tour of a town, coming out of the
+campaign in rags and a newspaper cover.
+
+Although _The Patriot_ is not an historical novel in the true sense of
+the term, it certainly throws a wonderful side-light on those ten years
+of "deadly cold and awful silence," a silence broken only from time to
+time by the cries of the martyrs of Mantua, by the noise of inward
+strife in the Papal States, and by the weeping of mothers who saw their
+sons disappear behind the clanging doors of Austrian fortresses. These
+ten years stretched drearily from the disastrous field of Novara to the
+glorious days of Magenta, Solferino and San Martino (1849-59).
+
+Antonio Fogazzaro, born in Vicenza in 1842, was a child when the battle
+of Novara was fought and lost; but when the French drove the Austrians
+from the bloody field of Magenta, he, a youth of seventeen, was ready to
+be fired with patriotic enthusiasm.
+
+During those years, there was little the patriots could do save to feed
+the fire of hatred against the foreign oppressors, and prepare, as best
+they could, in secret and in constant danger of death, for the moment
+when Piedmont should once more give the signal of revolt.
+
+In the night that succeeded the battle of Novara, King Carlo Alberto,
+who had risked all for the freedom of the rest of Italy--for it must be
+remembered that his own kingdom of Sardinia was independent of
+Austria--discouraged, mortified, and impoverished, abdicated in favour
+of his son, Victor Emmanuel. It was no longer possible to continue
+hostilities, and Carlo Alberto hoped that his son, whose wife, Maria
+Adelaide, was the daughter of an Austrian grand-duke, might obtain more
+favourable conditions from Austria for his unhappy country. On the
+following day the young King and Field-Marshal Radetzky met, and a peace
+was signed, the conditions of which Victor Emmanuel found great
+difficulty in persuading his parliament to ratify. But in the end
+Piedmont paid Austria an indemnity of seventy-five million francs.
+
+Victor Emmanuel had not, however, abandoned the idea of United Italy,
+and could say with Massimo D'Azeglio: We will begin over again, and do
+better! Count Camillo Benso di Cavour, one of the greatest statesmen of
+modern times, stood by the King from the first. They immediately turned
+their attention towards bettering the condition of their impoverished
+country, and soon succeeded in rendering the little capital, Turin, one
+of the brightest and most prosperous cities of the Continent. The
+patriots, the best men in Italy, flocked to Turin from all those states
+where Austria or her tools held sway. The Piedmontese government granted
+subsidies to some of these refugees, and found employment for others,
+receiving all with open arms.
+
+Meanwhile, Mazzini and Garibaldi were working, sometimes at home,
+sometimes in exile, while in Mantua brave patriots, among them several
+saintly priests, were suffering torture and death at the hands of the
+Austrians. The records of their trials revealed such palpable and
+flagrant violation of all justice, all law, that when the Austrians were
+at last expelled from Mantua, they were careful to remove these to
+Vienna, where they are still preserved. The aged mother of one of the
+priests who suffered execution appealed to the young Empress Elisabeth,
+begging that her son's body might be restored to her, and receive burial
+in consecrated ground. But Elisabeth was deaf to the unhappy woman's
+prayers. During the long and desolate years of her own affliction, how
+often must the unfortunate Empress have thought of the tears of blood
+the mothers of Italy had shed! It was Field-Marshal Haynau of inglorious
+memory, he who for his cruelties in that city had been dubbed the "hyena
+of Brescia," who tortured these martyrs of Mantua and signed their
+death-warrants.
+
+All these things were happening during those ten years of heavy silence
+when Fogazzaro was a child. We can fancy how eagerly he listened to the
+accounts of these horrors, and to the long and animated discussions his
+father (Franco Maironi of _The Patriot_) and his uncle (Uncle Piero)
+held with the brilliant company that assembled at Casa Fogazzaro. His
+father took an active part in the defence of Vicenza in 1848, while his
+mother, whom he has portrayed for us in the lovely character of Signora
+Luisa Rigey, busied herself with scraping lint and making cockades for
+the soldiers. These events and scenes, which so deeply impressed the
+child, were ever present to the mind of the man, and the long cherished
+project of immortalising those personages and places which were both
+familiar and dear to him, was at last realised in the pages of _The
+Patriot_, in which, evoking personal memories of the past, he gives us a
+stirring account of the petty persecutions and base meanness to which
+the mighty Austria stooped during that period of suspense and anxiety.
+The intrigues of the rogue Pasotti, the skirmishes of the wicked old
+Marchesa with the adjutant of the great Radetzky himself, fill us with
+indignation and contempt, while we thrill with patriotic emotion when
+Luisa raises her glass and whispers: "Hurrah for Cavour!"--_whispers_
+the words, because in those days the very walls had ears, and in her
+toast there breathed sedition!
+
+As the years passed and peace and prosperity settled over United Italy,
+another question, that of the religious life, began to occupy the
+master-mind of Antonio Fogazzaro. Intensely but broadly religious
+himself, he could not fail to introduce into his work the burning
+question of belief or unbelief which, from long contemplation and study,
+had become, as it were, a part of himself. The artistic motive of the
+book, the struggle between an unbelieving wife and an intensely
+religious husband, came to the Italian reader as a new revelation. Had
+Fogazzaro been influenced by certain works which had already excited
+much comment and discussion in England and America? Perhaps so; but at
+all events he has treated the subject differently, and in his own
+masterly fashion; he has spared us the long and tedious tirades of
+personages who are, after all, simply mouthpieces, and has given us
+instead two warm and palpitating human beings, who live and act in
+accordance with their opinions, and whose innermost souls are laid bare
+to us by their own deeds, their own actions. Franco and Luisa do not
+discuss and argue, they simply _feel_, feel intensely, and by a few
+burning words here, a few delicate touches there, our author leads us to
+feel with them, to understand and sympathise with their impulses, their
+passions, and their weaknesses.
+
+We may not agree with Fogazzaro's conclusions, but we cannot but admire
+the masterly delineation of character, the unstudied and thoroughly
+artistic arrangement of the work, and the skilful handling of so many
+different elements.
+
+The very simplicity and directness of his language give to his style a
+grandeur all its own, and lend a peculiar charm to his descriptions of
+nature, which form some of the most fascinating pages of _The Patriot_.
+With a few broad strokes, he spreads before us a landscape of ineffable
+beauty, or shows us the fury of the maddened elements. How marvellous in
+its solemn grandeur is the picture of the struggle between the sun and
+the fog, which Uncle Piero witnesses from the terrace at Oria! How
+wonderful in its awe-inspiring realism is the story of Franco's journey
+across the mountains, in the darkness of a moonless night! And that
+glorious picture of the sunrise, when Franco's crushed and tortured soul
+soars upwards again with the growing light, and, inspired and comforted,
+he once more squares his shoulders, and takes up his heavy burden of
+care!
+
+Infinite sweetness breathes from the pages which deal with the short and
+sunny life of dear little Maria, and there are passages full of humour
+and whimsical reflections that must remind the English reader of
+Dickens.
+
+Perhaps when Fogazzaro wrote _The Patriot_, he had already planned the
+trilogy of which it forms the first volume, but certainly the trilogy
+was rather evolved than planned, evolved from the union of two such
+characters as Franco and Luisa; and probably, while writing the first,
+the author was, to a certain extent, ignorant of what the second and
+third volumes would contain; for Luisa and Franco, Jeanne and Piero are
+not puppets which have been fitted into a story, but the story is in
+every particular the outcome of their personalities.
+
+Certain it is that when we read the promise contained in the closing
+lines of _The Patriot_, we look forward eagerly to the succeeding
+volumes of the trilogy; and when, after that marvellous scene in the
+gardener's house, we reluctantly bid farewell to the Saint, our first
+thought is a hope that the master may soon resume his magic pen and
+continue the struggle for the purification and regeneration of the
+Faith, and, through the Faith, of Mankind.
+
+ MARY PRICHARD-AGNETTI.
+ BERCETO, ITALY,
+ _October, 1906_.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ _PART FIRST_
+ PAGE
+
+
+ CHAPTER I
+
+ RISOTTO AND TRUFFLES 1
+
+ CHAPTER II
+
+ ON THE THRESHOLD OF A NEW LIFE 25
+
+ CHAPTER III
+
+ THE GREAT STEP 39
+
+ CHAPTER IV
+
+ CARLIN'S LETTER 68
+
+ CHAPTER V
+
+ THE ROGUE AT WORK 85
+
+ CHAPTER VI
+
+ THE OLD LADY OF MARBLE 109
+
+
+ _PART SECOND_
+
+ CHAPTER I
+
+ FISHERMEN 117
+
+ CHAPTER II
+
+ THE MOONSHINE AND CLOUD SONATA 133
+
+ CHAPTER III
+
+ THE GLOVED HAND 169
+
+ CHAPTER IV
+
+ THE HAND WITHIN THE GLOVE 180
+
+ CHAPTER V
+
+ THE SECRET OF THE WIND AND THE WALNUT TREES 201
+
+ CHAPTER VI
+
+ THE TRUMP CARD APPEARS 214
+
+ CHAPTER VII
+
+ THE PROFESSOR PLAYS HIS TRUMP CARD 230
+
+ CHAPTER VIII
+
+ HOURS OF BITTERNESS 240
+
+ CHAPTER IX
+
+ FOR BREAD, FOR ITALY, FOR GOD 285
+
+ CHAPTER X
+
+ SIGNORA LUISA, COME HOME! 305
+
+ CHAPTER XI
+
+ SHADOWS AND DAWN 331
+
+ CHAPTER XII
+
+ PHANTOMS 352
+
+ CHAPTER XIII
+
+ FLIGHT 366
+
+
+ _PART THIRD_
+
+ CHAPTER I
+
+ THE SAGE SPEAKS 391
+
+ CHAPTER II
+
+ THE SUMMONS TO ARMS 411
+
+
+
+
+Part First
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+RISOTTO AND TRUFFLES
+
+
+On the lake a cold _breva_[A] was blowing, striving to drive away the
+grey clouds which clung heavily about the dark mountain-tops. Indeed,
+when the Pasottis reached Casarico on their way down from Albogasio
+Superiore, it had not yet begun to rain. The waves beat and thundered on
+the shore, jostling the boats at their moorings, while flashing tongues
+of white foam showed, here and there, as far as the frowning banks of
+the Doi over yonder. But down in the west, at the end of the lake, a
+line of light could be seen, a sign of approaching calm, of the
+diminishing _breva_, and behind the gloomy Caprino hill appeared the
+first misty rain. Pasotti, in his full dress black overcoat, a tall hat
+on his head, his hand grasping a thick bamboo walking-stick, was pacing
+nervously along the shore, peering now in this direction, now in that,
+or stopping to beat his stick upon the ground, and to shout for that
+ass of a boatman, who had not yet appeared.
+
+The little black boat, with its red cushions, its red and white awning,
+its movable seat, used only on special occasions, fixed crosswise in its
+place, the oars lying ready amidship, was struggling, buffeted by the
+waves, between two coal barges, which hardly moved.
+
+"Pin!" shouted Pasotti, growing more and more angry. "Pin!"
+
+The only answer was the regular, constant thundering of the waves on the
+shore, and the bumping of one boat against another. At that moment one
+would have said there was not so much as a live dog in the whole of
+Casarico. Only a plaintive, old voice, like the husky falsetto of a
+ventriloquist, groaned from beneath the portico--
+
+"Hadn't we better walk?"
+
+At last Pin appeared in the direction of San Mamette.
+
+"Hurry up, there!" shrieked Pasotti, raising his arms. The man began to
+run.
+
+"Beast!" Pasotti roared. "It was with good reason they gave you the name
+of a dog!"
+
+"Hadn't we better walk, Pasotti?" groaned the plaintive voice. "Let us
+walk!"
+
+Pasotti continued to abuse the boatman, who was hastily unfastening the
+chain of his boat from a ring, fixed in the bank. Presently he turned
+towards the portico, with an authoritative air, and jerking his chin,
+motioned to some one to come forward.
+
+"Let us walk, Pasotti!" the voice groaned once more.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders, made a rough gesture of command with his
+hand, and started down towards the boat.
+
+Then an old lady appeared under one of the arches of the portico, her
+lean person enveloped in an Indian shawl, below which a black silk skirt
+showed. Her head was surmounted by a fashionable bonnet, spindling, and
+lofty, trimmed with tiny yellow roses, and black lace. Two black curls
+framed the wrinkled face; the eyes were large and gentle, and the wide
+mouth was shaded by a faint moustache.
+
+"Oh Pin!" she exclaimed, clasping her canary-coloured gloves, and
+pausing on the bank to gaze helplessly at the boatman. "Can we really
+venture out with the lake in this state?"
+
+Her husband made a still more imperious gesture, and his face assumed a
+still sourer expression. The poor woman slipped down to the boat in
+silence, and was helped in, trembling violently.
+
+"I commend myself to Our Lady of Caravino, my good Pin!" she said. "What
+a dreadful lake!"
+
+The boatman shook his head, smiling.
+
+"By the way!" Pasotti exclaimed, "have you brought the sail along?"
+
+"It is up at the house," Pin answered. "Shall I go for it? But perhaps
+the Signora here, might be frightened. Besides, here comes the rain!"
+
+"Go and fetch it," said Pasotti.
+
+The Signora, who was as deaf as a post, had not heard a word of this
+conversation, and, greatly amazed at seeing Pin run off, asked her
+husband where he was going.
+
+"The sail!" Pasotti shouted into her face. She sat, bending forward, her
+mouth wide open, striving in vain, to catch, at least, the sound of his
+voice.
+
+"The sail!" he repeated, still louder, his hands framing his mouth.
+
+She began to think that she understood. Trembling with fright she drew a
+questioning hieroglyphic in the air with her finger. Pasotti answered by
+drawing an imaginary curve in the air, and blowing into it; then he
+silently nodded his head. His wife, convulsed with terror, started to
+leave the boat.
+
+"I am going to get out!" said she in an agonised voice. "I am going to
+get out! I want to walk!"
+
+Her husband seized her by the arm, and pulled her down into her seat,
+fixing two flaming eyes upon her.
+
+Meanwhile the boatman had returned with the sail. The poor woman writhed
+and sighed; tears stood in her eyes, and she cast despairing glances at
+the shore, but she was silent. The mast was raised, the two lower ends
+of the sail were made fast, and the boat was about to put out, when a
+voice bellowed from the portico--
+
+"Hallo! Hallo! The Signor Controllore!" and out popped a big, rubicund
+priest, with a glorious belly, a large, black straw hat, a cigar in his
+mouth, and an umbrella under his arm.
+
+"Oh! Curatone!" Pasotti exclaimed. "Well done! Are you invited to the
+dinner also? Are you coming to Cressogno with us?"
+
+"If you will take me," the curate of Puria answered, going down towards
+the boat. "Well, I never! The Signora Barborin is here also."
+
+The expression of his big face became supremely amiable, his great voice
+became supremely sweet.
+
+"She is devilish frightened, poor creature!" Pasotti grinned, while the
+curate was making a series of little bows, and smiling sweetly upon the
+lady, who was more terrified than ever at the prospect of this added
+weight. She began to gesticulate silently, as if the others had been
+more deaf than she herself. She pointed to the lake, to the sail, to the
+bulk of the enormous curate, raising her eyes to heaven, hiding her face
+in her hands, or pressing them to her heart.
+
+"I don't weigh so very much," said the curate laughing. "Hold your
+tongue, will you?" he added, turning to Pin, who had murmured
+disrespectfully: "A good, big fish!"
+
+"I'll tell you how we can cure her of her fright!" Pasotti exclaimed.
+"Pin, have you a little table, and a pack of _tarocchi_[B] cards?"
+
+"I have a pack," Pin replied. "But they are rather greasy."
+
+They had great difficulty in making Signora Barbara--generally called
+_Barborin_--understand the matter in hand. She would not understand, not
+even when her husband forced the pack of filthy cards into her hands.
+
+For the present, however, playing was out of the question. The boat was
+being laboriously rowed forward towards the mouth of the river of San
+Mamette, where they would be able to hoist the sail. The surf, flung
+back from the shore, clashed with the in-coming waves, and the little
+boat was tossing about among the seething, foaming crests. The lady was
+weeping and Pasotti was swearing at Pin, who had not stood out into the
+lake far enough. At last the fat curate seized a couple of oars, and
+planting his big person firmly in the middle of the boat, bent to his
+work with such good will that a few strokes sufficed to send them
+forward and out of difficulty. Then the sail was hoisted, and the boat
+glided quietly and smoothly onward, rocking slowly and gently, while the
+water gurgled softly under its keel. Then the smiling priest sat down
+beside Signora Barborin, who had closed her eyes and was muttering. But
+Pasotti drummed impatiently on the table with the cards, and play they
+must.
+
+Meanwhile the grey rain was creeping slowly towards them, veiling the
+mountains, and stifling the _breva_.
+
+The lady's breath returned in proportion as the wind's breath
+diminished, and she played resignedly, calmly oblivious to her own gross
+mistakes, and her husband's consequent outbursts of rage. When the rain
+began to rustle on the boat's awning, on the lifeless waves, which in
+the now almost breathless atmosphere, were rolling in against the rocks
+of the Tentịn; when the boatman, judging it best to lower the sail,
+took to the oars once more, then, at last, Signora Barborin breathed
+freely. "Pin, my good fellow!" she said tenderly, and began playing
+_tarocchi_ with a zeal, an energy and an expression of beatitude, which
+neither mistakes nor scoldings could trouble.
+
+Many days of _breva_ and of rain, of sunshine and of storm have dawned
+and faded away over the Lake of Lugano, over the hills of Valsolda since
+that game of cards was played by Signora Pasotti, her husband, the
+retired controller of customs, and the big curate of Puria, in the boat
+which coasted slowly along the rocky shore between San Mamette and
+Cressogno in the misty rain.
+
+The times were grey and sleepy, in keeping with the aspect of sky and
+lake, after the _breva_ had subsided, the breeze which had so terrified
+Signora Pasotti. The great _breva_[C] of 1848, after bringing a few
+hours of sunshine, and striving awhile with the heavy clouds, had
+slumbered for three years, allowing one breathless, gloomy, silent day
+to follow another in those places where the scene of this humble tale of
+mine is laid.
+
+The king and queens of _tarocchi_, the _mondo_, the _matto_ and the
+_bagatto_, were imported personages at that time, and in those parts;
+minor powers tolerated benevolently by the great, silent Austrian
+empire; and their antagonisms, their alliances, their wars, were the
+only political questions which might be freely discussed. Even Pin, as
+he rowed, eagerly poked his hooked and inquisitive nose into Signora
+Barborin's cards, withdrawing it reluctantly again. Once he paused in
+his rowing, and let his nose hover above the cards, to see how the poor
+woman would extricate herself from a difficult position; what she would
+do with a certain card it was dangerous to play, and equally dangerous
+to hold. Her husband thumped impatiently on the little table, the big
+curate sorted his cards with a blissful smile, while she clasped hers to
+her bosom, now laughing, now groaning, and rolling her eyes from one to
+the other of her companions.
+
+"She holds the _matto_," the curate whispered.
+
+"She always goes on like that when she has the _matto_," said Pasotti,
+and called to her, thumping the table one more--
+
+"Out with the _matto_!"
+
+"I will throw him into the lake!" said she. She cast a glance towards
+the prow, and, as an excuse, remarked that they were nearing Cressogno,
+and that it was time to stop playing.
+
+Her husband fumed awhile, but finally resigned himself to putting on his
+gloves.
+
+"Trout to-day, curate!" he observed, while his meek wife buttoned them
+for him. "White truffles, grouse, and wine from Ghemme."
+
+"Then you know!" the curate exclaimed. "I know it also. The cook told me
+yesterday at Lugano."
+
+"And besides, some ladies have been invited; the Carabellis, mother and
+daughter. Those Carabellis from Loveno, you know."
+
+"Indeed!" the curate exclaimed. "Is there any scheme----? There is Don
+Franco, now, in his boat. But what a strange flag the young man is
+flying! I never saw him with it before."
+
+Pasotti raised the awning and looked out. At a little distance a boat
+flying a white and blue flag rose and fell in unison with the weary
+motion of the waves. In the stern, under the flag, sat Don Franco
+Maironi, the grandson of the old Marchesa Orsola, who was giving the
+dinner.
+
+Pasotti saw him rise, grasp the oars, and pull away, rowing slowly
+towards the upper lake, towards the wild gulf of the Doi, the white and
+blue flag spread wide, and floating above the boat's trail.
+
+"Where is that eccentric young man going?" said he. And he muttered
+between his teeth; in the strained and husky voice of a Milanese
+rough--"A surly fellow!"
+
+"They say he has great talents," the priest observed.
+
+"An empty head," the other declared. "Much arrogance, little learning,
+no manners!"
+
+"And half rotten," he added. "If I were that young woman----"
+
+"Which?" the curate questioned.
+
+"Why, Signorina Carabelli."
+
+"Mark my words, Signor Controllore! If the grouse and white truffles are
+meant for that Carabelli girl, they are thrown away!"
+
+"Do you know something?" Pasotti inquired, his eyes flaming with
+curiosity.
+
+The priest did not answer because, at that point, the bow grated on the
+gravel, and touched the landing-stage. He got out first; Pasotti, with
+rapid and imperious gestures, gave his wife some orders of unknown
+purport. Then he himself left the boat. Last to get out was the poor
+woman, wrapped in her Indian shawl, bending under the tall, black bonnet
+with the little, yellow roses, staggering, and stretching out her big
+hands in the canary-coloured gloves. The two curls, hanging on either
+side of her meek ugliness, gave her a special air of resignation, under
+the umbrella of her husband, proprietor, inspector and jealous custodian
+of so much elegance.
+
+The three went up to the portico, by means of which the little Villa
+Maironi spans the road leading from the landing-stage to the
+parish-church of Cressogno. Between two happy sighs, the curate and
+Pasotti sniffed an indistinct, warm odour, which floated out from the
+open vestibule of the villa.
+
+"Ah! _risotto! risotto!_" the priest whispered, with a greedy glow on
+his face.
+
+Pasotti, who had a keen nose, shook his head, knitting his brows in
+manifest contempt for that other nose.
+
+"It is not _risotto_," said he.
+
+"What do you mean by saying it is not _risotto_?" the priest exclaimed
+in vexation. "It _is risotto_; _risotto_ with truffles. Don't you
+smell it?"
+
+Both stopped half way across the vestibule, sniffing the air noisily
+like a couple of hounds.
+
+"Do me the favour, my dear curate, to confine your remarks to
+_posciandra_," said Pasotti, after a long pause, alluding to a certain
+coarse dish the peasants prepare, with cabbage and sausages. "Truffles
+there are, but _risotto_ there is not!"
+
+"_Posciandra! posciandra!_" the other grumbled, somewhat offended. "As
+to that----"
+
+The poor, meek lady understood that they were quarrelling, and, much
+alarmed, began pointing upward towards the ceiling, with her right
+forefinger, to warn them that they might be overheard up above. Her
+husband seized her uplifted arm, signed to her to sniff, and then blew
+into her wide open mouth the word: "_Risotto_."
+
+She hesitated, not having heard distinctly. Pasotti shrugged his
+shoulders. "She don't understand anything," said he. "The weather is
+going to change," and he went up stairs, followed by his wife. The stout
+curate wished to take another look at Don Franco's boat. "The
+Carabellis, indeed!" he mused, but he was immediately recalled by
+Signora Barborin, who begged him to sit beside her at the table; she was
+so timid, poor creature!
+
+The fumes of the pots and kettles filled the stairs with warm fragrance.
+"It is not _risotto_," the vanguard murmured. "It is _risotto_," the
+rearguard answered in the same tone. And thus they continued, ever more
+softly: "It is not _risotto_; it is _risotto_," until Pasotti pushed
+open the door of the red room, where the mistress of the house was
+usually to be found.
+
+A hideous, lean, little dog trotted, barking, towards Signora Barborin,
+who was endeavouring to smile, while Pasotti was putting on his most
+obsequious expression, and the curate, entering last, his big face all
+sweetness, was really, in his heart, consigning the cursed little beast
+to hell.
+
+"Friend, come here, Friend!" the old Marchesa said placidly. "Dear
+Signora, dear Controllore, and the curate!"
+
+Her gruff nasal voice was pitched in the same calm tone to the guests
+and to the dog. She had risen to receive Signora Barborin, but did not
+move a step from the sofa, and stood there, a squat figure, with dull,
+torpid eyes beneath her marble forehead, and her black wig, which
+rounded out over her temples in the shape of two big snails. Her face
+must once have been handsome, and still retained in its pallor, tinged
+with yellow like old marble, a certain cold majesty, which--like her
+glance and her voice--never varied with the varying emotions of her
+soul. The big curate, standing at a distance, made her two or three
+jerky bows, but Pasotti kissed her hand, while Signora Barborin, who
+felt her blood turn to ice under the old lady's lifeless glance, did not
+know how to move, nor what to say. Another lady had risen from the sofa
+when the Marchesa rose, and was staring with an insolent air at Signora
+Pasotti, at that poor little bundle, old within, and new without!
+"Signora Pasotti and her husband," said the Marchesa. "Donna Eugenia
+Carabelli."
+
+Donna Eugenia hardly bowed her head. Her daughter, Donna Carolina, was
+standing at the window, talking with one of the Marchesa's favourites,
+the niece of the agent.
+
+The Marchesa did not consider it necessary to disturb her in order to
+present the new arrivals, and when she had invited them to be seated,
+she resumed her quiet conversation with Donna Eugenia concerning mutual
+friends in Milan, while Friend, sniffing and sneezing, circled slowly
+round Signora Barborin's shawl, which smelt of camphor, or rubbed
+himself against the curate's calves, studying Pasotti the while, with
+those pitiful, watery eyes of his, but never once touching him, as if he
+understood that the master of that Indian shawl, in spite of his amiable
+expression, would have liked to ring his--Friend's--neck!
+
+And the Marchesa Orsola talked on in her usual guttural, sleepy voice,
+and Donna Carabelli, in answering, strove to give her loud, imperious
+voice an amiable ring. But to Pasotti's penetrating glance, and cunning
+shrewdness it was quite clear that the two old ladies were concealing a
+certain dissatisfaction, which was greater in the Marchesa Maironi than
+in Donna Eugenia. Every time the door opened the dim eyes of the one and
+the dark eyes of the other were turned in that direction. Once it
+admitted the prefect of the _Santuario della Caravina_, with little
+Signor Paolo Sala, called _el Paolin_--little Paul--and Signor Paolo
+Pozzi, called _el Paolon_--big Paul--who were inseparable companions.
+Again there entered the Marchese Bianchi, of Oria, a former officer of
+the kingdom of Italy, with his daughter. He was a noble type of the
+gallant, old soldier, as he stood beside the attractive and vivacious
+young girl.
+
+On both occasions a shadow of vexation passed over Donna Carabelli's
+face. Her daughter also turned her eyes swiftly towards the door when it
+was thrown open, but presently she would begin chatting and laughing
+again, more gaily than ever.
+
+"And Don Franco, Marchesa? How is Don Franco?" said the cunning Pasotti,
+in a mellifluous voice, as he offered his open snuff-box to his hostess.
+
+"Thank you," the Marchesa answered, bending forward a little and dipping
+her fingers into the snuff. "Franco? To tell the truth I am rather
+anxious about him. This morning he was not feeling very well, and he has
+not appeared yet. I trust----"
+
+"Don Franco?" said the Marchese. "He is out in his boat. We saw him a
+few minutes ago, rowing like any boatman."
+
+Donna Eugenia spread her fan open.
+
+"Well done!" said she, fanning furiously. "A most delightful pastime."
+Then she closed the fan with a bang, and began biting at it with her
+lips.
+
+"Probably he needed the air," the Marchesa observed, in her unruffled,
+nasal drawl.
+
+"Probably he needed a wetting," the prefect of the Caravina murmured,
+his eyes sparkling with fun. "It is raining!"
+
+"Don Franco is coming now, Signora Marchesa," said the agent's niece,
+after a glance at the lake.
+
+"That is good," the sleepy, nasal drawl replied. "I hope he is feeling
+better. If not, he will not speak two words. He is a perfectly healthy
+boy, but very apprehensive about himself. By the way, Signor
+Controllore, why does not Signor Giacomo make his appearance?"
+
+"_El sior Zacomo_," Pasotti began, in imitation of Signor Giacomo
+Puttini, an old bachelor from the Veneto, who had lived at Albogasio
+Superiore, near Villa Pasotti, for the last thirty years. "_El sior
+Zacomo_----"
+
+"Tut, tut!" said the old lady, interrupting him. "I cannot allow you to
+make fun of the Venetians, and besides, it is not true that they say
+_Zacomo_ in the Veneto."
+
+She herself was a native of Padua, and although she had lived in Brescia
+for half a century, still her Lombard accent was not entirely free from
+certain chronic suggestions of her Paduan origin. While Pasotti was
+protesting, with ceremonial horror, that he had only intended to imitate
+the voice of his beloved friend and neighbour, the door opened a third
+time. Donna Eugenia, well aware who was coming, did not condescend to
+look round, but the Marchesa allowed her dull eyes to rest on Don Franco
+with the greatest unconcern.
+
+Don Franco, sole heir to the name of Maironi, was the son of the
+Marchesa's son who had died when only eight-and-twenty. He had lost his
+mother at his birth, and had always lived under the rule of his
+grandmother Maironi. He was tall and slender, and wore a tangle of
+rather long, dark hair, and this had procured for him the nickname of
+_el scovin d'i nivol_, "the cloud sweeper." He had eloquent, light blue
+eyes, a keen, animated and pleasing face, quick to blush or turn pale.
+Now that frowning face was saying very plainly: "Here I am, but I am
+much put out!"
+
+"How do you feel, Franco?" his grandmother inquired, and added quickly,
+without waiting for an answer: "Donna Carolina is anxious to hear that
+piece by Kalkbrenner."
+
+"Oh! not at all!" said the girl, turning to the young man with an air of
+indifference. "I did indeed say so, but then I am not fond of
+Kalkbrenner, I had much rather chat with the young ladies."
+
+Franco seemed quite satisfied with the reception he had received and,
+without waiting for further remarks, went over to talk with the big
+curate about a fine old picture they were to inspect together, in the
+church at Dasio. Donna Eugenia Carabelli was quivering with indignation.
+She had come from Loveno, with her daughter, after certain secret
+diplomatic transactions, in which other powers had had a hand. Should
+this visit be paid or not; would the dignity of the house of Carabelli
+permit it; did that probability of success which Donna Eugenia exacted,
+really exist? Such were the final questions, which diplomacy had been
+called upon to answer, for, notwithstanding the acquaintance of long
+standing which existed between Mamma Carabelli and Grandmamma Maironi,
+the young people had met only once or twice, and then but for a few
+minutes. They were being drawn together by their surroundings of wealth
+and nobility, of relationships and friendships, as a drop of salt water
+and a drop of fresh water are mutually drawn together, though the
+microscopic creatures, which have their being in the one and in the
+other be condemned to perish if the two drops mingle. The Marchesa had
+carried her point. It had been decided--apparently out of respect for
+her age, but really out of respect for her money--that the interview
+should take place at Cressogno; for, though Franco himself was possessed
+only of his mother's modest fortune, amounting to eighteen or twenty
+thousand Austrian _lire_, his grandmother was enthroned in all her calm
+dignity upon several millions. And now Donna Eugenia, observing the
+young man's conduct, was furious with the Marchesa, as well as with
+those who had exposed her daughter and herself to such humiliation. If,
+at a single blow, she could have swept away the old woman, her grandson,
+the gloomy house and the tiresome company, she would have done so with
+joy; but she must hide her feelings, feign indifference, swallow the
+indignity and the dinner.
+
+The Marchesa preserved her external, marble placidity, though her heart
+was filled with anger and rancour against her grandson. Two years
+before he had dared to ask her consent to his marriage with a young
+girl of Valsolda, of good family, but neither rich nor of noble birth.
+His grandmother's decided refusal had rendered the union impossible, and
+indeed the girl's mother had felt obliged to forbid Don Franco the
+house; but the Marchesa was convinced that those people still had their
+eyes on her millions. She had therefore determined to find a wife for
+Franco, at once, in order to avert all danger. She had sought for a girl
+who should be rich, but not too rich; of noble, but not too noble birth;
+intelligent, but not too intelligent. Having discovered one of the right
+sort, she suggested her to Franco who flew into a rage, and declared he
+had no desire to marry. The answer had a very suspicious ring, and she
+redoubled her vigilance, watching every movement of her grandson and of
+that "Madam Trap," that being the pleasing title she had bestowed upon
+Signorina Luisa Rigey.
+
+The Rigey family, consisting of the two ladies only, lived at Castello,
+in Valsolda, so it was not difficult to watch their movements.
+Nevertheless the Marchesa could not discover anything. But one evening
+Pasotti told her, with much hypocritical hesitation and many horrified
+comments, that the prefect of the Caravina, while chatting with Pasotti
+himself, with Signor Giacomo Puttini and with Paolin and Paolon, in the
+chemist's shop at San Mamette, had made the following remark: "Don
+Franco is going to keep quiet until the old lady is really dead!" The
+Marchesa having listened to this delicate piece of wit, answered: "A
+thousand thanks!" through her placid nose, and changed the subject.
+Later she learned that Signora Rigey--always more or less of an
+invalid--was suffering from hypertrophia of the heart, and it appeared
+to her that Franco's spirits were much affected by this illness. It was
+then that Signorina Carabelli was suggested to her. Carolina Carabelli
+was perhaps not entirely to her taste, but with that other danger
+threatening she could not hesitate. She spoke to Franco. This time he
+did not fly into a rage, but listened in an absent-minded way, and said
+he would think the matter over. This was perhaps the one act of
+hypocrisy of his whole life. Then the Marchesa boldly played a high
+card, and sent for the Carabellis.
+
+She saw plainly enough now, that the game was lost. Don Franco had not
+been present when the ladies arrived, and later had appeared only once
+for a few minutes. During those few minutes his manner had been
+gracious, but not so his expression. As usual his face had spoken so
+plainly that--though the Marchesa immediately invented an indisposition
+for him--no one could have been deceived. But in spite of all this, the
+old lady was not convinced that she had played her cards unskilfully.
+Ever since she had reached the age of discretion it had been a rule with
+her never to recognise in herself a single defect or mistake, never
+wittingly to wound her own noble and beloved self. Now she preferred to
+believe that, after her sermon on matrimony, some honeyed but poisonous
+and ensnaring word had mysteriously reached her grandson. If her
+disappointment was somewhat mitigated, this was due to the conduct of
+Signorina Carabelli, whose lively resentment was but ill concealed. This
+was not pleasing to the Marchesa. The prefect of the Caravina was not
+mistaken--though he perhaps erred slightly in the form of his discourse,
+when he said, softly, of her: "She is Austria itself." Like the old
+Austria of those days, the old Marchesa did not wish for any bold
+spirits in her empire. Her own iron will would not tolerate others in
+its neighbourhood. Such an indocile Lombardy-Venice as was Franco was
+already too much, and the Carabelli girl, who appeared to have a mind
+and a will of her own, would probably prove a troublesome subject of the
+house of Maironi, a species of turbulent Hungary.
+
+Dinner was announced. The footman's shaven face, and ill-fitting, grey
+livery reflected the Marchesa's aristocratic tastes, which, however, had
+been tempered by habits of economy.
+
+"And where is this Signor Giacomo, Controllore?" she said, without
+rising.
+
+"I fear he is not coming, Marchesa," Pasotti replied. "I saw him this
+morning, and said to him: 'Then we shall meet at dinner, Signor
+Giacomo?' But he squirmed as if he had swallowed a snake. He twisted and
+turned and at last puffed out: 'Yes, probably. I don't know! Perhaps. I
+can't say!--Uff! uff. Well really now, my good Controllore, indeed I
+don't know!--Uff, uff!'--and I could get nothing more out of him."
+
+The Marchesa summoned the footman to her side, and gave him an order in
+a low tone. He bowed and withdrew. In his longing for the risotto, the
+curate of Puria was rocking his body to and fro, and stroking his knees.
+But the Marchesa on her sofa, seemed turned to stone, so he also became
+petrified. The others gazed mutely at one another.
+
+Poor Signora Barborin, who had seen the footman, and was surprised at
+this immobility and these astonished faces, arched her eyebrows,
+questioning with her eyes, first her husband, then Puria, then the
+prefect, until a lightning glance from Pasotti petrified her as well.
+"Perhaps the dinner is burnt!" she reflected, assuming an expression of
+indifference. "If they would only send us home! What luck that would
+be!" But in a minute or two the servant returned, and bowed.
+
+"Let us go," the Marchesa said, rising.
+
+In the dining-room the company found a new personage; a little, crooked,
+old man, with kind eyes and a long nose, that drooped towards his chin.
+
+"Indeed, Signora Marchesa," he began, humbly and timidly, "I have
+already dined."
+
+"Sit down, Signor Viscontini," the Marchesa replied, who, like all those
+who are determined to make their world bend to their own comfort and
+tastes, was well versed in the insolent art of feigning deafness.
+
+The little man did not dare to answer, neither did he dare to sit down.
+
+"Courage, Signor Viscontini!" said Paolin, who stood near him. "What are
+you doing here?"
+
+"He is filling a gap!" muttered the prefect. In fact, the excellent
+Signor Viscontini, by trade a tuner of pianos, had that morning come
+from Lugano to tune the Zelbis' piano at Cima, and Don Franco's also,
+and at one o'clock he had dined at Casa Zelbi. Then he had come to Villa
+Maironi, and was now called upon to act as substitute for Signor
+Giacomo, because, without him, the company would have numbered thirteen.
+
+A brown liquid was smoking in the silver soup-tureen.
+
+"It is not risotto!" Pasotti whispered to Puria, passing behind him. But
+the big, mild face gave no sign of having heard.
+
+The Casa Maironi dinners were always lugubrious affairs, and this one
+promised to be more than usually so. But as a compensation, it was much
+finer than usual. While they were eating, Pasotti and Puria often
+exchanged glances of admiration, as if congratulating one another on
+the exquisite delight they were enjoying; and if ever Puria failed to
+catch one of Pasotti's glances, Signora Barborin, seated beside him,
+would apprise him of it by a timid touch of her elbow.
+
+The voices which predominated were those of the Marchesa and Donna
+Eugenia. Bianchi's large aristocratic nose, and his shrewd but gallant
+and courteous smile were often turned towards the lady's beauty, which
+though already fading, had not, as yet, departed. Both belonged to
+Milanese families of the best blood, and were united by a certain sense
+of superiority, not only over the other middle-class guests, but over
+their hosts as well, whose nobility was only provincial. The Marchese
+was affability itself, and would have conversed amiably with the
+humblest of his fellow-guests, but Donna Eugenia, in the bitterness of
+her soul, in her disgust for the place and the persons, attached herself
+to him as to the only one worthy of her attention, markedly singling him
+out, in order, also, to offend the others. She embarrassed him by
+remarking in a loud tone that she did not see how he could ever have
+taken a fancy to this odious Valsolda. The Marchese, who for many years
+had led a life of quiet and retirement in this region, where, moreover,
+the birth of his only daughter, Donna Ester, had taken place, was,
+first, greatly disconcerted, for this remark was calculated to wound
+several of their fellow-guests; but finally he burst into a brilliant
+defence of the place. The Marchesa showed no feeling; Paolin, Paolon,
+and the prefect, all natives of Valsolda, were silent and abashed.
+
+Then, in pompous language, Pasotti sang the praises of Niscioree, the
+villa belonging to Bianchi, near Oria. These praises did not seem to
+please the Marchese, who, himself a most loyal man, had not always found
+Pasotti to his liking, in the past. He invited Donna Carabelli to come
+to Niscioree. "You must not go on foot, Eugenia," said the Marchesa,
+well aware that her friend was tormented by the fear of growing stout.
+"The road from the Custom House to Niscioree is so narrow! You could not
+possibly pass." Donna Eugenia protested hotly. "It is not, indeed, the
+Corso of Porta Renza," said the Marchese, "but neither is it _le chemin
+du Paradis_--unfortunately!"
+
+"That it is not! Most certainly not! You may take my word for it!"
+exclaimed Viscontini, heated, as ill luck would have it, by too many
+glasses of Ghemme. All eyes were turned upon him, and Paolin said
+something to him in a low tone. "Crazy?" the little man retorted, his
+face aflame. "Not by any means! I tell you----" And here he related how,
+coming from Lugano that morning, he had felt cold in the boat, and had
+gotten out at Niscioree, intending to pursue his journey on foot; how
+there, between those two walls, where the path was so narrow an ass
+could not turn round in it, he had met the customs-officers, who had
+first abused him for getting out at Niscioree, and had then taken
+him back to the beastly custom-house. He said that beast of a
+Ricevitore--the receiver of customs--had confiscated a roll of
+manuscript music he had with him, taking the crotchets and quavers for a
+secret political correspondence.
+
+Profound silence followed this recital. Presently the Marchesa declared
+that Signor Viscontini was entirely in the wrong. He should not have
+landed at Niscioree; it was forbidden. As to the Ricevitore, he was a
+most worthy man. Pasotti, with a solemn face, confirmed this statement.
+
+"Excellent official," said he. "Excellent rascal!" muttered the prefect
+between his teeth. Franco, who at first appeared to be thinking of
+something else, roused himself, and cast a contemptuous glance at
+Pasotti.
+
+"After all," the Marchesa added, "it seems to me that, in the disguise
+of manuscript music, there might easily----"
+
+"Certainly," said Paolin, who played the Austrian from fear while the
+mistress of the house was Austrian from conviction.
+
+The Marchese, who in 1815 had broken his sword in two that he might not
+be obliged to serve the Austrians, smiled saying quietly: "_La! C'est un
+peu fort!_"
+
+"But every one knows that the Ricevitore is a beast!" Franco exclaimed.
+
+"I beg to differ with you, Don Franco," said Pasotti.
+
+"Nonsense; beg to differ!" the other retorted. "He is a perfect beast!"
+
+"He is a conscientious man," said the Marchesa, "an official who does
+his duty."
+
+"Then his masters are the beasts!" Franco exclaimed.
+
+"My dear Franco!" drawled the emotionless voice, "I will not tolerate
+such language in my house! Thank God we are not in Piedmont!" Pasotti
+grinned his approval. Then Franco, lifting his plate with both hands
+shivered it upon the table, with a furious blow. "Holy Mother!" gasped
+Viscontini, and Paolon, interrupted in the laborious operations of a
+toothless glutton, uttered an exclamation of alarm. "Yes, yes!" said
+Franco, rising, his face distorted, "I had better go!" And he left the
+room. Donna Eugenia at once turned faint, and had to be led away. All
+the ladies, except Signora Pasotti, followed her out at one door, while
+the footman entered at another, bearing a great risotto pie. Puria cast
+a triumphant glance at Pasotti, but Pasotti pretended not to notice. All
+had risen. Viscontini, the apparent culprit, kept repeating: "I can't
+make it out! I can't make it out!" and Paolin, much vexed at seeing the
+dinner thus interrupted, grumbled at him: "What business have you to try
+to make anything out?" The Marchese was frowning fiercely, but kept
+silent. At last Pasotti, the real culprit, assuming an air of
+affectionate sadness, said, as if speaking to himself: "What a pity!
+Poor Don Franco! A heart of gold, a good head, but such a disposition!
+It is indeed unfortunate."
+
+"Alas!" exclaimed Paolin, and Puria added despairingly: "Truly a great
+misfortune!"
+
+They waited and waited, but the ladies did not return. Then some one
+moved. Paolin and Puria, their hands clasped behind them, walked slowly
+towards the sideboard, lost in contemplation of the risotto pie. Puria
+called sweetly to Pasotti, but Pasotti did not move. "I only wished to
+observe," the big curate said, hiding his triumph so that it might or
+might not be apparent, "I only wished to observe that there are white
+truffles in it."
+
+"I should say that black truffles[D] are not wanting here either,"
+remarked the Marchese pointedly, and slightly accentuating the words.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[A] _Breva_: local name for a sudden, violent wind blowing from the
+north, and sweeping over the Italian lakes. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[B] _Tarocchi_: a game of cards once much in vogue in Italy. The
+"_Mondo_," the "_Matto_," the "_Bagatto_," which will be referred to
+later on, are all picture cards used in this game. [_Translator's
+note._]
+
+[C] The _breva_ of 1848 means the revolution which swept over Italy in
+that year, after which the country sunk into apparent calm, but all the
+while the people, chafing under the Austrian yoke, were preparing for
+the mighty effort which, at last, set them free. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[D] _Tartufo_: often used to indicate those who are hypocritically
+pious. The word "black" refers to the priest's black robe.
+[_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+ON THE THRESHOLD OF A NEW LIFE
+
+
+"Scoundrels!" snorted Don Franco, climbing the stairs that led to his
+room. "Silly ass of an Austrian!" He was venting his wrath on Pasotti,
+as he could not hurl insults at his grandmother, and the very letters of
+the word _Austrian_ served so well to grind between his teeth, as he
+ground his rage, crushing it and enjoying its flavour. When he reached
+his room his burning indignation died out.
+
+He threw himself into a chair opposite the open window, and gazed at the
+lake, lying still and mournful in the cloudy afternoon, and at the
+lonely mountains beyond the sheet of water. He drew a long breath. Ah!
+how well he felt here all alone! Ah! what peace! How different the
+atmosphere was to that of the drawing-room! What a precious atmosphere,
+full of his thoughts and of his loves! He felt a great need of giving
+himself up to them, and they at once took possession of him, driving
+from his mind the Carabellis, Pasotti, his grandmother and that
+egregious beast, the receiver of customs. They? No, one thought alone; a
+thought composed of mingled love and reason, of anxiety and joy, of so
+many sweet memories, and at the same time, of tremulous expectancy, for
+something solemn was drawing near, and would come to him in the shadows
+of the night. Franco looked at his watch. It wanted a quarter to four
+o'clock. Seven hours longer to wait. He rose, and leaned with folded
+arms upon the window sill.
+
+In seven hours another life would begin for him. Beyond the few persons
+who were to have a part in the event, not even the air itself knew that
+that same evening, towards eleven o'clock, Don Franco Maironi would wed
+Signorina Luisa Rigey.
+
+For some time Signora Teresa Rigey, Luisa's mother, had, in all
+sincerity, begged Franco to bend to his grandmother's will, to abstain
+from visiting their house, and to think no more of Luisa, who, on her
+part, was content, for the dignity of the family, and out of respect for
+her mother, that all official relations with Don Franco should cease.
+She did not, however, doubt that he would remain faithful to her, and
+considered herself bound to him for life. His grandmother was not aware
+that he was now privately reading law, in order that by following a
+profession, he might be able to maintain himself. But, as a result of so
+much anxiety, Signora Rigey contracted a heart trouble, which grew
+suddenly worse towards the end of August, 1851. Franco wrote to her,
+begging to be allowed at least, to visit her, since it was not possible
+for him to nurse her "as would have been his duty." The lady did not
+feel justified in consenting to this, and the young man, in despair,
+gave her to understand that he looked upon Luisa as his affianced wife
+before God, and that he would rather die than to give her up. Then the
+poor mother, conscious that her life was ebbing day by day, distressed
+by the uncertain position of her beloved child, and convinced of the
+young man's strength of purpose, conceived a great longing that--as the
+marriage would surely take place--it should be celebrated as soon as
+possible. Everything was arranged in haste, with the aid of the curate
+of Castello and of Signora Rigey's brother, the civil engineer Ribera,
+of Oria, who was in the service of the Imperial and Royal Office of
+Public Works, at Como. The understanding was as follows: The marriage
+should be celebrated secretly; Franco should remain with his
+grandmother, and Luisa with her mother, until such a time as they should
+deem it opportune to acknowledge their union to the Marchesa. Franco
+relied greatly upon the support of Monsignor Benaglia, Bishop of Lodi,
+and an old friend of the family, but before he was asked to interfere,
+the decisive step must be taken. If (as in all probability would be the
+case) the Marchesa hardened her heart against them, the young couple and
+Signora Rigey would take up their abode in a house in Oria, belonging to
+the engineer Ribera, a bachelor who was supporting his sister's family,
+and would now accept Franco in place of a son.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+In seven hours then!
+
+The window overlooked the landing-place and the strip of garden in front
+of the villa, on the lake side. When he first fell in love, Franco used
+to stand there and watch for the coming of a certain boat, from which
+would spring a slim little person, as light as air, but who never, never
+looked towards his window. At last, one day he had gone down to meet
+her, and she had waited a moment before jumping out, that she might
+accept his helping hand--which, indeed, was most unnecessary. Down there
+in the garden he had given her a flower, for the first time, the
+sweet-smelling flower of the _Mandevilia suaveolens_. Down there, on
+another occasion, he had cut his finger rather deeply with his penknife,
+while gathering a little branch of roses for her, and she, by the
+anxiety she displayed, had given him a sweet proof of her love. How many
+excursions to the solitary slopes of Monte Bisgnago, on the other side,
+he had made with her and with other friends, before his grandmother
+found out! How many lunches and suppers at the little inn at Doi! Franco
+would come home with the sweetness of the many glances exchanged still
+lingering in his heart, and shutting himself up in his room, would
+recall them all, revelling in them in memory. These first emotions of
+his love now rushed into his mind, not one by one, but all together,
+from the waters and from the gloomy shores, where his fixed gaze seemed
+to lose itself in the shadowy past rather than in the misty present.
+Thus, as he neared the goal, he thought of the first steps he had taken
+on this long road, of the unforeseen incidents, of the aspect of this
+much-longed-for union, so different in reality from what it had appeared
+in his dreams. He looked back upon the time of the _mandevilia_ and the
+roses, of the excursions on the lake and among the hills. Certainly, at
+that time, he did not dream he would attain his object thus, secretly,
+and surrounded by so many difficulties, so much pain. Still, he thought
+that if the wedding had taken place openly, with the customary proem of
+official ceremonies, of contracts, congratulations, visits, and dinners,
+all this would have been even more wearisome and repugnant to his love
+than the opposition he had met with.
+
+He was aroused by the voice of the prefect, calling to him from the
+garden, to announce the departure of the Carabellis. Franco reflected
+that if he went down he would be obliged to offer some apologies, and he
+preferred not to make his appearance. "You should have smashed the plate
+on his face!" the prefect called up to him, his hands framing his mouth.
+"You should have smashed it on his face!"
+
+Then he turned away, and Franco saw the Carabellis' boatman go down to
+the shore to prepare the boat. He left the window, and returning to the
+thoughts which had occupied him first of all, he opened his chest of
+drawers, and stood absently contemplating an embroidered shirt front,
+where certain small diamond studs his father had worn at his own
+wedding, were already sparkling. He disliked the idea of going to the
+altar without some outward sign of festivity, but of course, this sign
+must not be too apparent.
+
+In the iris-scented chest of drawers everything was arranged with that
+order which denotes a cultured spirit, and no one was allowed to touch
+its contents save Franco himself. But the chairs, the writing table, the
+piano, were heaped with such disorder that it would seem as if a
+hurricane of books and papers had swept in at the two windows. Certain
+law books were slumbering under an inch of dust, but not a single leaf
+of the little gardenia, growing in a pot on the sill of the east window,
+showed a speck of dust. These indications were sufficient to suggest the
+whimsical rule of a poet. A glance at the books and papers would have
+given conclusive proof of this.
+
+Franco was passionately fond of poetry, and was a true poet in the
+exquisite delicacy of his instincts. As a writer of verse he could be
+ranked only as an indifferent amateur, wanting in originality. His
+favourite models were Foscolo and Giusti. He worshipped them fervently,
+and pillaged them both, for his genius, which was both satirical and
+enthusiastic, was not capable of creating a style of its own, and must
+content itself with imitating others. It is only fair to remark that
+young men in those days generally possessed a classical culture such as
+has since become most exceptional, and that through the classics
+themselves they learned to respect the art of imitation, as a
+praiseworthy and virtuous practice.
+
+Franco liked to improvise on the piano with some of these verses before
+his eyes. Even more devoted to music than to poetry, he had himself
+purchased this piano for one hundred and fifty _svanziche_, from the
+organist at Loggio, because the poor Viennese instrument, belonging to
+his grandmother, which was always wrapped up and must be handled
+carefully, like a gouty member of the family, was not adapted to his
+requirements. The organist's instrument, which had been thumped and
+banged upon by two generations of hands, hardened by contact with the
+pickaxe, now sent forth only a funny little nasal voice, which rose
+above a faint tinkling, as of many tiny glasses standing too close
+together. Franco was almost oblivious to this. As soon as he had placed
+his hands upon the instrument his imagination would take fire; the
+composer's enthusiasm would enter into him, and, in the heat of the
+creative passion, a thread of sound sufficed to permeate him with the
+spirit of music, and absolutely to intoxicate him. An Erard would have
+embarrassed him, would have left less room for fancy, would, in a word,
+have been less dear to him than his spinet.
+
+Franco possessed too many talents, too many different inclinations, too
+much impetuosity, too little vanity and perhaps also, too little
+will-power to undertake that tiresome, methodical, manual labour, which
+is indispensable in order to become a pianist. Nevertheless, Viscontini
+was enthusiastic about the style of playing, and his fiancée Luisa,
+though she did not entirely share his classical tastes, honestly admired
+his touch. When, being pressed to do so, he would make the organ at
+Cressogno roar and groan in the approved classic manner, the good
+people, overwhelmed by the music and the honour, would stare at him with
+open mouths and reverent eyes, as they would have stared at some
+preacher, whose sermon they did not understand. But notwithstanding all
+this, Franco could not have held his own in a city drawing-room, against
+the majority of feeble amateurs, incapable even of understanding and
+loving music. All, or almost all of them would have shown themselves his
+superiors in agility and in precision, and would have gathered in more
+applause, even though no one of them had succeeded in making the piano
+sing as he made it sing, especially in the adagios of Bellini and of
+Beethoven, playing with his soul in his throat, in his eyes, in the
+muscles of his face, in the tendons of his hands, which seemed one with
+the chords of the piano.
+
+Another passion of his was for old pictures. The walls of his room held
+several, most of which were daubs. Never having travelled he had little
+experience. His fancy was quick to take fire, and, obliged as he was to
+fit his ample desires to his scant means, he was credulous concerning
+the alleged good fortune of other ignorant purchasers, and often allowed
+himself to be influenced by them, to be blinded and led into buying
+certain dirty rags, which, if they cost little, were worth still less.
+The only passably good things he possessed were a head, in the style of
+Morone, and a Madonna and Child, after the manner of Carlo Dolci.
+Franco, however, baptised these two little pictures with the names of
+Morone and Carlo Dolci, without further qualification.
+
+When he had re-read and enjoyed some lines inspired by the hypocritical
+Pasotti, he once more hunted in the chaos of his desk, and drew forth a
+small sheet of notepaper, upon which he intended to write to Monsignor
+Benaglia, the only person who, in the future, might be able to influence
+his grandmother in his favour. He felt it his duty to inform him of the
+step he was about to take, of the reasons which had forced his fiancée
+and himself to resort to this painful subterfuge, of the hope they
+cherished that he would help them when the time came to confess all to
+the Marchesa. He was still reflecting, pen in hand, when the Carabellis'
+boat passed beneath his window. Soon after he heard the Marchese's
+gondola glide by, followed presently by Pin's boat. He expected that his
+grandmother would send for him, now that she was alone, but she did not
+do so. He waited some time, expecting to be summoned, then he began to
+think of his letter again, and reflected so long, re-wrote the
+introduction so many times, and got on so slowly, that before he had
+finished he was obliged to light the lamp.
+
+The end was easier. He begged the old Bishop's prayers for his Luisa and
+for himself, and expressed a faith in God so perfect and so pure, that
+the most unbelieving heart must have been touched by it.
+
+Fiery and impetuous as he was, still Franco possessed the calm and
+simple faith of a little child. Entirely free from pride, a stranger to
+philosophical meditations, he was ignorant of that thirst for
+intellectual liberty which torments young men, when their senses begin
+to find themselves hampered by that strong curb--positive beliefs. He
+had never for an instant doubted his religion, and performed all the
+duties it prescribed without once asking himself if it be reasonable to
+act and believe thus. Still he had nothing of the mystic or of the
+ascetic. His intellect, though ardent and poetic, was, at the same time,
+clear and positive. Devoted as he was to nature and to art, and
+attracted by all the pleasing aspects of life, he would naturally shrink
+from mysticism. He had not acquired his faith; he had never concentrated
+all his thoughts upon it for any length of time, therefore it was not
+possible that it should have penetrated all his sentiments. Religion was
+to him what science is to the student, whose first thought is school,
+where he studies diligently, having no peace until he has done his home
+tasks, and is prepared for the next lesson, but who, once his duty is
+performed, thinks no more either of teachers or of books, and does not
+feel the need of regulating his actions according to scientific
+conclusions or scholastic programmes. Therefore it would often seem that
+Franco's life was influenced by nothing else than his warm and generous
+heart, his passionate inclinations, his lively impressions, and the
+impulses of his honest nature, which was offended by every kind of
+untruth and meanness, while he chafed under contradiction, and was
+incapable of deceit.
+
+He had just sealed his letter when some one knocked at the door. The
+Marchesa had sent to summon Don Franco downstairs to recite the Rosary.
+At Casa Maironi they recited the Rosary every evening between seven and
+eight, and the servants were obliged to be present. The Marchesa herself
+intoned the prayers, enthroned on her sofa, her sleepy eyes roving over
+the backs and legs of the worshippers, kneeling, some in one position,
+some in another, some in the light best adapted to set off a devotional
+attitude, and others in the shadow which would favour a comfortable, but
+forbidden nap. Franco entered the room as the nasal voice was repeating
+the sweet words: "_Ave Maria, gratia plena_," with that drawling unction
+which always inspired him with a wild desire to become a Turk. The young
+man flung himself down in a dark corner, and never opened his lips. It
+was impossible for him to answer that irritating voice with fitting
+devotion. He fell to imagining what the coming interview would be like,
+and preparing caustic answers.
+
+When the Rosary was finished the Marchesa waited a moment and then
+pronounced the words consecrated by long usage--
+
+"Carlotta, Friend."
+
+It was the duty of Carlotta, the Marchesa's old maid, to take Friend in
+her arms, and carry him off to bed, as soon as the Rosary was finished.
+
+"He is here, Signora Marchesa," said Carlotta.
+
+But Friend, though indeed he had been there, was somewhere else when she
+bent down with outstretched hand. That evening old Friend was in good
+spirits, and determined to play at not being caught. He would tempt
+Carlotta, and then slip through her fingers, taking refuge under the
+piano, or under the table, from whence he would peer out at the poor
+woman with ironical waggings of his tail, while Carlotta's lips said,
+"Come, come, dear!" and her heart said, "Ugly beast!"
+
+"Friend!" exclaimed the Marchesa. "That will do, Friend! Be good!"
+
+Franco was boiling. The nasty little monster, imbued with his mistress'
+arrogance and egotism, paused at his feet, and Franco rolled him roughly
+towards Carlotta, who grabbed him, and punished him with an angry
+squeeze, and then carried him off, answering his whines with deceitful
+words of pity. "What did they do to you, poor Friend? What did they do
+to you? Tell us all about it!"
+
+The Marchesa made no remarks, nor did her marble countenance betray her
+feelings. She ordered the footman to tell the prefect of the Caravina,
+or any one else who might call, that his mistress had retired. Franco
+started to leave the room behind the servants, but checked himself at
+once, that he might not appear to be running away. He took a number of
+the _Imperial and Royal Gazette_ of Milan from the mantel-shelf, and
+seating himself near his grandmother, began reading while he waited.
+
+"I congratulate you heartily on the good manners and fine sentiments you
+displayed to us to-day," the sleepy voice began, almost immediately.
+
+"I accept your congratulations," Franco retorted, without raising his
+eyes from his paper.
+
+"Well done, my dear!" his immovable grandmother replied, and added: "I
+am glad that young girl had the opportunity of seeing you as you are,
+because, supposing she may have heard of a certain project, she will now
+be very glad it is no longer thought of."
+
+"Then we are both satisfied!" said Franco.
+
+"You cannot in the least tell if you are going to be satisfied.
+Especially if you still hold the views you once held."
+
+Upon this, Franco put his paper down, and looked his grandmother full in
+the face.
+
+"What would happen," he said, "if I still held the same views I once
+held?"
+
+This time he did not speak in a challenging tone, but with quiet
+seriousness.
+
+"Ah! That is right!" the Marchesa exclaimed. "Let us speak plainly! I
+hope and believe that a certain event will never take place, but should
+it take place, do not flatter yourself that there will be anything for
+you at my death, for I have already arranged matters so that there will
+be nothing."
+
+"Oh! as to that----" the young man began, with indifference.
+
+"That is the score you would have to settle with me," the Marchesa
+continued. "Then there would be a score to settle with God."
+
+"How is that?" Franco questioned. "God shall come first with me, and you
+afterwards!"
+
+When the Marchesa was caught in a mistake she always talked straight on
+as if nothing had happened.
+
+"And it will be a heavy score," said she.
+
+"But it must be settled first!" Franco insisted.
+
+"Because," the formidable old woman continued, "a good Christian is in
+duty bound to obey his father and his mother, and I represent both your
+father and your mother."
+
+If the one was obstinate, the other was no less so.
+
+"But God comes first!" said he.
+
+The Marchesa rang the bell and closed the conversation thus--
+
+"Now we understand each other perfectly."
+
+When Carlotta entered she rose from the sofa, and said, placidly--
+
+"Good-night."
+
+"Good-night," Franco answered, and resumed the _Milan Gazette_.
+
+As soon as his grandmother had left the room he flung the paper aside,
+clenched his fists, and giving vent to his anger in a sort of furious
+snort, sprang to his feet, saying aloud--
+
+"Ah! It is better so! Better, better so!" It was better so, he continued
+to assure himself mutely. Better never to bring Luisa to this accursed
+house, better never to oblige her to bear this rule, this arrogance,
+this voice, this face! Better to live on bread and water, and look to
+hard work for the rest, rather than to accept anything from his
+grandmother's hand. Better become a gardener, d---- it! a boatman, or a
+charcoal burner!
+
+He went up to his room determined to break with all obligations. "A
+score to settle with God!" he exclaimed, banging the door behind him. "A
+score to settle with God if I marry Luisa! Ah! after all, what do I
+care? Let them see me, spy upon me, bring her the news. Let them tell
+her, let them sing it to her in every key. I shall be delighted!"
+
+He dressed himself in feverish haste, knocking against the chairs, and
+closing the drawers with a bang. In his recklessness he put on a black
+suit, went noisily downstairs, called the old footman, told him he
+should be out all night, and, not heeding the half-astonished,
+half-terrified face of the poor fellow, who was devoted to him, rushed
+into the street, and was lost in the darkness.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+He had been gone two or three minutes when the Marchesa, who was already
+in bed, sent Carlotta to see who had come running downstairs. Carlotta
+reported that it was Don Franco, and was at once dispatched again on a
+second errand. "What did Don Franco want?" This time the answer was,
+that Don Franco had gone out for a few moments. The "few moments" was
+added out of kindness by the old servant. The Marchesa told Carlotta to
+go away, but not to put out the light. "You will return when I ring,"
+said she.
+
+It was past midnight when the bell sounded.
+
+The maid hurried to her mistress.
+
+"Is Don Franco still out?"
+
+"Yes, Signora Marchesa."
+
+"Put out the light. Take your knitting and wait in the ante-room. When
+he returns come and tell me."
+
+Having given these orders, the Marchesa rolled over on her side, turning
+her face towards the wall, and leaving the amazed and ill-pleased maid
+to stare at that white, smooth, impenetrable enigma, her night-cap.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE GREAT STEP
+
+
+That same evening at exactly ten o'clock the engineer Ribera knocked
+gently twice on the door of Signor Giacomo Puttini's house at Albogasio
+Superiore. Presently a window above his head was opened, and a little,
+old, clean-shaven face of "Sior Zacomo" himself appeared in the
+moonlight.
+
+"Most worshipful engineer, my respects!" said he. "The servant is coming
+down to let you in."
+
+"That is not necessary," the other answered. "I am not coming up. It is
+time to start, so you had better join me at once."
+
+Signor Giacomo began to puff and wink hard.
+
+"You must pardon me," he said, in his peculiar dialect, which was a
+mixture of many elements. "You must pardon me, most worshipful engineer,
+but I really need----"
+
+"Need what?" said the engineer, somewhat annoyed. The door opened, and
+the keen and yellow face of the servant appeared.
+
+"Oh! _Scior Parento!_ Sir Relative!" said she respectfully. She claimed
+I know not what degree of relationship with the engineer's family, and
+always addressed him thus. "At this hour? Have you perhaps been to see
+the _Sciora Parenta_? The Lady Relative?"
+
+The "Lady Relative" was the engineer's sister, Signora Rigey.
+
+Ribera answered shortly: "Oh! Marianna! How are you?" and went upstairs
+followed by Marianna, carrying the light.
+
+"My respects," Signor Giacomo began, coming towards him with another
+light. "I understand and recognise the great inconvenience I am causing,
+but really----"
+
+Signor Giacomo's small, clean-shaven, pink face, rose above an enormous
+white stock, and a lean little body, buttoned up in a great, black
+overcoat, and in the convulsive workings of his lips and eyebrows as
+well as in his troubled eyes, the most comical anxiety was expressed.
+
+"What is the matter now?" asked the engineer, somewhat sharply. He, the
+most upright and straightforward man alive, had little sympathy with the
+hesitation of poor, timid Signor Giacomo.
+
+"Allow me," Puttini began, and, turning to the servant, said harshly:
+
+"Begone, you! Go into the kitchen. You will come when I call for you.
+Go, I say! Why don't you do what I tell you? Where is your respect for
+me? I command here! I am the master!"
+
+It was the servant's curiosity, her insolent disregard for the orders of
+her superior, which had provoked this outburst of despotic fury in
+"Sior Zacomo."
+
+"Whew! What a violent man!" she said, lifting the lamp on high. "There
+is no need to shout in that way! What do you think of it, _Scior
+Parento_?"
+
+"Look here!" the engineer exclaimed. "Would it not be better for you to
+take yourself off, instead of standing there and jabbering?"
+
+Marianna went away grumbling, and Signor Giacomo began to communicate
+his most secret thoughts to the worshipful engineer, interlarding his
+sentences with many _buts_ and _ifs_, _that is_ and _reallys_. He had
+promised to be present in the capacity of witness at Luisa's secret
+marriage, but now, when it was time to start for Castello, he was
+assailed by an overpowering fear of compromising himself.
+
+He was "first political deputy," as the highest communal authority was
+then called. If the worshipful Imperial and Royal Commissary of Porlezza
+should get wind of this affair, how would he look upon it? And the
+Marchesa? "A terrible woman, most worthy engineer! A vindictive woman!"
+Besides he had so many other worries! "There is that cursed bull!" This
+bull, a bone of contention between the town and the _alpador_, or tenant
+of the hill-pastures, had, for the last two years, been a moral incubus
+to poor Signor Giacomo, who, in speaking of his troubles and trials,
+always began with "that perfidious servant," and ended with "that
+cursed bull!" In speaking these words he would raise his small face, his
+eyes full of pained execration, and stretch out accusing hands towards
+the brow of the hill which overhung his house, towards the home of that
+fiendish beast. But the engineer, whose fine, honest features betrayed
+marked disapproval and a growing contempt for this cowardly little man,
+who stood wriggling there before him, exclaimed several times
+impatiently: "Oh, dear me!" as if pitying himself for the poor company
+he was in. Finally, his patience entirely exhausted, he extended his
+arms with the elbows turned outwards, and shaking them as if he were
+holding the reins of a lazy old horse, exclaimed: "What is all this?
+What is all this? It is absurd! This is the language of a fool, my good
+Signor Giacomo! I would never have believed that a man like you, a man
+let us say----"
+
+Here the engineer, being really at a loss for a suitable phrase
+wherewith to describe his companion, simply puffed out his cheeks,
+emitting a long-drawn-out rumble, a sort of rattling noise, as if he had
+an epithet in his mouth which was so big that he could not spit it out.
+Meanwhile Signor Giacomo, who had turned very red, was protesting
+eagerly: "Enough! Enough! Pray excuse me! I am quite ready! I will come!
+Don't get excited! I only expressed a doubt, most worshipful engineer.
+You know the world. So did I, at one time, but I know it no longer."
+
+He withdrew for a moment to reappear again presently carrying an
+enormously high hat with a broad brim, which had seen Ferdinand enter
+Verona in 1838, the so-called "emperor's year."
+
+"I feel this sign of respect and satisfaction is fitting," said he.
+
+When the engineer caught sight of the thing, he once more ejaculated his
+"What is all this?" But the little man, who had a ceremonious spirit,
+stuck to his point. "It is my duty, my duty!" and he called to Marianna
+to light them down stairs. When the servant saw her master with that
+immense "sign of satisfaction" on his head, she gave voice to her
+astonishment. "Hold your tongue!" puffed the unfortunate Signor Giacomo.
+"Be quiet!" and as soon as he was out of the door his wrath burst forth.
+"There is no doubt about it, that cursed servant will be the death of
+me!"
+
+"Why don't you send her away, then?" the engineer enquired.
+
+Signor Giacomo had already placed one foot on the first step of the
+narrow lane that leads upwards on one side of the Puttini house, when he
+was brought to a stand-still by this pointed question, which pierced his
+conscience like a dagger.
+
+"Alas!" he replied, sighing.
+
+"I understand," said the engineer.
+
+"Besides, what good would that do?" the other went on, after a short
+pause. "This is the same as that!"
+
+This old Venetian saying concerning the unfortunate identity of the two
+relative pronouns, Signor Giacomo pronounced as an epilogue, and then,
+puffing loudly, emitted a loud breath, and once more started forward.
+
+Puttini leading and the engineer following, they climbed steadily for a
+few minutes, up the steep and narrow path, dimly lighted by the moon
+which was hidden among the clouds. No sound was heard save their slow
+steps, the thumping of their sticks on the stones, and Signor Giacomo's
+regular puffing: "Apff! Apff!" At the foot of the narrow stairway
+leading to Pianca, the little man stopped, removed his hat, wiped away
+the perspiration with a big, white handkerchief, and glancing up at the
+great walnut-tree, and the stables of Pianca to which he must ascend,
+puffed harder than ever.
+
+"By the body of the rogue Bacchus!" he ejaculated.
+
+The engineer encouraged him. "Up with you, Signor Giacomo. It is all for
+love of Luisina."[E]
+
+Signor Giacomo started on again without a word, and when they reached
+the stables, beyond which the path becomes less rough, he seemed to
+forget the stairs, his scruples, the perfidious servant, the Imperial
+and Royal Commissary, the vindictive Marchesa and the cursed bull, and
+began talking of Signora Rigey with great enthusiasm.
+
+"There is no doubt about it, when I have the honour of being in the
+company of your niece, of Signorina Luisina, I assure you I really feel
+as if I were back into the days of Signora Baratela and the Filipuzze
+girls, of the three Sparesi sisters from San Piero Incarian, and of many
+others, whose graces used to charm me, in the old days. From time to
+time I go to see the Marchesa, and I sometimes meet the girls of to-day
+there. No--no--no, they do not behave in a becoming manner. They are
+either sullenly silent or over-talkative. But just look at Signorina
+Luisina, how easy is her manner with every one! She knows how to behave
+with young and old, rich and poor, the servant and the priest. I really
+fail to comprehend why the Marchesa----"
+
+The engineer interrupted him.
+
+"The Marchesa is right," said he. "My niece is neither of noble birth,
+nor has she a penny. How can you expect the Marchesa to be satisfied?"
+
+Signor Giacomo stopped short, rather disconcerted, and stared at the
+engineer, blinking his sorrowful eyes.
+
+"How is this? You don't really mean to say she is right?"
+
+"I never approve of acting contrary to the wishes of parents, or of
+those who represent the parents. But I, dear Signor Giacomo, am an
+old-fashioned man like yourself, a man of the time of Carlo Umberto, as
+they say hereabouts. Now, the world wags differently, and we must let it
+wag. Therefore, having expressed my opinions on this point, I said to my
+relatives: 'Now do as you like. But when you have decided one way or
+another, let me know what is to be done, and I shall be ready!'"
+
+"And what does Signora Teresina say?"
+
+"My sister? My sister, poor creature, says: 'If I can see them settled
+in life, I shall no longer dread death.'"
+
+Signor Giacomo breathed hard, as was his habit whenever he heard that
+last, unpleasant word pronounced.
+
+"But it is surely not so bad as that?" said he.
+
+"Who can tell?" the engineer replied, very seriously. "We must trust in
+the Almighty."
+
+They had reached a sharp bend where the narrow path, passing the last of
+the small fields belonging to the territory of Albogasio, turns towards
+the first of those belonging to Castello, and winds on, on the left,
+along the top of a jutting crag, suddenly coming in sight of a deep
+cleft in the mountain's bosom, of the lake far below, of the villages of
+Casarico and San Mamette, crouching on the shore as if in the act of
+drinking. Castello is perched a little higher up, and not far distant,
+facing the bare and forbidding peak of Cressogno, the whole of which is
+visible, from the gorges of Loggio to the sky. It is a beautiful spot
+even at night in the moonlight, but if Signor Giacomo paused there,
+striking a contemplative attitude and forgetting to puff, it was not
+because he considered the scene worthy of any one's attention, to say
+nothing of that of a political deputy, but because, having a weighty
+argument to expound, he felt the necessity of concentrating all his
+strength in his brain, and of suspending all other effort, even that of
+the legs.
+
+"That is a fine maxim," said he. "Let us trust in the Almighty. Yes, my
+dear sir. But permit me to observe that in our time we were always
+hearing of prayers being answered, of conversions and miracles. Am I not
+correct? But now the world is not the same, and it appears to me the
+Almighty is sick of it all. The world is in much the same condition as
+our parish church at Albogasio, which the Almighty used to visit once a
+month. Now He comes only once a year."
+
+"Listen, my good Signor Giacomo," said the engineer, who was impatient
+to reach Castello. "The Almighty is not to blame because the parish has
+been transferred from one church to another. However, we will push on,
+and let the Almighty arrange things as He thinks best."
+
+Whereupon he started forwarded so briskly that presently Signor Giacomo
+was obliged to stop again, puffing like a pair of bellows.
+
+"Pardon me," said he, "if I yield, in a measure, to that curiosity which
+is inborn in man. Might one inquire your worshipful age?"
+
+The engineer understood the hidden meaning of his question, and
+answered in a low tone, with triumphant and ironical meekness--
+
+"I am older than you!"
+
+And he started off again at the same cruel pace.
+
+"I was born in '88, you know," Puttini groaned.
+
+"And I, in '85!" Ribera flung over his shoulder, without stopping. "Now
+come along."
+
+Fortunately for Puttini they had only a few steps more to go. There was
+the great wall that supported the consecrated ground about the church of
+Castello, and there was the narrow stairway leading up to the entrance
+of the village. Now they must turn into the dark passage below the
+priest's house, feeling their way along like blind men through this
+black hole, in which Signor Giacomo's imagination pictured so many
+treacherous and slippery stones, so many accursed, deceitful steps, that
+he stopped short, and, resting his clasped hands on the knob of his
+stick, spoke as follows--
+
+"By the body of the rogue Bacchus! No, most worshipful engineer, no, no,
+no! Really I cannot. I shall remain here. They will surely come to
+church. The church is near by. I shall wait here. Body of the rogue
+Bacchus!"
+
+This last "Body!" Signor Giacomo ground privately between his teeth,
+like the close of an inward soliloquy concerning the accessories
+surrounding the exceeding discomfort he was undergoing.
+
+"Wait a minute," said the engineer.
+
+A thread of light appeared under the church door. The engineer entered
+and presently came out again, accompanied by the sacristan, who had been
+preparing the hassocks for the bride and groom. He now brought to
+Puttini's rescue the long pole with a lighted taper at the end, which
+was used to light the candles on the altars. Thus, standing in the
+church door, he moved the taper along in front of Signor Giacomo's feet
+as far as the pole would reach, while that gentleman, but ill-satisfied
+with this religious illumination, groped his way forward, grumbling at
+the darkness, the miserable, sacred taper, and at him who held it, until
+at last, abandoned by the sacristan, and seized by the engineer, he was
+dragged along, much like a pike at the end of a line, and, in spite of
+his mute resistance, was finally landed on the threshold of Casa Rigey.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+At Castello the houses which stand in unbroken line on the winding
+hill-top, enjoying the sun and the view of the lake far below, all white
+and smiling on the side towards the open, all dark on the side towards
+that other row of less fortunate houses, which rise sadly behind them,
+resemble certain favoured individuals, who, brought into too close
+contact with misery, assume a hostile demeanour, and press close to one
+another that, thus united, they may hold the others in check. Among
+these fortunate ones Casa Rigey is one of the darkest on the side facing
+the poverty of the common houses, one of the brightest on the side
+facing the sun.
+
+From the street door a long and narrow corridor leads to a small, open
+loggia, from which, by means of a few steps, one may descend to the
+little white terrace which, between the reception room and a high,
+windowless wall, stretches out to the edge of the hill, looking down
+into the ravines from which issues the Soldo, looking down upon the
+lake, as far as the green gulfs of the Birosin and of the Doi, as far as
+the quiet sweeps beyond Caprino and Gandria.
+
+Signor Rigey, born in Milan of a French father, had been professor of
+the French language at Madame Berra's boarding school, but he had lost
+his position there, and most of his private pupils, because it was
+rumoured of him that he was irreligious. In 1825 he had purchased this
+little house, and retired to it from Milan, wishing to live economically
+and peacefully. He had, soon afterwards, married the sister of the
+civil-engineer Ribera. Dying in 1844 he left his wife with a daughter of
+fifteen, the house and a few thousand _svanziche_.[F]
+
+Hardly had the engineer knocked somewhat noisily at the door, when
+light, swift steps were heard in the corridor. The door was thrown open
+and a voice neither low nor silvery, but indescribably harmonious,
+whispered: "What a noise, Uncle!" "Noise indeed!" her uncle replied
+with mock dignity. "Am I then expected to knock with my nose?" His niece
+placed one hand over his mouth, and with the other drew him inside; then
+she saluted Signor Giacomo gracefully, and closed the door. All this was
+accomplished in the twinkling of an eye, while Signor Giacomo himself
+was puffing out: "Your most humble servant! I am really delightful----"
+"Thank you, thank you!" said Luisa. "Pray go in, I have a word to say to
+Uncle."
+
+The little man went forward, hat in hand, and the young girl tenderly
+embraced her old uncle, kissing him, pressing her face to his breast,
+and clasping her arms about his neck.
+
+"Won't that do now?" said the engineer, almost as if to check these
+caresses, for in them he felt a gratitude which he feared would
+presently take the form of words. "There, there! That is enough! How is
+Mamma?" Luisa's only reply was a tightening of her embrace. This uncle
+was more than a father to her, he was the special Providence of the
+house, but, in his great and simple bounty, he never dreamed that he had
+the slightest claim to the gratitude of his sister and niece. Whatever
+would these poor women have done without him, possessing only that
+meagre sum of twelve or fifteen thousand _svanziche_ which Rigey had
+left? As civil-engineer, employed on public works, Ribera enjoyed a good
+salary. He lived frugally at Como with an old housekeeper, passing his
+savings on to Casa Rigey. At first he had openly and heartily
+disapproved of Luisa's attachment for Franco, for it seemed to him that
+such a union would be but ill-assorted; but the young people being
+determined, and his sister having consented, he made up his mind to help
+them in every possible way, keeping his opinions to himself.
+
+"And Mamma?" he repeated.
+
+"She was feeling very well this evening because she was so happy, but
+now she is agitated, for Franco came about half an hour ago, and told
+her he has had something of a scene with his grandmother----"
+
+"Oh dear me!" the engineer exclaimed. Whenever he heard of a misfortune
+befalling any one else he always uttered this expression of
+self-commiseration.
+
+"No, Uncle! Indeed Franco is right!"
+
+Luisa pronounced these words with sudden warmth. "Yes indeed!" she
+exclaimed, her uncle having uttered a doubtful "Hm!" "He is perfectly
+right. But," she added in a low tone, "he says he left home in such a
+manner that his grandmother will probably discover everything."
+
+"It will be better so," said her uncle, starting towards the terrace.
+
+The moon had set and it was dark. Luisa whispered: "Mamma is here."
+
+Signora Teresa, who was suffering for want of breath, had had herself
+drawn out into the terrace in her easy-chair, hoping to find relief in
+the open air.
+
+"What do you say to this, Piero?" said a voice resembling Luisa's in
+tone, but sweeter and with a tired ring; a voice that seemed to come
+from a gentle heart which the world has used harshly, and which must
+yield. "What do you say to this? After all, our precautions will be of
+no avail."
+
+"No, no, Mamma. We are not sure of that. We cannot say so yet!"
+
+While Luisa was speaking, Franco, who was in the salon with the curate,
+came out to embrace the engineer.
+
+"Well," said Ribera, extending his hand, for embraces were little to his
+taste. "What has happened?"
+
+Franco related what had taken place, softening somewhat certain too
+offensive expressions of his grandmother's concerning the Rigeys,
+concealing her threat of not leaving him a penny, and blaming his own
+over-susceptibility rather than the old-woman's ill-nature, and finally
+confessing that he had purposely let it be known that he intended to
+remain out all night. This could have no other effect than that of
+leading his grandmother to an immediate discovery, for she would
+question him concerning this absence, and his silence would be a
+confession, for he did not intend to lie about this matter.
+
+"Listen!" Uncle Piero exclaimed, with the ringing voice and open
+countenance of the perfectly straightforward man who, being smothered to
+the point of suffocation with precautions and dissimulations, finally
+strikes out from the shoulder and, casting them off, breathes freely
+once more. "I admit you were wrong to irritate your grandmother, for,
+after all, old people must be respected even when they err; I see that
+the consequences may be serious, but nevertheless I am glad things are
+as they are, and I should be more glad if you had told your grandmother
+everything, clearly and roundly. I have never had any patience with all
+this secrecy, all this feigning and hiding. The honest man openly
+confesses his actions. You desire to marry against your grandmother's
+wishes? Well do so, but, at least, don't deceive her."
+
+"But Piero!" Signora Teresa exclaimed, who, besides a delicate
+perception of what life should be, possessed an accurate sense of what
+life really is, and, being much more given to religious exercises than
+her brother, and standing on a more familiar footing with the Almighty,
+could most easily persuade herself that He would make certain
+concessions in the matter of form, when some substantial benefit was to
+be gained.
+
+"But Piero! You don't think! If the Marchesa finds out about the
+marriage this way, she will, of course, refuse to receive Luisa into her
+house, and then what are the children to do? Where can they go? There is
+no room here, and even if there were, nothing is ready. At your house
+it is the same. You must consider all these points. If we wished to keep
+the marriage a secret for a month or two, it was not in order to
+deceive, it was to gain time in which to win over Franco's grandmother,
+and if she would not yield, to prepare one or two rooms at Oria."
+
+"Oh, dear me!" said the engineer, "Does it take two months to do that?
+It seems incredible!"
+
+At this point a prolonged puff in the shadow reminded them of Signor
+Giacomo's presence; he was leaning against the wall in one corner not
+daring to move, because it was so dark.
+
+Signora Teresa had not yet welcomed him.
+
+"Oh, Signor Giacomo!" she now hastened to say. "I beg your pardon. I am
+really so very, very much obliged to you! Pray come this way. Did you
+hear what we were saying? Do let us have your opinion."
+
+"Your very humble servant," said Signor Giacomo from his corner. "Really
+I dare not move, for with my poor sight----"
+
+"Luisa!" Signora Teresa called. "Bring a lamp. But did you hear, Signor
+Giacomo? What do you think about it? Do tell us."
+
+In his profound wisdom Signor Giacomo emitted three or four little hasty
+puffs which meant: Ah, this is indeed an embarrassing question!
+
+"I cannot say," he began hesitatingly, "I cannot say at present, being
+in the dark----"
+
+"Luisa!" Signora Teresa called once more.
+
+"No, no, Signora! I mean being in the dark on so many points. I feel
+that in my ignorance I may not pronounce an opinion. Still I will say it
+seems to me that perhaps it might ... well, at any rate, I am here at
+your service and at the service of this most respected family, though
+indeed I should not be astonished if the Imperial and Royal
+Commissary--a most excellent person, but very punctilious.... But
+enough, we will not talk of that, for here I am. But I do say, it seems
+to me that we might wait a little while, and our most noble friend Don
+Franco here might be able to wheedle and persuade.... Well, well, well.
+Do as you like. It is all the same to me."
+
+A furious protest on Franco's part had caused Signor Giuseppe to face
+about thus suddenly. Luisa seconded this protest, and Signora Teresa,
+who now would perhaps have been in favour of a postponement, did not
+venture to oppose their wishes.
+
+"Luisa, Franco," said she, "take me back to the salon."
+
+The two young people pushed the easy-chair into the salon, followed by
+Uncle Piero and Signor Giacomo.
+
+On the threshold Luisa, bending over her mother, kissed her hair, and
+murmured: "You will see. All will be for the best."
+
+She had expected to find the curate in the salon, but he had slipped
+away through the kitchen.
+
+Hardly had Franco and Luisa pushed the invalid's chair up to the table
+upon which stood the lamp, when the sacristan came to say that
+everything was ready. Signora Teresa asked him to inform the curate that
+the bride and groom would go to church in half an hour.
+
+"Luisa!" said she, glancing meaningly at her daughter.
+
+"Yes, Mamma," the girl replied, and turning to her lover, said in a low
+tone: "Franco, Mamma wishes to speak with you."
+
+Signor Giacomo understood, and went out to the terrace. The engineer did
+not understand at all, and his niece had to explain to him that her
+mother was to be left alone with Franco. The simple-minded man could see
+no reason for this, but she took his arm and, smiling, led him away to
+the terrace.
+
+Signora Teresa silently held out her beautiful hand, which was still
+youthful in its curves, and Franco, kneeling, kissed it.
+
+"Poor Franco," said she gently.
+
+Then she made him rise from his knees and sit close to her. She must
+speak to him, she said, and her breath was so short. But he would
+understand much from a few words, would he not?
+
+In speaking these words her voice was infinitely sweet.
+
+"You must know," she began, "that I had not intended to say this to you,
+but I thought of it when you spoke about breaking the plate at the
+dinner-table. I beg you to be careful on account of Uncle Piero's
+position. In his heart he feels as you do. If you only could have seen
+the letters he wrote me in 1848! But he is a servant of the Government.
+It is true his conscience is perfectly easy, for he knows that by
+engineering roads and water-works he is serving his country and not the
+Germans. But he must and will take certain precautions, and you--for
+love of him--must be cautious also."
+
+"The Germans will soon be gone, Mamma!" Franco replied. "But do not
+worry; you shall see how prudent I will be."
+
+"Oh, my dear! I have little more to see, I have only to see you two
+united and blessed by the Lord. When the Germans go, you will come to
+Looch to tell me of it."
+
+Those small fields where the little cemetery of Castello is situated go
+by the name of Looch.
+
+"But I had intended to speak to you of another matter," Signora Teresa
+went on, without giving Franco time to protest. He took her hands and
+pressed them, with difficulty restraining his tears.
+
+"I must speak to you of Luisa," she said. "You must know your wife
+well."
+
+"I do know her, Mamma! I know her as well as you do, and perhaps even
+better."
+
+As he pronounced these words his whole being glowed and quivered in his
+passionate love for her who was the life of his life, the soul of his
+soul.
+
+"Poor Franco!" said Signora Teresa, smiling tenderly. "No, listen to me,
+for there is something you do not know, of which you should be informed.
+Wait a moment."
+
+She needed to rest. Her emotion made her breathing more laboured, and
+she spoke with greater difficulty than usual. She motioned to Franco not
+to move, for she saw he was about to rise, that he might do something to
+relieve her. Only a little repose was necessary, and she took it,
+resting her head against the chair-back.
+
+Presently she roused herself. "You have probably heard many evil
+accounts of my poor husband, at your own home. You will have heard that
+he was an unprincipled man, and that I did very wrong to marry him. It
+is true he was not religious, and for that reason I hesitated some time
+before deciding to accept him. I was advised to do so because it was
+thought I might have a good influence over this man, who had a most
+noble soul. He died a Christian, and I have every hope of meeting him in
+Heaven, if the Lord, in His mercy, shall see fit to receive me there.
+But up to the very last hour it seemed as if I were not to accomplish
+anything. Now, I fear my Luisa has her father's tendencies in her heart.
+She hides them from me, but I feel they are there. I commend her to you;
+study her, advise her; she is gifted and has a great heart, and if I
+have not known how to do well by her, you must do better. You are a good
+Christian: see that, with all her heart, she also becomes one. Promise
+me this, Franco."
+
+He promised, smiling, as if he considered her fears groundless, and were
+making this superfluous promise simply to satisfy her.
+
+The invalid gazed sadly at him. "Believe me," she added, "these are not
+fancies. I cannot die in peace if you do not take this matter
+seriously." And when the young man had repeated his promise, this time
+without smiling, she said--
+
+"One word more. When you leave here you will go to Professor
+Gilardoni's, will you not?"
+
+"That was my first plan. I was to have told my grandmother that I was
+going to sleep at Gilardoni's house, as we were to start on an excursion
+together in the morning. But now, you know how I left home."
+
+"Still you had better go there. I had rather you went there, and
+besides, he expects you, does he not? So you must go. Poor Gilardoni! He
+has never been here since his fit of madness, two years ago. You know
+about that, do you not? Luisa has told you?"
+
+"Yes, Mamma."
+
+This Professor Gilardoni, who lived like a hermit at Casarico, had
+fallen most romantically in love with Signora Teresa some years before,
+and had timidly presented himself to her as a suitor. She had received
+his proposal with such utter amazement that he had lacked courage to
+appear before her again.
+
+"Poor man!" Signora Rigey continued, "that was a most stupid action, but
+he has a heart of gold, and is a true friend. I wish you to cherish him.
+The day before he had that mad fit, he confided a secret to me. I may
+not repeat to you what he said, and moreover, I beg you not to mention
+the subject to him unless he speaks to you about it; but it is, in fact,
+something which, under certain circumstances, might be of great
+importance to you two, especially if you have children. If Gilardoni
+should confide in you, reflect seriously before telling Luisa. She might
+look at the matter in a wrong light. Consider the question carefully,
+consult Uncle Piero, and then speak or remain silent according to the
+line of action you may have determined to adopt."
+
+"Yes, Mamma."
+
+There was a gentle tap at the door, and Luisa's voice said: "Have you
+finished?"
+
+Franco looked at the invalid. "Come in," said she. "Is it time to go?"
+
+Luisa did not answer, but threw one arm around Franco's neck, and
+together they knelt before the mother, their heads buried in her lap.
+Luisa tried her best to restrain her tears, knowing well that her mother
+should be spared all violent emotion, but her heaving shoulders betrayed
+her.
+
+"No, Luisa, no, dear, no!" said her mother, caressing her bowed head. "I
+am grateful to you, for you have always been a good daughter dear; such
+a good daughter! Calm yourself; I am so happy! You will see, I shall
+get better. Now go. Kiss me, both of you, and then go. You must not keep
+the curate waiting. May God bless you, Luisa, and you also, Franco!"
+
+She asked for her prayer-book, drew the lamp towards her, had the
+windows and the door leading to the terrace thrown open that she might
+breathe more easily, and then dismissed the maid, who was prepared to
+keep her company. When the young couple had left the room, the engineer
+came in to greet his sister before going to church.
+
+"Good-by, Teresa."
+
+"Good-by, Piero. Another load is laid on your shoulders, my poor Piero."
+
+"Amen!" the engineer answered, calmly.
+
+When she was alone Signora Rigey sat listening to the receding
+footsteps. The heavy steps of her brother and Signor Giacomo bringing up
+the rear, prevented her hearing those others, which she strained her ear
+to follow as far as possible.
+
+Another moment and the sounds ceased. She realised that Luisa and Franco
+were going away together into the future, whither she might follow them
+only for a few months, perhaps only for a few days; that she could
+neither divine nor foresee what their fate would be. "Poor children!"
+she thought. "Who knows what they may have passed through in five years,
+in ten years." She listened again, but the silence was profound; the
+open window admitted only the far-away thundering of the cascades of
+Rescia, over across the lake. Then, thinking that they must already have
+entered the church, she took her prayer-book, and read attentively.
+
+But she soon grew weary; her brain was confused, and the words of the
+book blurred before her eyes.
+
+Her mind was becoming drowsy, her will-power was lost. She foresaw the
+approach of a vision of unreal things, but she knew she was not asleep,
+she understood that this was not a dream, but a condition produced by
+her malady. She saw the door leading to the kitchen open, and there
+entered old Gilardoni from Dasio, called "el Carlin de Das," father of
+the Professor and agent of the Maironi family, for the estates in
+Valsolda--he had been dead five-and-twenty years. The figure came
+forward, and said, in a natural voice: "Oh, Signora Teresa! Are you
+quite well?" She thought she answered--"Oh, Carlin! I am quite well; and
+how are you?" But in reality she did not speak.
+
+"I've got the letter here," the figure continued, waving a letter
+triumphantly. "I've brought it here for you!" And he placed the letter
+on the table.
+
+Signora Teresa saw it quite plainly. A letter, soiled and yellowed by
+time, without an envelope, and still bearing traces of a little red
+wafer, lay before her and she experienced a sense of lively
+satisfaction. She thought she said: "Thank you, Carlin. Are you going to
+Dasio, now?"
+
+"No, Signora," Carlin replied. "I am going to Casarico to see my son."
+
+The invalid could no longer distinguish Carlin, but she saw the letter
+on the table, saw it distinctly. Still she was not sure it was there; in
+her sluggish brain the vague memory of other past hallucinations still
+endured, the memory of the disease, which was her enemy, her cruel
+master. Her eyes were glassy, her breathing laboured and rapid.
+
+The sound of hastening footsteps roused her, and recalled her almost
+completely to herself. When Luisa and Franco came swiftly into the room
+from the terrace they did not notice that their mother's face was
+distorted, for the lamp was heavily shaded. Kneeling before her they
+covered her with kisses, attributing that laboured breathing to emotion.
+Suddenly the invalid raised her head from the chair-back and stretched
+out her hands, pointing to something at which she was looking fixedly.
+
+"The letter!" she said.
+
+The young people turned, but saw nothing.
+
+"What letter, Mamma?" Luisa asked. At the same moment she noticed her
+mother's expression, and warned Franco by a glance. This was not the
+first time that Signora Teresa had suffered from hallucinations since
+her illness began. At the question, "What letter?" everything became
+clear to her. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and withdrawing her hands, buried her
+face in them, weeping silently.
+
+Comforted by her children's caresses she soon composed herself, kissed
+them, extended her hand to her brother and Signor Giacomo, who did not
+in the least understand what had happened, and then motioned to Luisa to
+go and get something. It was a question of a cake and a precious bottle
+of wine from Niscioree, which, together with some others, had been sent
+some time before by the Marchese Bianchi, to whom Signora Teresa was an
+object of special veneration.
+
+Signor Giacomo, who was longing to be off, began to fidget and puff, and
+glance towards the engineer.
+
+"Signora Luisina," said he, seeing the bride about to leave the room.
+"Pray excuse me, but I was just going to take leave of----"
+
+"No, no!" Signora Rigey exclaimed, with only a thread of voice. "Wait a
+little longer."
+
+Luisa disappeared, and Franco slipped out of the room behind his wife.
+Signora Teresa was suddenly assailed by scruples, and signed to her
+brother to call him back.
+
+"Nonsense!" said the engineer.
+
+"But Piero!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+The ancient and austere traditions of her house, a delicate sense of
+dignity, perhaps also a religious scruple, because the young couple had
+not yet received the benediction of the nuptial Mass, would neither
+allow Signora Teresa to approve of their withdrawing together, nor to
+explain her views on the subject. Her reticence and Uncle Piero's
+fatherly benevolence gave Franco time to place himself beyond the
+possibility of recall. Signora Teresa did not insist.
+
+"Forever!" she murmured presently, as if speaking to herself. "United
+forever!"
+
+"You and I," said the engineer, addressing his colleague in celibacy in
+the Venetian dialect, "you and I, Signor Giacomo, never go in for any
+such nonsense!"
+
+"You are always in good spirits, most worshipful engineer!" Signor
+Giacomo answered, while his conscience was telling him that in his time
+he had gone in for far worse "nonsense."
+
+The bride and groom did not return.
+
+"Signor Giacomo," the engineer continued, "there will be no going to bed
+for us to-night."
+
+The unfortunate man writhed, puffed and winked hard but did not reply.
+
+Still the bride and groom were absent.
+
+"Piero," said Signora Teresa, "ring the bell."
+
+"Signor Giacomo," the engineer began, composedly, "shall we ring the
+bell?"
+
+"That would seem to be the Signora's wish," the little man replied,
+steering his course as best he could between the brother and sister.
+"However, I express no opinion."
+
+"Piero!" his sister pleaded.
+
+"Come, let us have an answer," Uncle Piero continued without moving.
+"What would you do? Would you, or would you not ring this bell?"
+
+"For pity's sake!" Signor Giacomo groaned. "You really must excuse me."
+
+"I will excuse nothing!"
+
+The young people were still absent, and the mother growing more and more
+anxious, repeated--
+
+"Piero, I tell you to ring!"
+
+Signor Giacomo, who was dying to get away, and who could not leave
+without saluting the bride and groom, encouraged by Signora Teresa's
+insistence, made a great effort, turned very red and finally pronounced
+an opinion: "I should ring."
+
+"My dear Signor Giacomo," the engineer exclaimed, "I am surprised,
+amazed and astonished!" Who can say why, when he was in good spirits,
+and had occasion to use one of these synonyms, he would always string
+the three together? "However," he concluded, "let us ring."
+
+And he proceeded to ring very gently.
+
+"Listen, Piero," said Signora Teresa. "Remember that when you leave,
+Franco is to go with you. He will return at half-past five for the
+Mass."
+
+"Oh dear me!" Uncle Piero exclaimed. "How many difficulties! But after
+all, are they or are they not husband and wife?--Well, well," he added,
+seeing that his sister was beginning to grow excited, "do just as you
+like!"
+
+Instead of the young couple the maid appeared, bringing the cake and the
+bottle, and told the engineer that Signorina Luisina begged him to come
+out to the terrace for a moment.
+
+"Now that something good is coming at last, you send me outside!" said
+the engineer. He jested with his usual serenity of spirit, perhaps
+because he did not fully realize his sister's serious condition, perhaps
+because of his naturally pacific attitude towards all that was
+inevitable.
+
+He went out to the terrace where Luisa and Franco were waiting for him.
+
+"Listen, Uncle," his niece began. "My husband says that his grandmother
+will surely discover everything at once; that he will not be able to
+remain at Cressogno any longer; that if Mamma were stronger we might all
+go to your house at Oria, but, unfortunately, that is not possible as
+matters stand at present. So he thinks we might arrange a room here--any
+way to get it ready quickly. We had thought of poor Papa's study. What
+do you say to this plan?"
+
+"Hm!" ejaculated Uncle Piero, who was slow to take up with new ideas.
+"It seems to me a very hasty resolution. You will be incurring expense
+and turning the house upside down, for an arrangement which can only be
+temporary."
+
+His one idea was to have the whole family at Oria, and this expedient
+did not suit him. He feared that if the young people once settled down
+at Castello they would remain there. Luisa used every argument to
+persuade him that there was no other way, and that neither the outlay
+nor the trouble would be great. On leaving home her husband would go
+directly to Lugano, and bring back what few pieces of furniture were
+absolutely indispensable. Uncle Piero asked if Franco could not take up
+his quarters at Oria, remaining there until such a time as she and her
+mother could join him. "Oh, Uncle!" Luisa exclaimed. Had she known about
+the bell she would have been still more astonished by a similar
+proposal. But sometimes this good man had artless ideas of this sort, at
+which his sister smiled. Luisa had no difficulty in finding arguments
+against his plan for banishing Franco, and she used them with warmth.
+"Enough!" said Uncle Piero calmly, though he was not convinced; and he
+arched his wide-spread arms with the gesture of the _Dominus vobiscum_,
+more charitably inclined, more ready to enfold poor humanity in a tender
+embrace than before. "_Fiat!_ Oh, by the way," he added, turning to
+Franco, "how about money?"
+
+Franco shivered, much embarrassed.
+
+"You know he is our father!" his wife said.
+
+"Not by any means your father," Uncle Piero observed placidly. "Not by
+any means, but what is mine is yours; so I shall line your pockets as
+well as my means will permit."
+
+And he suffered, without returning it, the embrace which told of their
+gratitude, almost as if vexed by this unnecessary demonstration, vexed
+that they should not accept more simply an act which to him seemed so
+simple and natural. "Yes, yes!" said he, "now let us go in and drink;
+it will be far more profitable!"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The wine of Niscioree, clear and red as a ruby, at once delicate and
+strong, flattered and soothed the inner-man of the impatient Signor
+Giacomo, who, in those years of _oidium_, seldom wet his lips in
+undiluted wine, but gloomily sipped the Grimelli wine, of watery memory.
+
+"_Est_, _est_,[G] is it not, Signor Giacomo?" said Uncle Piero, seeing
+Puttini gaze with devoted eyes into the glass he held. "But here at
+least, there is no danger of expiring like a certain man: _et propter
+nimium est dominus meus mortuus est_."
+
+"I feel as if I were being resuscitated," Signor Giacomo answered,
+speaking very slowly and almost under his breath, his gaze still fixed
+on the glass.
+
+"Then you must give us a toast," the other said, rising. "But if you
+will not speak, why then I must do so," and he recited merrily--
+
+ "Long live he and long live she,
+ And now we'll be off, and leave them free!"
+
+Signor Giacomo emptied his glass, puffed loudly and winked hard, in
+consequence of the varied sentiments which were running riot in his
+soul, while the last perfume, the last flavour of the wine were fading
+in his mouth. He offered his duty to the "most revered" Signora Teresa,
+his devotion to the "most amiable" little bride, his respects to the
+"most accomplished" young husband. Then, gesticulating with head and
+arms, he declared himself undeserving of the thanks which were being
+lavished upon him, and taking his great hat and his stick, he
+started--humble and puffing, with mingled feelings of relief and
+regret--to follow the placid bulk of the "most worshipful" engineer.
+
+"And you, Franco?" Signora Teresa enquired immediately.
+
+"I am going," he replied.
+
+"Come here," said she. "I received you so badly when you returned from
+church, my poor children! You see I had had one of my bad attacks; I
+think you understood. But now I feel so well, so peaceful! Lord, I thank
+Thee! it seems to me I have set my house in order, have put out the fire
+and said my prayers; and now I am going to sleep, so well satisfied! But
+not so very soon, dear, not at once. I leave you my Luisa, dear; I leave
+you Uncle Piero. I know you will love them very much, will you not? But
+you must remember me also. Ah, dear Lord! how sorry I am I shall not see
+your children! That is indeed a grief to me! You must give them a kiss
+every day for their poor grandmother ... every day. And now go, my son,
+but you will be back by half-past five? Yes, dear.... Good-by ... now
+go."
+
+She spoke caressingly to him, as to a child who does not yet understand,
+and he wept silently, with tender emotion, kissing her hands over and
+over again, and glad Luisa was present to witness this scene, for in his
+immense tenderness for the mother, there was his immense joy at being
+one with the daughter, and an intense desire to love all that his wife
+loved, and in the same measure.
+
+"Go," Mamma Teresa repeated, fearing her own increasing emotion. "Go,
+go!"
+
+At last he obeyed and went out with Luisa.
+
+On this occasion also Luisa was absent a long time, but even the holiest
+souls have their little weaknesses, and although the maid was
+constantly coming and going between the kitchen and the salon, Signora
+Teresa, touched by the affection which Franco had displayed for her,
+never once ordered her to ring the bell.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[E] _Luisina_: little Luisa, _ina_ being a diminutive. [_Translator's
+note._]
+
+[F] _Svanziche_: a coin varying from 90 to 95 centimes. [_Translator's
+note._]
+
+[G] _Est_, _est_: Canon Johannes Fugger of Augsburg travelling in Italy in
+the twelfth century, directed his steward to precede him, and inscribe
+the word _Est_ on the door of the inn where the best wine was to be had.
+On reaching Montefiascone, the worthy canon found the word _Est_ written
+three times on the tavern door, and indeed, the muscatel of this
+district proved so much to his taste that he never left Montefiascone,
+but ended his days there in the year 1113 or thereabouts, and was buried
+in the church of S. Flaviano, where his tomb may still be seen. His
+steward caused the following inscription to be carved upon the
+sarcophagus:
+
+ Est, Est, Est. Propter nimium est,
+ Johannes de Fuc., D. meus, mortuus est.
+
+It is said that the wine-loving prelate left orders that a barrel of the
+very best muscatel should be spilled over his tomb every year on the
+anniversary of his death, and this ceremony was faithfully performed
+down to the end of the seventeenth century, when it was forbidden by a
+certain Cardinal Barbarigi, of unconvivial memory. The best wine of
+Montescone is still called _Est_, _Est_. [_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+CARLIN'S LETTER
+
+
+Franco went down the hill very, very slowly, absorbed in the world of
+things within him, so crowded with thoughts and with new sensations.
+Stopping every now and then to contemplate the grey road and the small
+dark fields, he would touch the leaves of a grape-vine or the stones of
+a low wall, in order to feel the reality of the external world, to
+convince himself that he was not dreaming. Not until he had reached the
+Contrada dei Mal'ari in Casarico, and was standing before the little
+door of Gilardoni's tiny house, did he recall Mamma Teresa's dark words
+concerning the secret Gilardoni had imparted to her, and he wondered
+what this mystery could be, which must not be revealed to Luisa. To tell
+the truth the mother's advice had not satisfied him entirely. "How could
+I ever hide anything from my wife?" he thought as he knocked at the
+door.
+
+Professor Beniamino Gilardoni, son of "Carlin de Dàas," had been
+educated at the expense of old Don Franco Maironi, Marchesa Orsola's
+husband, an eccentric man, capricious and violent, but at the same
+time, very generous. When Carlin died it became apparent that Maironi's
+generosity had not been necessary. Beniamino inherited quite a little
+hoard, and this maddened Don Franco, who held him responsible for the
+paternal hypocrisy, turned his back upon him, and would have nothing
+more to do with him for the short time he survived his agent. The young
+man chose the career of teacher, was professor of Latin at the gymnasium
+of Cremona, and of philosophy at the lyceum of Udine. Of a delicate
+constitution, apprehensive of physical suffering, and extremely
+misanthropical, he resigned his professorship in 1842, and came to
+Valsolda to enjoy the modest fortune his father had left him. Dasio, his
+native village, perched just below the dolomitic rocks of the Arabione,
+was too high up and inconvenient for him. He sold his possessions there,
+purchased the olive-grove of Sedorgg above Casarico, and a small villa
+on the edge of the lake, in Casarico itself. It was so small as to be
+almost a toy villa, and from its shape he called it the "Greek _II_ or
+Pi" in imitation of the "Digamma" of Ugo Foscolo. From the Contrada dei
+Mal'ari a short passage led to the little courtyard flanked by a tiny
+portico, open on the lake-side and surrounded by tall oleanders. It
+overlooked six miles of water, green, grey or blue, according to the
+hour, as far as Monte S. Salvatore there in the distance, stooping,
+under the burden of its melancholy hump, towards the humble hills of
+Carona beneath it. On the east of the little house there was a
+kitchen-garden, fabulously large for that part of the world, the
+dimensions of which Engineer Ribera was wont to define by means of the
+following surveyor's description: "Large field called _il Campone_,
+measuring seven _tavole_." Now seven _tavole_ correspond to twenty or
+twenty-two square metres! The Professor cultivated it with the aid of
+his little servant Giuseppe, called Pinella, and of a small collection
+of French treatises. He sent to France for the seeds of the most highly
+esteemed qualities of vegetables, which sometimes came up in shameless
+disregard of their certificates of baptism, and indeed of any honestly
+baptised family. It would then happen that philosopher and servant,
+stooping over the beds, their hands on their knees, would raise their
+eyes from these mocking sprouts, and gaze at each other, the philosopher
+honestly disappointed, the servant hypocritically so. In one corner of
+the garden, in a little stable constructed according to the most
+approved principles, dwelt a small Swiss cow, which had been purchased
+after three months of diligent study, and had turned out as delicate and
+fleshless as the master himself, who--in spite of the Swiss cow and four
+Paduan hens--often found it impossible to make himself a cup of custard
+in his own house. In the wall supporting the garden on the lake-side,
+against whose base the _breva_ drove the swelling waves, he had made
+some openings in which, following Franco Maironi's advice, he had
+planted many American aloes, many roses and some caper-bushes, thus
+binding together the substantial contents of his kitchen-garden, as he
+was wont to say, with poetic elegance of form. And for the love of the
+poetic, he had left a small corner of his kitchen-garden uncultivated.
+The tallest of reeds had sprung up there, and in front of these reeds
+the Professor had erected a sort of belvedere, a lofty, wooden platform,
+very rustic and primitive, where, in pleasant weather, he passed many
+happy hours with the mystic books he loved, enjoying the coolness of the
+_breva_, and the murmuring of reeds and waves. At a distance the colour
+of the platform could not be distinguished from that of the reeds, and
+the Professor looked as if he were seated on air, book in hand, like any
+magician. In the little salon he kept the small collection of works on
+kitchen-gardening, the mystic books, the treatises on necromancy, and
+gnosticism. The writings on hallucinations and dreams he kept in a tiny
+study adjoining his bedroom, a sort of ship's cabin, into which lake and
+sky seemed to pour through the window.
+
+After the death of old Maironi the Professor had once more taken to
+visiting the family, but the Marchesa did not please him particularly,
+and her son Don Alessandro, Franco's father, pleased him still less. So
+he ended by going there only once a year. When the lad Franco entered
+the lyceum his grandmother--his father had been dead some time--begged
+Gilardoni to give him some lessons during the Autumn. Master and pupil
+resembled each other in their easy enthusiasms, in their fits of violent
+but fleeting passion, and both were ardent patriots. When the necessity
+for lessons no longer existed they continued to meet as friends, though
+the Professor was some twenty years older than Franco. Gilardoni admired
+his pupil's genius, but Franco, on the other hand, held the
+half-Christian, half-rationalist philosophy of his master, and his
+mystical tendencies, in small esteem. He laughed at the other's passion
+for books and theories on horticulture and landscape gardening, a
+passion which was entirely devoid of all common sense. But nevertheless,
+he loved him sincerely for his goodness, his candour, his ardent soul.
+Franco had been the Professor's confidant at the time of his unfortunate
+passion for Signora Rigey, and later, Franco, in his turn, confided in
+the Professor. Gilardoni was much affected by the news, and told Franco
+that, his heart being still full to overflowing of that unchanging
+devotion, he should feel as if he were, in a way, becoming Franco's
+father, even though Signora Teresa herself would have none of him.
+Franco showed little appreciation of this metaphysical paternity. This
+passion for Signora Rigey seemed to him simply an aberration, and he was
+more than ever confirmed in his opinion that the Professor's head was
+not worth much, but that his heart was of gold.
+
+So he knocked at the door, and Beniamino himself came to open it,
+bearing a little oil lamp. "Well done," said he. "I was beginning to
+think you were not coming, after all."
+
+Gilardoni was in his dressing-gown and slippers, with a sort of white
+turban on his head, and he exhaled a strong odour of camphor. He looked
+like a Turk, like Gilardoni Bey, but the thin, sallow face which smiled
+beneath the turban had nothing Turkish about it. Encircled by a short,
+reddish beard, pompously embellished in the middle by a fine, big nose,
+red and pimply, the face was lighted up by two beautiful blue eyes,
+still very youthful, and full of simple kindness and poetry.
+
+As soon as Franco had closed the door behind him his friend whispered:
+"Is it done?" "It is done," Franco answered. The other embraced him and
+kissed him in silence. Then he took him up stairs to the little study.
+On the way he explained that, _secundum_ Raspail, he had applied a
+compress of some sedative water to his head, for he was threatened with
+a headache. He was an apostle of Raspail, and had converted Franco--who
+often suffered from inflammatory sore throats--from leeches to camphor
+cigarettes.
+
+In the little study there was another very close and long embrace. "So
+much! So much! So much!" Gilardoni exclaimed, meaning a world of things.
+
+Poor Gilardoni, his eyes were glistening. He himself had longed in vain
+for a happiness similar to his friend's! Franco understood and, much
+embarrassed, did not know what to say to him, and a silence so
+significant followed that Gilardoni could not stand it, and set about
+lighting a little fire to heat some coffee he had prepared. Franco
+offered to do this for him, and the Professor accepted, pleading his
+headache, and began unrolling his turban before a basin of the sedative
+water. "Well," said he, controlling his emotion by an effort of his
+will, "tell me all about it." Franco told him everything, from his
+grandmother's dinner-party, to the wedding ceremony in the church at
+Castello, except of course, his private talk with Signora Teresa.
+Professor Beniamino, meanwhile, had replaced his turban, and now
+summoned up all his courage. "And----" said he, substituting a sort of
+low groan for the beloved name, "how is she?" Upon learning of the
+hallucination he exclaimed: "A letter? She thought she saw a letter? But
+what letter?" This Franco did not know. A hissing on the fire
+interrupted the conversation; the coffee was boiling hard and bubbling
+over.
+
+Gilardoni also resembled his young friend in that his heart might be
+read from his face. The young friend who was, however, a far cleverer
+and quicker reader of faces than he, at once perceived that he had
+thought of some special letter, and inquired, while the coffee was
+settling, if he could explain this hallucination. The Professor
+hastened to say "no," but no sooner had he uttered that "no" than he
+weakened it by adding several other negatives, mingled with inarticulate
+grumblings: "Ah, no!--no indeed!--I cannot say--certainly not!" Franco
+did not insist, and another extremely significant silence ensued. When
+he had taken his coffee, with many involuntary signs of uneasiness, the
+Professor promptly proposed that they go to bed. Franco, who must leave
+before daybreak, preferred not to go to bed, but wished his friend to do
+so, and, after an infinite number of protests and ceremonies, after
+hesitating on the very threshold, his basin of sedative water in his
+hand, the Professor suddenly faced about, and throwing a "good-night"
+over his shoulder, disappeared.
+
+When he was alone Franco put out the lamp and stretched himself in an
+easy-chair with the good intention of going to sleep, seeking sleep in
+some indifferent thought if he could possibly fix his mind on such a
+thought. Not five minutes had passed when there was a knock at the door
+and immediately the Professor rushed in, without a light, and
+exclaiming: "Well, here I am again!" "What is the matter?" Franco
+inquired. "I am sorry I put out the light." At the same moment he felt
+the arms of the worthy Beniamino about his neck, his beard brushed
+Franco's face, and he smelt the camphor and heard the voice. "Dear,
+dear, Don Franco! I have an enormous load on my heart! I did not intend
+to speak now; I wanted to leave you in peace, but I cannot, I cannot!"
+
+"But speak! Calm yourself, calm yourself!" said Franco, gently freeing
+himself from that embrace.
+
+Gilardoni let him go, and pressed his hands to his forehead, groaning:
+"Oh, what a stupid fool, what a stupid fool, what a stupid fool I am! I
+might have left him alone; I might have waited until to-morrow or the
+next day. But now it is done! It is done!"
+
+He seized Franco's hand. "I tell you I had begun to undress when a sort
+of giddiness came over me, and then it was all up with me. I must needs
+put on the dressing-gown again, and rush in here without a light, like a
+lunatic. In my haste I even tipped over the basin of sedative water."
+
+"Shall we light the lamp?" Franco asked.
+
+"No, no, no, we had better talk in the dark, better talk in the dark!
+See, I am going way over there!" And he sat down at his writing-desk, to
+escape the faint glimmer of light which fell through the window. Then he
+began. He always spoke in a nervous and disorderly fashion, and it may
+easily be imagined how he spoke now, in his present state of agitation.
+
+"Shall I begin? Goodness knows what you will say, dear Don Franco! These
+are all useless words, but what would you have--alas! patience--! Well,
+I will begin--but where shall I begin? Oh, Lord! just see what a fool I
+am, not even knowing where to begin! Ah, that hallucination! Yes, I told
+you a lie just now; I can easily guess the origin of that hallucination.
+It has to do with a letter; a letter I showed Signora Teresa two years
+ago, a letter from Don Franco, your grandfather. Well, now let us begin
+at the beginning.
+
+"During his last days my poor father spoke to me of a letter from Don
+Franco which I should find in the strong-box, where all the important
+papers were kept. He told me to read it, to preserve it carefully, and,
+when the time came, to act in accordance with the dictates of
+conscience. 'But' said he, 'it is almost certain there will be nothing
+to be done.' My poor father passed away. I searched the strong-box for
+the letter, but did not find it. I hunted the whole house over, but in
+vain. What could I do? I contented myself with reflecting that there was
+nothing to be done, and thought no more about the matter. A fool, was I
+not? A real idiot! Say so freely, I deserve it. I have said so to myself
+so many times! But let us continue. Do you know how your grandfather's
+estate was settled? Do you know how the affairs of your house were
+arranged? You will forgive me for speaking to you of these matters, will
+you not?"
+
+"I know my grandfather died without a will, and that I have nothing,"
+Franco replied. "But let us pass that over, and proceed."
+
+To Franco it was truly a painful subject. At old Maironi's death no
+will had been found. In perfect love and harmony, the widow and the son,
+Don Alessandro, had divided the estate equally between them. In order to
+secure this arrangement the son had made a very large grant to his
+mother, declaring that he was only carrying out the paternal wishes,
+which had not found a means of expression. This depraved young man, a
+spendthrift and a gambler, was already caught in the toils of usurers at
+the time of his father's death. In the seven years he survived him he
+managed to spend everything, not leaving a penny to his only son,
+Franco, who found himself reduced to some twenty thousand _svanziche_,
+the fortune of his mother who had died in giving him birth.
+
+"Yes, yes, let us get on," Gilardoni continued. "Three years ago, three
+years ago, I say, I received a letter from you. I remember it was the
+second of November, all Souls' Day. Curious circumstance, mysterious
+circumstance! Very well. That night I went to bed, and dreamed a dream.
+I dreamt of your grandfather's letter. Note that I had never thought of
+it again. I dreamt I was hunting for it, and that I found it in an old
+box I keep in the attic. I read it, still dreaming. It said there was a
+great treasure in the cellar of Casa Maironi at Cressogno and that that
+treasure was to come to you. I awoke in intense excitement, convinced
+that this had been a prophetic dream. I got up, and went to look in the
+box. I found nothing; but two days later, being about to sell certain
+lands which I owned at Dasio, I got out an old deed of purchase, which
+my father kept in the strong-box, and, in turning over the leaves, a
+letter fell out. I glanced at the signature and saw: Nobile Franco
+Maironi. I read the letter. It was the one in question! Thus you see,
+the dream...."
+
+"Well," said Franco, interrupting him, "and what did this letter say?"
+
+The Professor rose, took a match half a cubit long, ran it in among the
+live coals in the little fireplace, and lit the lamp.
+
+"I have it here," he said with a great, despairing sigh. "Read it."
+
+He took from his pocket and handed to Franco a small yellowish letter,
+without an envelope, and still showing traces of the little red wafer.
+The yellow-black lines of writing inside showed through here and there,
+almost in relief.
+
+Franco took it, held it near the lamp, and read aloud as follows:
+
+
+ "Dear Carlin,--
+
+ "You will find my last will enclosed in this letter. I have
+ written it in duplicate. One copy I am keeping. This is the
+ other, and I charge you to publish it if the first be not
+ forthcoming. Do you understand? Very well then; and when we
+ meet I forbid you absolutely to worry me with your advice, as
+ is your d----d custom. You are the only person in whom I have
+ confidence, but, after all, it is my right to command, and your
+ duty to obey. Therefore all advice is useless and will not be
+ tolerated. Good-bye.
+
+ "Your affectionate master,
+ "FRANCO MAIRONI.
+
+ "CRESSOGNO, _22 Sept., 1828_."
+
+
+"Now here is the will," said Gilardoni dolefully, handing Franco another
+yellow document, "but don't read that aloud."
+
+The document read as follows:
+
+ "I, the undersigned, Nobile Franco Maironi, desire that my
+ estate be divided in accordance with this, my last will and
+ testament.
+
+ "Donna Orsola Maironi, born Marchesa Scremin, having deigned to
+ accept my homage as well as that of many others, I bequeath to
+ her, in proof of my gratitude, the sum of ten thousand Milanese
+ Lire, to be paid once and for all, and what, to her, is the
+ most precious jewel of my household, namely Don Alessandro
+ Maironi, duly inscribed in the parish-registers of the
+ Cathedral of Brescia as my son.
+
+ "I bequeath to my said son that part of my property which is
+ lawfully due to him, and three _parpagliole_[H] a day more, in
+ token of the special esteem in which I hold him.
+
+ "I leave to my agent in Brescia, Signor Grigi, should he be
+ still in my employ at the time of my death, all that he has
+ stolen from me.
+
+ "I leave to my agent in Valsolda, Carlino Gilardoni, upon the
+ same condition as above, four Milanese Lire a day, during his
+ natural life.
+
+ "I desire that, during the life of Donna Orsola Maironi
+ Scremin, a Mass be celebrated daily in the Cathedral of
+ Brescia, for the good of her soul.
+
+ "I name and appoint my grandson, Don Franco Maironi, son of Don
+ Alessandro, residuary legatee of all the rest of my property.
+
+ "As witness my hand, this fifteenth day of April, 1828.
+
+ "FRANCO MAIRONI."
+
+Franco read--and, half dazed and without a word, passed the sheet of
+paper back to the Professor. He was shaken, but felt vaguely that he
+must control himself, that he must restrain his own agitation, collect
+his thoughts, and strive to get a clear view of this matter and of
+himself.
+
+"What do you say to that?" the Professor exclaimed.
+
+At this point Gilardoni's intense excitement reached a climax.
+
+"Why did I not speak before, eh?" he continued. "The thing is that I
+can't possibly give a clear, precise and positive reason for not having
+done so. Those papers were a horror to me! If I myself and my own father
+and mother had been involved in such a question, I would rather have
+let a million slip than ask for it with those documents in my hand.
+There! I have been a fool again, to have said that! Just forget those
+last words, for in your place ... it is a different thing. I was
+speaking for myself. Good Lord, of course I was speaking for myself!
+Well, I thought--see what an ass I was--I thought your grandmother just
+doted on you, and that your grandfather's property would go to you
+anyway. And with that idea...! After a while I consulted Signora Teresa,
+and showed her the letter and the will. She said I should have informed
+you at once, as soon as I had made the discovery, but that she could not
+give me any advice because now her daughter was, in a way, an interested
+party. Besides, she said.... But that is of no consequence. In short I
+saw the will was a horror to her also. Anyway, I was convinced your
+grandmother would end by accepting this marriage, and I did not speak.
+Tonight you come and tell me the Marchesa has used threats. Fancy that!
+Now you understand that I could not wait, that I could not keep these
+documents a moment longer. There--they are yours--take them!"
+
+Franco, absorbed in his own thoughts, heard only these last words. "No,"
+said he, "I will not take them. I know myself too well. With them in my
+possession I might be led into doing something rash, or into acting
+prematurely. You keep them for the present." Gilardoni would not hear
+of keeping them, and drove Franco into one of his fits of impatience.
+There was indeed nothing so irritating to his nerves as the inconclusive
+outpourings of kind-hearted but brainless persons. Gilardoni's
+opposition angered him, and he gave him to understand that this wish to
+rid himself of the documents at all costs, was selfishness pure and
+simple, and that those who have blundered must bear the consequences.
+The words he uttered amounted to this, but the angry and harsh
+expression of his face said much more. Gilardoni, whose face was
+crimson, shuddered at the accusation of selfishness, but controlled
+himself and putting on a grim frown in his turn, hastily pocketed the
+documents, repeated a string of "well, well, well, wells," and abruptly
+left the room. To appease his own conscience Franco at once set to work
+trying to convince himself that Signor Beniamino was entirely in the
+wrong. He had done wrong in not having given him the documents much
+sooner, and now he was doing wrong in taking offence. As he was quite
+sure he should make his peace with the inconclusive philosopher, he
+thought no more about him, put out the lamp, and, returning to his
+easy-chair, became once more engrossed in his previous meditations.
+
+Now he was beginning to see clearly. He could not with dignity make use
+of that will, which, both in form and in substance was dishonouring to
+his grandmother, arousing as it did, when the letter was considered, a
+suspicion of criminal suppression. The will also reflected little honour
+upon his father. No, never. He must tell the professor to burn both
+documents.
+
+"Thus, Madam Grandmother, shall I triumph over you!" thought Franco,
+"Making you a free gift of the property, and of your honour as well,
+without even taking the trouble to tell you of it!" Revelling in this
+thought Franco felt almost as if he were lifted above the earth, and he
+drew a long breath, vastly pleased with himself, his soul illumined and
+soothed by a sentiment of mingled generosity and pride. With all his
+faith and his acts of Christian piety, he was very far from suspecting
+that such a sentiment was not entirely good, and that a less
+self-conscious magnanimity would have been more noble.
+
+He let himself sink back in his easy-chair, more disposed to rest than
+he had been before, thinking quietly of what he had read, of what he had
+heard, as one who has been on the verge of embarking upon some perilous
+speculation, and looks back upon the anxiety and the calamities from
+which he has escaped forever. Old memories were also beginning to stir
+in the depths of his soul. He recalled a certain tale an old servant had
+told concerning the riches of the house of Maironi, which, she said, had
+been stolen from the poor. He was a child then, and the woman had not
+hesitated to speak in his presence. But the child had received a deep
+impression, and this impression had been re-awakened in his early
+boyhood, by the words of a priest, who had confided to him, with an air
+of great secrecy and solemnity, and perhaps not without intention, that
+the Maironi fortune was the fruit of a law-suit which had been unjustly
+won against the Ospedale Maggiore of Milan.
+
+"So, through me," thought Franco, "everything has gone back to the
+devil."
+
+It struck him that perhaps it was late, so he lighted the lamp once
+more, and consulted his watch. It was half-past three. Now, it would be
+impossible for him to rest. The moment which would re-unite him to Luisa
+was too near at hand, his fancy was too greatly excited. One hour and a
+half more! He looked at his watch every two minutes; it seemed as if the
+tedious time would never pass. He took a book, but could not read. He
+opened the window; the air was soft, the silence profound, the lake was
+bright over towards S. Salvatore, and the heavens were studded with
+stars. At Oria he could see a light. Perhaps it would be his fate to
+live there in Uncle Piero's house. Gazing absently at that luminous
+spot, he began to imagine what the future would be, and ever-changing
+phantoms rose before him. At about half-past four he heard a bell ring
+on the lower floor, and presently Pinella came with a message from his
+master to the effect that if he wished to make the _ascent of the
+Boglia_ it was time to start. The master had a severe headache, and
+could neither rise nor receive him. Franco searched on the
+writing-table for a sheet of paper, and wrote:
+
+"_Parce mihi, domine, quia brixiensis sum._"
+
+He went out, Pinella accompanying him with the light as far as the dark
+arcade, where the road to Castello begins. Then he disappeared.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The Marchesa Orsola rang her bell at half-past six, and ordered the maid
+to bring her chocolate as usual. She swallowed more than half of it
+before asking with the utmost composure, at what hour Don Franco had
+returned.
+
+"He has not yet returned, Signora Marchesa."
+
+The old woman must have received an inward shock, but not a muscle of
+her face twitched. She placed her lips on the edge of her cup of
+chocolate, looked at the maid, and said calmly:
+
+"Bring me one of those little biscuits we had yesterday."
+
+Towards eight o'clock the maid came back to say that Don Franco had
+returned, but only to go directly to his room for his passport, coming
+down again immediately, and he had then ordered the footman to find a
+boatman who would take him to Lugano. The Marchesa said never a word,
+but later in the day she sent word to her confidant Pasotti that she was
+expecting him. Pasotti took in the situation at a glance, and remained
+with her more than half an hour. The lady was determined to find out
+where and how her grandson had spent the night. Pasotti had already
+heard some rumours, which he now repeated, concerning a nocturnal visit
+of Don Franco's to Casa Rigey; but more reliable and precise information
+was desired. The cunning _Tartufo_, by nature as curious as a hound,
+that goes about following every scent, poking his nose into every hole,
+and rubbing it against every pair of trowsers, promised to furnish the
+Marchesa with such information in the course of a day or two, and then
+took himself off, his eyes sparkling, rubbing his hands in anticipation
+of a pleasant chase.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[H] _Parpagliota_: a small coin then in circulation, and worth about
+twenty centimes (?). [_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE ROGUE AT WORK
+
+
+The next morning, Pasotti having imbibed his coffee and milk, lay
+pondering the plan of the chase until half-past ten, when he summoned
+Signora Barborin, who slept in another room because her snoring
+disturbed the "Controller," as she respectfully called her husband. "He
+is quite right," the poor deaf woman would say, "it is a terribly bad
+habit, this snoring of mine!" She was older than Pasotti, whom she had
+accepted as her second husband because her heart was very susceptible,
+and to whom she had brought certain moneys which he had long coveted,
+and was now enjoying. The Controller was fond of her in his own way; he
+obliged her to make calls, to go on boating excursions, to take long
+walks in the hills, all of which things were torments to her. He made
+fun of her deafness, sent her out covered with silks and feathers, and
+at home made her work like any drudge. In spite of all this she
+respected and served him like a slave, in fear and trembling it is true,
+but not without affection. When she did not call him "the Controller"
+she called him "Pasotti," but she never allowed herself to use a more
+familiar appellation.
+
+Pasotti, with a face as stern as any satrap, ordered her by gestures to
+go to the drawer for a white shirt, to the wardrobe for his second-best
+suit, to a cupboard for a pair of boots. When his wife had prepared
+everything, hunting anxiously here and there, continually facing about
+to follow the eyes and gestures of the master who several times called
+her a fool, when she would stare open-mouthed at him, striving to catch
+the word she had only seen, Pasotti stuck his legs out of bed, and said:
+
+"Here you are!"
+
+Signora Barborin knelt before him, and began pulling on his stockings,
+while the Controller, stretching out his arm to the pedestal, took his
+snuff-box, and, having opened it, continued his previous meditations,
+his fingers buried in the snuff. He intended to make several visits of
+discovery, but in what order should he arrange them? From what his
+farmer had told him, he judged that Signor Giacomo Puttini's Marianna,
+and perhaps even Signor Giacomo himself must know something about Don
+Franco, and certainly something must be known in Castello. While Signora
+Barborin was tying the second shoe-lace, Pasotti remembered that it was
+Tuesday. Every Tuesday Signor Giacomo, with a few friends, was in the
+habit of going to the market at Lugano, or rather to the tavern called
+"del Lordo," in order to vary the daily wine of Grimelli by a weekly
+glass of an undiluted vintage, and he often came home in an
+affectionate and communicative frame of mind. It would therefore be
+better to call upon him late in the day, say between four and five. In
+fancy Pasotti was already holding him in his hand, and managing him as
+he liked. With a malicious smile he raised his fingers from the
+snuff-box, shook the pinch to the proper dimensions by means of a few
+gentle, even raps, enjoyed it at his leisure, and then his wife having
+given him his handkerchief, he rewarded her by mumbling with a benign
+expression of countenance, as he rolled the handkerchief into a ball:
+"Poor woman! poor creature!"
+
+When, after half an hour's labour he had put on and buttoned up his
+coat, he exclaimed, seriously: "What d---- hard work!" and went to the
+glass. Then his wife ventured to edge cautiously towards the door,
+saying very timidly--
+
+"Can I go now?"
+
+Pasotti turned round frowning and imperious, and beckoning to her to
+approach, he drew about her head and person certain lines in the air,
+which meant a hat and shawl. She did not understand, and stood staring
+at him, with her mouth open. Then she pointed her forefinger at his
+breast, questioning him with her eyes, and her lifted eyebrows, as if
+suspecting he wanted those articles for himself. Pasotti answered this
+questioning in the same manner, with three stabs of his forefinger,
+which signified: "you, you, you!" Then, making the motions of cutting
+something with his open hand, he gave her to understand that she was to
+go out with him. She started several times, astonished and protesting,
+opened her eyes extremely wide, and said in that voice of hers which
+seemed to come from the cellar:
+
+"Where?"
+
+The Controller's only answer was a fulminating glance and a gesture:
+"march!" He did not intend to give any further information.
+
+Signora Barborin struggled a little longer.
+
+"I have not breakfasted yet," she said.
+
+Her husband took her by the shoulders, drew her towards him, and shouted
+into her face:
+
+"You will breakfast later."
+
+Only at Albogasio Inferiore, in front of the Annunziata, did he inform
+her, by pointing to the place with his stick, that they were going to
+Cadate, to that old manor-house planted in the lake between Casarico and
+Albogasio, and generally known as "the Palace," where there lived, all
+alone, in the small rooms of the upper story, the priest, Don Giuseppe
+Costabarbieri and his servant Maria, called "Maria of the Palace."
+Pasotti knowing well that both were eager listeners, but extremely
+cautious in talking, wished to examine them one at a time, without
+seeming to do so, and, if he found any soft spot, he intended to press
+it very gently. He had brought his wife with him that she might help him
+in this delicate matter of taking them one at a time, and she, poor
+innocent, trotted on behind him with short, quick steps, and followed
+him down the flight of one hundred and twenty-nine steps called the
+"Calcinera," never suspecting the perfidious part she was to act.
+
+The lake was like oil, and Don Giuseppe, a fine, pursy priest, short and
+fat, with white hair, a ruddy complexion and small glistening eyes, was
+seated near the fig-tree in his garden, with a black straw hat on his
+head, and a white handkerchief round his neck, angling for carp, certain
+big, fat carp, grown old and wary, that might be seen moving about very
+slowly under the water, all for love of the figs, and that were as
+inquisitive and, at the same time, as cautious as the priest and his
+servant. This latter was not visible. Pasotti finding the street-door
+open, went in, calling out for Don Giuseppe and Maria. As no one
+answered he planted his wife in a chair and went down into the garden,
+making straight for the fig-tree, where Don Giuseppe was sitting, who,
+on catching sight of him, went into a fit of ceremonious convulsions. He
+threw down his fishing-rod and went towards Pasotti vociferating: "Oh,
+Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, dear me! In this state! My dear Controller! Come
+up-stairs! Come up-stairs! My dear Controller! In this state! I hope you
+will excuse me! I hope you will excuse me!" But Pasotti would not hear
+of "going up," he was bound to remain where he was. Don Giuseppe began
+bawling for "Maria! Maria!" Presently Maria's big face appeared at a
+window in the upper story.
+
+Don Giuseppe called to her to bring down a chair. Then the Controller
+revealed the presence of his wife, whereupon the big face disappeared
+and Don Giuseppe had another fit.
+
+"How is this? How is this? Signora Barborin? She here? Oh, Lord! Come
+up-stairs!" and he started forward impelled by obsequiousness, but
+Pasotti reduced him to obedience, at first catching him by the arm, and
+then declaring that he wished to see him take one or two of those
+monstrous carp; and notwithstanding Don Giuseppe's protests: "It is no
+use! I sha'n't catch anything! They're far too cunning, these fish.
+_They see!_" in the end he was obliged to throw his line.
+
+At first Pasotti pretended to watch him, but finally he also threw his
+line.
+
+He began by asking Don Giovanni how long it was since he had been to
+Castello. Upon being informed that he had been there the day before to
+see his friend, the curate Intrioni, the good Tartuffe, who could not
+abide Intrioni, burst into a perfect panegyric of him. What a jewel,
+this curate of Castello! What a heart of gold! And had Don Giuseppe been
+to Casa Rigey? No, Signora Teresa was too ill. More panegyrics
+concerning Signora Teresa and Luisa. What a splendid creature! What
+circumspection, what high principles, what sentiment! And the Maironi
+affair? It was still going on, was it not? Had it gone far?
+
+"I know nothing, nothing, nothing!" Don Giuseppe said sharply.
+
+At that hasty denial Pasotti's eyes sparkled. He took a step forward.
+Oh, come now. It was not possible that Don Giuseppe did not know
+anything! It was not possible that he had not discussed the matter with
+Intrioni! Was not Intrioni aware that Don Franco had spent the night at
+Casa Rigey?
+
+"I know nothing about it, nothing at all!" Don Giuseppe repeated.
+
+Then Pasotti declared that by this concealment of certain well known
+circumstances, many were led to suspect evil. What the deuce! Don Franco
+had of course gone to Casa Rigey with the most honourable intentions,
+therefore----
+
+"A bite! A bite!" whispered Don Giuseppe hurriedly, and he leaned far
+out over the parapet, grasped the end of the pole firmly, and fixed his
+gaze on the water as if a fish were about to seize the hook. "A bite!"
+
+Pasotti, much vexed, gazed into the water also, but declared he could
+see nothing.
+
+"He has made off, the wretch! But his mouth almost touched the hook. He
+must have felt the prick!" said Don Giuseppe, sighing and straightening
+himself up. He also had felt the prick of the hook, and was trying to
+"make off" as the fish had done.
+
+The other renewed his attack, but in vain. Don Giuseppe had seen
+nothing, heard nothing, talked of nothing, knew nothing. Pasotti was
+silent, and the priest in turn, threw out a bit of timid malice: "They
+don't bite well to-day,--there must be something in the air."
+
+In the house, meanwhile, the dialogue between Maria and Signora Barborin
+had proceeded most unsatisfactorily, after the first affectionate
+exchange of greetings, which had been a great success. Maria proposed by
+gestures that they go into the garden, but Signora Pasotti begged with
+clasped hands, to be allowed to remain in her chair. Then the big Maria
+took another chair, and seating herself beside her guest tried to talk
+to her. But she found it impossible to make her understand, no matter
+how she shrieked, so gave up in despair, and taking her great cat upon
+her lap, talked to him instead.
+
+Poor Signora Barborin, who was quite resigned, watched the cat with her
+great black eyes, dimmed by age and grief. Ah! here was Pasotti at last,
+with Don Giuseppe, who at once began to puff out his:
+
+"Oh, good Lord! My dear Signora Barborin! Pray excuse me!" Maria having
+confessed to the _Scior Controlor_ that his wife and she had not been
+able to understand each other, her master--as a mark of respect for
+Signora Pasotti--called the servant a "block head," and, as she
+attempted to justify herself, he prudently checked her by an imperious
+wave of the hand and a string of "there, there, there's." Then he
+signalled to her mysteriously with his head, and she left the room.
+Pasotti followed her, and told her that his wife really felt obliged to
+call on the Rigeys, but was in doubt as to how she should act, having
+heard certain rumours which were current, and that she had greatly hoped
+to gain some information from Maria, for "Maria always knew everything."
+
+"What foolish talk!" said Maria, much flattered. "I never know anything;
+but I can tell you to whom your wife must apply. To Signor Giacomo
+Puttini. It is Signor Giacomo Puttini who always knows everything."
+
+"Well done!" thought Pasotti, adding these remarks to what the farmer
+had said, and concluding he was on the track at last. At the same time
+he shrugged his shoulders incredulously. Signor Giacomo might perhaps be
+aware of what was going on in the moon, but that was all; he never knew
+anything else. Maria insisted, and the old fox began to press her with
+questions, beating cautiously about the bush; but he found her obdurate,
+and presently he saw that he should have his labour for his pains, and
+that he must be satisfied with that one bit of information. He became
+silent, and half satisfied, half preoccupied, returned to the room where
+Don Giuseppe was explaining to Signora Barborin, by means of appropriate
+gestures, that Maria was going to bring her something to eat. In fact
+the woman appeared presently with a square, glass jar, full of
+brandy-cherries, a renowned specialty of Don Giuseppe's, who was in the
+habit of offering them solemnly to his guests, in his own peculiar
+Italian:
+
+"Allow me to offer you something! Will you try a few of my cherries?
+_Magara con un tochello di pane?_ Perhaps with a slice of bread?" And
+then, lapsing into dialect once more: "_Maria, tajee gio un poo de
+pan_--cut off a bit of bread."
+
+Signora Barborin feasted on bread alone, following the advice of her
+satanic husband, who himself took cherries without bread. Then they went
+away together, and she was permitted to return to Albogasio, while the
+Controller set off in the direction of Casa Gilardoni.
+
+"That Pasotti is a rogue," said Maria when she had bolted the
+street-door.
+
+"He is not only a rogue, but an extra big rogue! A _bargnif_!" Don
+Giuseppe exclaimed, remembering the hook; and by the application of the
+dialect title of "Bargnif," which means the arch-fiend, considered in
+the light of his great cunning, these two mild beings found relief for
+their feelings, and a compensation for so many things given unwillingly:
+courtesies, smiles and cherries.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Professor Gilardoni was reading perched on his belvedere in the
+kitchen-garden, when he caught sight of Pasotti coming towards him
+behind Pinella, between the rows of beets and turnips. He had little
+liking for the Controller, with whom he had exchanged only one or two
+calls, and who had the reputation of being a _tedescone_, a rank German.
+Nevertheless, being inclined to think the best of those with whom he was
+only slightly acquainted, he found no difficulty in extending to him the
+same cordial courtesy which it was his habit to show to every one. He
+went to meet his guest, velvet cap in hand, and after a skirmish of
+compliments which proved an easy victory for Pasotti, Gilardoni returned
+to the belvedere with him.
+
+Pasotti, on the other hand, felt a lively dislike for the Professor, not
+so much because he knew him to be a Liberal, as because, though
+Gilardoni did not go to Mass as often as he himself did, he lived like a
+Puritan, loving neither the table nor the bottle, neither tobacco nor
+certain loose discourses. Moreover he did not play _tarocchi_. One
+evening, when talking in the kitchen-garden with Don Franco, of the
+tremendous bouts of eating and drinking which Pasotti and his friends
+often celebrated in the taverns of Bisnago, the Professor had said
+something which was overheard by the big curate, one of the gluttons,
+whose boat, in which he himself sat fishing, happened to be gliding
+along very softly, close to the walls. "Miserable knave!" the most
+worthy Controller had exclaimed when the words were repeated to him, his
+face wearing the expression of a _bargnif bilioso_, of Satan with a
+bilious attack. The exclamation had been followed by a contemptuous
+snarl, after which the Controller spat protestingly. This, however, did
+not prevent him from overflowing on the present occasion with excuses
+for having unduly postponed his visit, nor from immediately spying out
+the volume resting on the rustic table of the belvedere. Gilardoni saw
+him glance at it and, as the book in question was one of those forbidden
+by the government, he took it up almost instinctively as soon as he had
+started the conversation, and rested it on his knee in such a manner
+that Pasotti could not read the title. This precaution disturbed
+Pasotti, who was just then praising the little villa and the garden in
+all their particulars, and in the tone best adapted to each part; the
+beets, with amiable familiarity, the aloes, with serious and frowning
+admiration. An angry light flashed in his eyes, and then disappeared.
+
+"Fortunate man," he sighed. "If my affairs would permit it, I myself
+should like to live in Valsolda."
+
+"It is a peaceful spot," said the Professor.
+
+"Yes, a peaceful spot; and, besides, nowadays those who have served the
+Government are not comfortable in the big towns. People make no
+distinction between a faithful official who attends strictly to his own
+duties, as I have done, and a police-spy. We are exposed to many
+suspicions, many humiliations----"
+
+The Professor turned red, and was sorry he had removed the book from the
+little table. In fact, notwithstanding his assumption of humility,
+Pasotti was too proud to act the spy, and, owing to this pride, or
+perhaps to some good strain in him, he had never done so. Thus in his
+words there was a grain of sincerity, a grain of gold, which sufficed to
+give them the ring of true metal. Gilardoni, touched by this, offered
+his guest a glass of beer, and hastened away in search of Pinella, glad
+of an excuse for leaving the book on the little table.
+
+Hardly had the Professor disappeared when Pasotti snatched up the
+volume, and gave it an inquisitive glance; then he laid it down on the
+same spot, and stationed himself at the top of the steps, toying with
+the snuff in the box he held open in his hand, and smiling a smile half
+of beatitude, half of admiration, at the lake, the hills and the sky.
+The book was a volume of Giusti, pretending to have been published in
+Brussels or rather _Brusselle_, and bearing the title: _Italian Poems,
+from manuscripts_. Written across one corner of the fly-leaf was the
+name: "Mariano Fornic." It needed less keenness than Pasotti possessed
+to perceive at once in that heteroclite, the anagram of Franco Maironi.
+
+"How lovely! What a paradise!" said he softly, while the Professor was
+coming up the steps followed by Pinella with the beer.
+
+Presently, between two sips of beer, he confessed that his visit was not
+entirely of a disinterested nature. He declared that he was in love
+with the blossoming wall that upheld the kitchen-garden on the
+lake-side, and that he wished to copy it at Albogasio Superiore, where,
+though the lake was wanting, there were plenty of bare walls. Where did
+the Professor get those aloes, those roses and caper-bushes?
+
+"Why," the other answered frankly. "Maironi gave them to me."
+
+"Don Franco?" Pasotti exclaimed. "Well done! I will appeal to Don
+Franco, who is always very kind to me."
+
+And he took out his snuff-box. "Poor Don Franco," said he, with all the
+tenderness of a compassionate rogue as he scrutinised and fingered the
+snuff. "Poor young man! He sometimes flies into a passion, but, after
+all, he is a splendid fellow. A heart of the best! Poor young man! Do
+you see him often?"
+
+"Yes, quite often."
+
+"If only his hopes could be realised, poor young man! His hopes and hers
+also, of course. That affair is not off, is it?"
+
+Pasotti put this question with the skill of a great actor, with
+affectionate but discreet interest, with no more curiosity than was
+fitting, and with the intention of lubricating and softening somewhat
+Gilardoni's closed heart, that it might open of itself, little by
+little. But Gilardoni's heart, instead of spreading itself open at that
+gentle touch, contracted and closed tighter than ever.
+
+"I don't know," the Professor replied, feeling the colour mounting to
+his face, and indeed he turned scarlet. In his mental note-book Pasotti
+immediately made a note of the embarrassed manner, and of the heightened
+colour. "He would be unwise to throw up the game. It is only natural
+that the Marchesa should create difficulties for them, but after all,
+she is a good creature, and devoted to him. Poor woman, what a fright
+she had the other night!"
+
+He glanced at the Professor who was frowning in uneasy silence, and
+reflected: You will not speak? Then you know. "Just think of it! Not to
+say where he was going! What do you think of that?"
+
+"But I know nothing about it, I don't understand." Gilardoni exclaimed,
+frowning more darkly still and growing ever more uneasy.
+
+And now Pasotti, who was aware that the Professor had long since ceased
+to visit the Rigeys, but was ignorant of the reason why, made a move
+which was worthy only of a novice in roguery.
+
+"You might enquire about it at Castello." said he, with a malicious
+simper.
+
+At this point Gilardoni, who was already boiling with rage, overflowed.
+
+"Pray oblige me by dropping this subject," said he, angrily, "oblige me
+by dropping it."
+
+Pasotti grew sullen. Ceremonious, insinuating, and given to adulation
+though he was, his pride would not allow him to suffer an unpleasant
+word calmly, and he took offence at every shadow. He said no more, and
+in a few minutes took his leave with dignified coolness, and retired
+through the beets and the turnips, nursing his wrath. On reaching the
+top of the Contrada dei Mal'ari, the _bargnif_ paused a moment to think,
+resting his chin on his hand, then he started towards the shore of
+Casarico, moving slowly, his head bent low, but with glistening eyes,
+like the poodle that smells the hidden truffle in the air. Don
+Giuseppe's frightened denials, Maria's obstinate denials, and the
+Professor's embarrassment and outburst of temper, told him that a
+truffle really existed, and that it must be a big one. He had thought of
+going to Loggi where dwelt Paolin and Paolon, both of whom were well
+informed, but then he had remembered that it was Tuesday, and that
+probably he would not find them. No, it would be better to go directly
+up to Castello from Casarico, and sniff and hunt about in the house of a
+certain Signora Cecca, an admirable woman, all heart, and famous for the
+assiduous watch she kept from her window over the entire Valsolda by
+means of a powerful spy-glass. She could tell you any day who had gone
+to Lugano with the boatman Pin, or with Panighet; noted the
+conversations the unhappy Pinella held with a certain Mochét in front of
+the church at Albogasio, half a mile distant; she knew how many days it
+had taken Engineer Ribera to drink the little cask of wine which his
+boat carried back empty from the house at Oria to the cellar at S.
+Margherita. If Franco had been to Casa Rigey Signora Cecca must surely
+know it.
+
+In the passage that leads from Casarico to the narrow street of
+Castello, Pasotti heard hurried steps behind him, and then some one
+brushed past him in the darkness and he believed he had recognised a man
+nicknamed "légora fugada" or the "hunted hare," because of the furious
+pace at which he always walked. This honest man, who was even more
+inquisitive than Pasotti, was a most worthy person who loved to know
+things just for the sake of knowing them, and for no other reason. He
+always went about alone, was everywhere, appearing and disappearing like
+a flash, sometimes in one place, sometimes in another, like certain
+large, winged insects, which pass with a glance, a whirr, a touch, and
+then, hush! they are neither heard nor seen again until there comes
+another glance, another whirr, another touch. He had seen the Pasottis
+enter the "Palace," and the unusual hour had caused him to suspect
+something. Lying flat in a small field he had seen Signora Barborin turn
+homewards, and the Controller start towards Casarico. Then, having
+followed at a distance, this individual had posted himself behind one of
+the pilasters of the portico of Casarico while Pasotti was calling on
+Gilardoni, and now he had slipped past him, taking advantage of the dark
+passage, and hastening to reach Castello before him, that he might watch
+his movements from some point of vantage.
+
+In fact he saw him enter Signora Cecca's house.
+
+The old lady, who had the goitre, was in her little parlour, holding a
+small urchin on her left arm, while with her free hand she supported a
+very long and slender pasteboard tube, which was struck slanting across
+the window like a wall-gun and pointed down at the sparkling lake, at a
+white sail, filled with the _breva_. On the entrance of Pasotti, who
+came forward with stooping shoulders, his face suffused with a most
+gentle gaiety, the kindly and hospitable old dame hastened to put down
+the monstrous pasteboard nose, which she was so fond of poking into the
+most distant affairs of others, where her own parchment nose, though it
+was long beyond measure, could not reach. She received the Controller as
+she might have received a saintly miracle-worker, who had come to remove
+her goitre.
+
+"Oh, how kind of you! Dear _Sior Controlor_! Oh, how kind! What a
+pleasure! What a pleasure!"
+
+And she made him sit down and nearly suffocated him with her offers of
+hospitality.
+
+"A piece of cake! A bit of nut-candy! Dear _Sior Controlor_! A little
+wine! A taste of _rosoho_!--You must excuse me," she added, for the
+youngster had begun to whine. "He is my little grandson, you know. My
+little pet."
+
+Pasotti took a great deal of urging, having not only Don Giovanni's
+cherries, but also Gilardoni's beer in his stomach, but finally he was
+obliged to yield, and resign himself to gnawing a piece of that accursed
+almond cake, while the urchin clung to his grandmother's goitre.
+
+At this the sarcastic rogue said pathetically, laughing in his sleeve
+the while: "Poor Signora Cecca! Twice a mother!" When he had enquired
+for her husband and for all her descendants even unto the third
+generation, he brought forward Signora Teresa Rigey. How was that poor
+lady? Bad! Really very bad? But since when had she been worse? Had there
+been any cause? Some trouble, perhaps? The old troubles were well known,
+but had there been some fresh ones? Perhaps on Luisina's account? About
+the marriage? And did Don Franco come to Castello? Ah, not in the
+daytime, but perhaps----?
+
+As the patient who is being questioned and examined by the surgeon
+searching for the painful, hidden spot, answers ever more briefly, ever
+more fearfully as the hand draws nearer and nearer to the point, and
+starts and draws back as soon as the spot is touched, so Signora Cecca
+answered Pasotti ever more briefly, ever more cautiously, until, at that
+"but" which touched the painful spot so delicately, she started,
+exclaiming--
+
+"A little more cake, _Sior Controlor_! It is a cake light enough for
+young girls."
+
+Pasotti in his heart cursed the "young girls" and their cake, a
+concoction of honey, chalk and almond oil, but deemed it prudent to
+swallow another mouthful before once more touching, or rather pressing
+the tender spot he had discovered.
+
+"I know nothing! I know nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Signora Cecca
+exclaimed. "Try sounding Puttini. Try Signor Giacomo. And pray don't ask
+me anything more." Again! Pasotti's face shone at the prospect of
+getting the unlucky Signor Giacomo into his clutches. Thus the eyes of a
+falcon might shine at the joyous prospect of snatching a frog, and of
+holding him in his claws, to toy with at pleasure. Presently he took his
+departure well satisfied with everything save with the chalky cake,
+which lay like lead in his stomach.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Casa Puttini, which, within its minute, genteel appearance, resembled
+the little old gentleman who ruled it, in a black coat and white stock,
+stood just below that stately pile, Casa Pasotti, on the road to
+Albogasio Inferiore. The falcon went there in the afternoon, towards
+five o'clock, with a cunning expression on his face. He knocked at the
+door and then listened. He was there! The unlucky frog was there! And he
+was quarrelling as usual with the perfidious servant. Pasotti knocked
+louder. "Go down!" said Signor Giacomo, but Marianna would not hear of
+going down to open the door. "Go down! I am the master!" It was all in
+vain. Pasotti knocked again, knocked like a battering-ram. "Who the
+devil can it be!" scolded Puttini, and he came down puffing: "Apff!
+apff!" to open the door. "Oh, most gracious Controller!" said he winking
+hard, and raising his eyebrows pathetically. "Pray excuse me! That awful
+servant! I am quite worn out! You would not believe the things that go
+on in this house!"
+
+"That is a lie!" Marianna cried from above.
+
+"Hold your tongue, you!" And then Signor Giacomo began telling his woes,
+stopping from time to time to silence the protests of the invisible
+servant.
+
+"Just fancy! This morning I went to Lugano. I got home about three
+o'clock. On the doorstep--look there--I saw some splashes. Hold your
+tongue, you! I did not heed them, and went straight in. At the head of
+the kitchen-stairs there were more splashes. Be quiet, will you?--What
+can have been spilled? said I to myself, and I stooped and touched the
+spots with my finger. It was something greasy; I smelt it, it was oil.
+Then I followed the splashes, touching and sniffing, sniffing and
+touching. All oil, most gracious Controller! So I said to myself again:
+Either it came in, or it went out. If it came in, the farmer brought it,
+and in that case there will be splashes outside the door, and they will
+extend upwards, if it went out, that means that this accursed.... Hold
+your tongue, I say!... took it to S. Mamette and sold it, and then the
+splashes outside will extend downwards. So back I went, always
+following the splashes and presently I found myself here at the door.
+Most gracious Controller, those splashes all extended downwards! That
+d----"
+
+At this point the servant's voice rang out like the bell on an
+alarm-clock, and no "hold your tongue" was strong enough to stem that
+shrill flow of angry words. Pasotti tried, and not succeeding, flew into
+a passion himself, and shouted: "Oh, you cheat!" following up that title
+with a string of insults, at each of which Signor Giacomo gave a low
+grunt of satisfaction. "Yes, yes, give it to her! that's right! I am
+much obliged to you. Yes, shout,--that's right. You torment, you!--I am
+really greatly obliged to you, most gracious Controller! Really greatly
+obliged!"
+
+When Marianna had been overpowered and reduced to silence, Pasotti told
+Signor Giacomo that he must speak a few words with him. "I am really not
+up to it," the little man complained. "You must excuse me, for I feel
+quite ill."
+
+"Not up to it, not up to it, indeed!" shouted Marianna who had revived.
+"You had better tell us how you wear yourself out going up to Castello
+at night to see the girls!"
+
+"Hold your tongue," Puttini shrieked, while Pasotti exclaimed, with a
+fiendish grin: "What, what, what!" Seeing that Puttini was becoming
+furious, he took him by the arm, and calming him with peaceful and
+affectionate language, dragged him away to his own house where he at
+once summoned his wife, and started a game of three-handed _tarocchi_,
+with the purpose of soothing the poor frog, and getting a firmer grip of
+him.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+If Signora Barborin played badly, Signor Giacomo, meditating, pondering
+and puffing, played worse. He was an extremely timid player, and never
+set himself up alone against the other two, but to-day at the very first
+deal, he discovered that he held such extraordinary cards that he was
+seized with a fit of courage, and, to use the language of the game, he
+_entered_. "Goodness knows what sort of a hand he has!" Pasotti growled.
+
+"I don't say.... I don't say.... There certainly are several friars who
+walk in slippers."
+
+Signor Giacomo's "I don't say" meant that he held marvellous cards, and
+the friars in slippers, in his lingo, were the four kings of the game.
+While he was getting ready to play, feasting his eyes upon his cards,
+and feeling each one in turn, Pasotti took the opportunity of opening
+fire, hoping to make him lose the game, into the bargain. "Come now,"
+said he, "tell us about it! When was it you went to Castello at night?"
+
+"Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Don't talk about it," Signor Giacomo replied, growing
+very red and sorting his cards faster than ever.
+
+"Well, well, play away then. We can talk later. I know the whole story
+any way!"
+
+Poor Signor Giacomo, how could he play with that bone in his throat? He
+sorted and puffed, led when he should not have done so, blundered in
+adding up the points, lost two of the friars and their slippers as well,
+and in spite of his splendid hand, left several markers in the clutches
+of Pasotti who was grinning with delight, and several more on the little
+plate beside Signora Barborin, who kept repeating with clasped hands:
+"What have you done, Signor Giacomo? what have you done?"
+
+Pasotti gathered up the cards and began shuffling them, casting sardonic
+glances at Signor Giacomo, who did not know where to look.
+
+"Certainly," said he, "I know everything. Signora Cecca told me the
+whole story. I assure you, my dear Political Deputy, you will be called
+upon to answer for this before the Imperial and Royal Commissary of
+Porlezza."
+
+With these words Pasotti passed the cards to Puttini, that he might cut.
+But Puttini, hearing that dreaded name, began to groan:
+
+"Oh Lord! Oh Lord! What is that you say?... I know nothing.... Oh Lord!
+The Imperial and Royal Commissary?... I assure you I can't see what
+for! ... apff!"
+
+"Certainly," Pasotti repeated. He was waiting for a word that should
+enlighten him, and by pointing first to the door and then to his own
+mouth, he made his wife understand that she was to fetch something to
+drink.
+
+"And that dreadful engineer as well!" Signor Giacomo exclaimed, as if
+speaking to himself.
+
+As the fisherman who, pulling hard on the long, heavy line quivering, he
+fancies, with the weight of the one big fish he has been angling for so
+long, finally redoubles his caution and skill, as, with a thrill, he
+sees two great shadowy fishes instead of one rising from the depths, so
+Pasotti, upon hearing this allusion to the engineer, was thrilled and
+amazed, and began preparing, with the most exquisitely delicate touch,
+to draw out this secret concerning Signor Giacomo and Ribera.
+
+"Certainly," said he, "you did wrong."
+
+Silence on Signor Giacomo's part.
+
+Pasotti insisted.
+
+"You did very wrong."
+
+But just then Signora Barborin entered, smiling genially, and bearing a
+tray with the bottle and glasses. The wine was of a dark red, shot
+through with ruby lights, and Signor Giacomo contemplated it if not yet
+tenderly, at least benevolently. This wine had an aroma of austere
+virtue, and Signor Giacomo smelt of it affectionately, gazed at it with
+emotion, and then smelt of it again. This wine had that mellow richness
+which fills both palate and soul with its flavour, and indeed it
+possessed exactly that honest and pure tartness that its aroma
+pre-announced, and Signor Giacomo sipped it and wished it were not
+liquid and evanescent, tasted it, smacked his lips over it, and rolled
+it under his tongue. When, from time to time, he rested his glass on the
+little table, neither his hand nor his languid gaze were withdrawn from
+it.
+
+"Poor Engineer! Poor Ribera!" Pasotti exclaimed. "He is a most upright
+man, but ..."
+
+And as he pulled and pulled the unlucky Signor Giacomo began to rise to
+the hook and the line.
+
+"I myself did not wish it," he said. "'Twas he made me go--'Come along,'
+said he. 'Why do you not wish to go? There will be no harm done. The
+thing is honest.' 'Yes!' I answered, 'so it seems to me also, but all
+this secrecy?' 'On account of the grandmother,' he replied. 'But then,'
+I asked, 'what sort of a figure shall you and I cut?' 'We are just a
+couple of simpletons!' he answered, with that way of his--honest,
+old-fashioned soul that he is,--that always gets round me. 'I will go,'
+said I."
+
+Here he paused. Pasotti waited a while, and then gave the line a
+cautious jerk. "The trouble is," said he, "that the story leaked out at
+Castello."
+
+"Yes, Sir, and I was sure it would. The family and the engineer might
+keep the secret, and of course I should never speak, but the priest and
+the sacristan would surely talk."
+
+The priest? The sacristan? Ah! at last Pasotti understood. He staggered!
+He had not expected such a tremendous disclosure. He filled the unhappy
+Signor Giacomo's glass, and had little difficulty in getting all the
+particulars of the wedding out of him. Then he tried to find out what
+plans for the future the young people had formed, but in this he did not
+succeed. He began shuffling the cards with the intention of continuing
+the game, but Signor Giacomo looked at his watch, and found that it
+wanted only nine minutes to seven, at which hour he was in the habit of
+winding his clock. Three minutes in the street, two minutes on the
+stairs, and there remained only four minutes for leave-taking. "Reckon
+it out for yourself, most gracious Controller. It is as I say: there is
+no doubt about it."
+
+Signora Bardorin, noticing this consultation, questioned her husband
+about it. Pasotti raised his hands to his mouth, and shouted into her
+face: "He wants to go and see his sweetheart!" "What nonsense! What
+nonsense!" poor Signor Giacomo exclaimed, turning all colours; and
+Signora Pasotti, having understood by a miracle, opened her mouth
+enormously wide, not knowing whether or no to believe her husband. "His
+sweetheart? Oh, what nonsense. It is foolish talk, is it not, Signor
+Giacomo? Of course you might have a sweetheart, I don't deny that.
+You're not old, but...!" Seeing that he really intended to be off, she
+tried to detain him, telling him she had some chestnuts from Venegono on
+the fire, which were nearly done, and begging him to accept some of
+them. But neither the chestnuts nor Pasotti's reproaches could persuade
+Signor Giacomo, and he departed with the spectre of the Imperial and
+Royal Commissary in his heart, harassed by unpleasant twinges of
+conscience, and a vague sense of dissatisfaction with himself, which he
+could not explain, and feeling instinctively that the perfidious
+servant's insolence was, after all, preferable to Pasotti's cajoleries.
+
+As to the latter, his eyes shone even brighter than usual. He intended
+going to Cressogno at once. Being an indefatigable walker he expected to
+get there by eight o'clock. He was hugely pleased at the prospect of
+going to the Marchesa with his great discovery _in pectore_, of acting
+mysteriously, of dropping the most artful hints, one by one, and of
+obliging her to wrest the particulars from him. For his own
+gratification he was already preparing a gentle and soothing little
+speech to lay upon the wound of the imperturbable old dame, so that she
+might not be able to hide it, and that no one might complain of him, not
+even Franco. He went to the kitchen where he got them to light a lantern
+for him, for the night was very dark, and then he set out.
+
+At the door he met his steward who was just coming in. The steward
+greeted him, and carried a large basket of fruit into the kitchen, and,
+having helped the maid put it away, he seated himself by the fire, and
+said placidly:
+
+"Signora Teresa of Castello has just passed away."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE OLD LADY OF MARBLE
+
+
+The door was opened a little way, very, very softly; the maid looked in,
+and called to Franco, who was absorbed in prayer, kneeling by a chair
+near the couch upon which the dead woman lay. Franco did not hear, and
+it was Luisa who rose. She went to listen to the woman's whispered
+request, said something in reply, and when the maid had withdrawn, stood
+waiting for some one. As no one appeared she pushed the door open and
+said aloud: "Come in, come in." A great sob answered her. Luisa
+stretched out both hands and Professor Gilardoni seized them. They stood
+some time thus, motionless, fighting their sorrow with tightly pressed
+lips, he more shaken than she. Luisa was the first to move. She gently
+withdrew one hand, and, with the other, led the Professor into the
+chamber of death.
+
+Signora Teresa had passed away in the drawing-room in the armchair from
+which she had never been able to rise after the night of the wedding.
+They had made the sofa into a funeral couch, and laid her out upon it.
+The sweet face rested there on the pillow, showing waxen in the light of
+the four candles, the lips were slightly parted, and it was as if a
+smile shone through the closed eyelids. The couch and the clothes were
+strewn with autumn flowers; cyclamen, dahlias and chrysanthemums. "See
+how beautiful she is," said Luisa, in a tender, quiet tone that went to
+the heart. The Professor stood leaning upon a chair at some distance
+from the bed.
+
+"Do you realise it, Mamma," Luisa said softly, "how much you are
+beloved?"
+
+She knelt down, and taking one of the dead hands, began kissing it,
+caressing it, and murmuring sweet words over it in a low voice; then she
+was silent, and, replacing the hand, she rose, kissed the brow and
+contemplated the face with clasped hands. She recalled her mother's
+reproofs in past years, remembering every one since her childhood, for
+she had always felt them deeply. Once more she fell upon her knees, and
+pressed her lips to the icy hand with an impulse of affection more
+ardent than if she had been dwelling upon past caresses. Then taking a
+cyclamen from her mother's shoulder, she rose and offered it to the
+Professor. He took it, weeping, and going to Franco, whom he now met for
+the first time since that night, he embraced him with silent emotion,
+and felt his embrace returned. Then, stepping very softly, he left the
+room.
+
+It was striking eight o'clock. Signora Teresa had died the night before
+at six; in twenty-six hours Luisa had never rested for a moment, and had
+left the room only four or five times for a few minutes. Franco it was
+who often went out, and remained away a long time.
+
+Summoned in secret he had reached Castello just in time to see the poor
+mother alive, and it had fallen to his lot to perform all the sad
+offices which death imposes, for Uncle Piero, in spite of his years, had
+not the slightest knowledge of these matters, and was greatly bewildered
+by them.
+
+Now, hearing it strike eight, he went to his wife and gently urged her
+to take a little rest, but Luisa answered him at once in a way that put
+an end to his insistence. The funeral was to take place the next morning
+at nine o'clock. She had wished it to be postponed for as long as
+possible, and intended to remain with her mother to the last. In her
+slim person there was an indomitable vigour capable of withstanding
+still greater trials. For her, her mother was there still, on that
+narrow couch, among the flowers. She did not think that a part of her
+was elsewhere, did not look out of the west window, seeking her among
+the tiny stars that trembled above the hills of Carona. Her one thought
+was that in a few hours, the darling mother, who had lived so many years
+for her alone, caring for naught else on earth save her happiness, would
+be laid away to sleep for ever under the great walnut-trees of Looch, in
+the shadowy solitude where the little cemetery of Castello rests in
+silence, while she herself would continue to enjoy life, the sun, and
+love. She had answered Franco almost sharply as if, in some way,
+affection for the living were an offence to the affection for the dead.
+Then, fearing she had hurt him, she repented, kissed him and endeavoured
+to pray, knowing that in this she would be pleasing him, and that
+certainly her mother would have expected this of her. She began reciting
+the _Pater_, the _Ave_ and the _Requiem_ over and over again, but
+without deriving the slightest comfort from them, experiencing, rather,
+a secret irritation, an unwelcome drying up of her grief. She had always
+practised religion, but, after the ardour of her first Communion had
+died out, her soul had ceased to be associated in religious observance.
+Her mother had lived rather for the next world than for this; she had
+regulated her every action, her every word, her every thought with that
+end in view. In her precocious intellectual development, Luisa's ideas
+and sentiments had taken another direction, with that determined vigour
+which was one of her characteristics. She covered these views, however,
+with certain half-conscious, half-unconscious dissimulations, partly for
+love of her mother, partly because some germ of religion, sown by
+maternal precepts, fostered by example, and strengthened by habit, had
+not died out. Since her fourteenth year she had been growing ever more
+inclined to look beyond this present life, and at the same time not to
+consider herself; to live for others, for the earthly good of others,
+but always, however, according to a strong and fierce sense of justice.
+She went to church, performed the external duties of her religion,
+without incredulity, but also without the conviction that they were
+pleasing to God. She had a confused conception of a God so great, so
+lofty, that no immediate contact was possible between Him and mankind.
+Sometimes, indeed, she feared she might be mistaken, but her possible
+error seemed to her of a nature such as no God of infinite goodness
+might punish. She herself did not know how she had come to think thus.
+
+The door opened very softly once more, and a low voice called, "Signor
+Don Franco." When Luisa was alone she ceased to pray, and resting her
+head upon her mother's pillow, she pressed her lips to the dear
+shoulder, closed her eyes and let the flood of memories flow over her
+that sprung from that touch, from that familiar odour of lavender. Her
+mother's dress was of silk, her best, and had been a present from Uncle
+Piero. She had worn it only once, some years before, on the occasion of
+a visit to the Marchesa Marioni. The odour of the lavender brought back
+this memory also, and with it came scalding tears, acrid with tenderness
+and with another sentiment that was not actually hatred, that was not
+actually anger, but that held the bitterness of both.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Franco could not at once account for the shudder that shook him when he
+heard his name called. Early that morning Uncle Piero had written to
+the Marchesa, announcing his sister's death in simple but most
+respectful language, and had enclosed a note from Franco himself, which
+ran as follows:
+
+ "DEAR GRANDMOTHER,--I have not time to write to you because I
+ am here, but I will tell you all by word of mouth to-morrow
+ evening. I hope you will listen to me as my father and mother
+ would have listened."
+
+No answer had as yet come from Cressogno, but now a man from Cressogno
+had brought a letter. Where was this man?--Gone; he would not stop a
+minute. Franco took the letter and read the address: "_Al. preg. Signor
+Ingegnere Pietro Ribera_." At the same time he recognised in the
+writing, the hand of the agent's daughter. He went up to Uncle Piero's
+room at once. The engineer, who was worn out, had gone to bed.
+
+When Franco brought him the letter he showed neither surprise nor
+curiosity, but said, calmly:
+
+"Open it."
+
+Franco placed the light on the chest of drawers, and opened the letter,
+keeping his back to the bed. As he stood, he seemed turned to stone; he
+neither breathed nor moved.
+
+"Well?" said the uncle.
+
+Silence.
+
+"I understand," the old man added. Then Franco let the letter fall, and
+stretching his hands above his head, he uttered a long "Ah!" deep and
+hoarse, and laden with amazement and horror.
+
+"Come, come!" Uncle Piero repeated, "what about this letter?"
+
+Franco roused himself, and hastened to embrace him, hardly able to
+restrain his sobs.
+
+The placid man bore this storm calmly and patiently for a time, but
+presently he began to defend himself, and demanded the letter. "Let me
+see it, let me see it," said he, and he muttered, "What can that blessed
+woman have written?"
+
+Franco brought the light and the letter, which he handed to Uncle Piero.
+His grandmother had written never a word, never a syllable; she had
+simply returned the engineer's letter and Franco's note. It was some
+time before the uncle could grasp this. He was never quick to understand
+things, and this thing was utterly incomprehensible to him! When at last
+he did make it out, he could not help saying: "Certainly this is very
+hard!" Then, seeing how beside himself Franco was, he added, with the
+big solemn voice he used when judging human actions _toto corde_,
+"Listen. It is, I should say----" (and he searched for the right word,
+in his own peculiar fashion puffing out his cheeks, and emitting a sort
+of rattling sound)"----an injustice! But I am by no means so extremely
+astonished as you are. Not all the wrong is on her side, my dear fellow,
+and so----However, I am sorry for you two, who will have to eat plain
+food and live in this miserable little town; but how about me? For my
+part, I gain by all this, and I may even say, I feel inclined to thank
+your grandmother. You see I have never founded a family of my own; I
+have always counted upon this family. Now my poor sister is dead, and if
+your grandmother had opened her arms to you, I should have been of no
+more use than an old cabbage stock. So you see----"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Franco was careful not to let his wife know about this matter, and
+although she was aware that the letters had been sent to Cressogno, she
+did not ask if his grandmother had answered, until after the funeral,
+until some hours after the funeral. The little drawing-room, the little
+terrace, the little kitchen, had been full of people all day long, from
+nine o'clock in the morning until nine in the evening. At ten Luisa and
+Franco left the house without a lantern, turned to the right, went very
+slowly and silently through the darkness of the village, and, passing
+the bright and windy turning to which rises the deep roar of the river
+of S. Mametti, stood among the shadows and the pungent odours of the
+walnut-trees of Looch. Shortly before they reached the cemetery, Luisa
+said softly to her husband: "Have you heard nothing from Cressogno?" He
+would have liked to hide at least part of the truth from her, but he
+could not. He said his note had been returned to him; and then Luisa
+wanted to know if his grandmother had sent a word of condolence to
+Uncle Piero. Franco's "no" was almost timid, and so uncertain that,
+after they had gone on a few steps a suspicion flashed across Luisa's
+mind, and she suddenly stopped, and seized her husband's arm. Before she
+had uttered a word Franco understood and embraced her as he had embraced
+Uncle Piero, only still more impetuously, telling her to take his heart,
+his soul, his life, to seek for nothing else in this world. He felt she
+was trembling violently in his arms, but neither then nor afterwards did
+a word on this subject pass between them. At the gate of the cemetery
+they knelt together. Franco prayed with the fervour of faith. Luisa,
+with eager eyes, pierced the earth where it had been disturbed near the
+entrance; pierced the coffin, and, in thought, fixed her gaze on her
+mother's mild and serious face; once more, in thought, but with an
+impulse so violent that the bars of the gate shook, she bent forward,
+lower and lower, pressed her lips to the lips of the dead woman,
+imprinting upon them a violence of affection, stronger than all the
+insults, than all the baseness of this world.
+
+Towards eleven o'clock she tore herself reluctantly away from the spot.
+Going slowly down the slippery and stony path beside her husband there
+suddenly arose before her mind's eye a vision of a future meeting with
+the Marchesa. She stopped, drawing herself up and clenching her fists,
+and from her handsome, intelligent face there shone forth such
+fierceness that, could the old lady of marble have seen her thus, have
+met her at that moment, she might not have surrendered, perhaps, but she
+would certainly have hastened to put herself on the defensive.
+
+
+
+
+Part Second
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+FISHERMEN
+
+
+Dr. Francesco Zérboli, Imperial and Royal Commissary of Porlezza, landed
+at the Imperial and Royal _Ricevitoria_--the custom-house--at Oria, on
+the tenth day of September, 1854, just as a truly imperial and royal sun
+was rising above the ponderous bastions of Galbiga, glorifying the
+little pink custom-house and the oleanders and beans of Signora Peppina
+Bianconi, and summoning to his office, in accordance with the
+regulations, Signor Carlo Bianconi, her husband, that same Receiver of
+Customs who had scented conspiracy in manuscript music. Bianconi, whom
+his wife called _el mè Carlascia_,--"my big Charley"--and the people,
+_el Biancon_, a tall man, fat and solid, with a clean-shaven chin, a
+grey moustache, and the large dull eyes of a faithful mastiff, went down
+to meet that other clean-shaven Imperial and Royal one, of higher rank.
+There was no resemblance between the two, save in the Austrian nudity of
+their chins. Zérboli, dressed in black and carefully gloved, was short
+and stout, and wore a pair of fair moustaches flattened against his
+sallow face, out of which peered two small, sarcastic, and scornful
+sparks of eyes. His hair grew so low on his forehead that he was in the
+habit of shaving off a strip, and at times a shade showed there, that
+gave him the appearance of some strange beast. Quick in his movements,
+in his glance, in his speech, he spoke, with easy courtesy, a nasal
+Italian, having the modulations of the province of Trento. He now
+informed the Receiver that he had come to hold a _convocato_--the
+communal council of those days--at Castello, and that he had preferred
+to come early and climb the hill while it was cool, from Oria rather
+than from Casarico or Albogasio, that he might have the pleasure of
+greeting the Receiver.
+
+The big, faithful mastiff did not at once understand that the Commissary
+had a second end in view, and poured forth his thanks in a medley of
+obsequious phrases, and short, silly laughs, rubbing his hands and
+offering coffee, milk, eggs, and the open air of the little garden. The
+other accepted the coffee, but declined the open air with a motion of
+his head and a wink so eloquent, that Carlascia, after shouting
+upstairs, "Peppina!" ushered him into the office where, feeling himself
+transformed (such was his double nature) from a receiver of customs into
+a police-officer, he composed himself, and put on an expression of
+austerity, as if about to enter into a sacramental union with the
+monarch himself. This office was a miserable hole on the ground floor,
+with iron gratings at the two small windows; an infectious and primitive
+cell, that already stunk of the great empire. The Commissary seated
+himself in the middle of the room, looking at the closed door that led
+from the landing-stage to the ante-room, the one leading from the
+ante-room to the office having been left open by his orders.
+
+"Tell me something of Signor Maironi," said he.
+
+"He is still watched," Bianconi answered, and continued in the Italian
+of Porta Tosa. "By the way--wait a moment--I have a report here that is
+nearly finished." And he began hunting and fumbling among his papers, in
+search of the report and of his glasses.
+
+"You will send it in, you will send it in!" exclaimed the Commissary,
+who had a dread of the big mastiff's prose.
+
+"Meanwhile speak. Tell me everything."
+
+"He is as ill-intentioned as ever. We knew before he was
+ill-intentioned, but now it is very evident," the eloquent Receiver
+continued. "He has begun to wear that beard--you know--that midget--that
+_moschetta_--that pointed tuft, that filthy----"[I]
+
+"Pardon me," said the Commissary, "you see I am new to the place. I have
+my instructions and I have received some information, but as yet I have
+no exact knowledge of the man and his family. You must describe them to
+me as minutely as you can. Let us begin with him."
+
+"He is a proud man, violent and overbearing. He has quarrelled here at
+least fifty times over questions of duty. He will never give in, and he
+wants to teach me and the guard also. His eyes flash as if he were going
+to eat the custom-house. But it is no use being overbearing with me,
+even if he----For indeed he knows almost everything, and that is a fact!
+He knows law, finance, music, flowers, fish, and the devil knows what
+all else."
+
+"And she?"
+
+"She? Oh, she is a sly puss, but when she shows her claws they are worse
+than his; much worse! When he is angry he turns red and makes a great
+row, she turns pale and is devilish insolent. Of course I never tolerate
+her insolence, but--well, you understand. She is a talented woman, I can
+tell you. My Peppina is devoted to her. She is a woman who makes friends
+everywhere. Here in Oria they often send for her instead of sending for
+the doctor. If there is a quarrel in a family, they send for her. If an
+animal has the stomach-ache, she must come. All the children run after
+her, and she even makes little dolls for them at Carnival time. You
+know, those little puppets. Moreover this woman can play on the spinet,
+and knows French and German. I am so unfortunate as not to speak German,
+so I have been to her several times to get German documents explained,
+when such come to the office."
+
+"Ah! So you go to the Maironis' house?"
+
+"Yes, sometimes, for that purpose."
+
+In truth the big mastiff also went there to get Franco to explain
+certain enigmatical passages in the customs-tariff to him, but he did
+not say so.
+
+The Commissary continued his examination.
+
+"And how is the house furnished?"
+
+"Well, very well. Fine Venetian floorings, painted ceilings, sofas
+heavily draped, a spinet, a splendid dining-room all hung with
+portraits."
+
+"And the Engineer-in-Chief?"
+
+"The engineer is a jolly, old-fashioned, kind man; he resembles me,
+though he is older. But he is not here much. He comes for two weeks
+about this time of the year, and two weeks more in the Spring, and he
+pays a few short visits in between. Just leave him alone, and let him
+have his milk in the morning, his milk at night, his flask of Modena for
+dinner, his game of _tarocchi_, and his _Milan Gazette_, and Engineer
+Ribera is perfectly happy. But to return to Signor Maironi's beard.
+There is something even worse! I discovered yesterday that the gentleman
+has planted a jasmine in a wooden box painted red!"[J]
+
+The Commissary, a man of parts, and probably in his secret heart,
+indifferent to all colours save that of his own complexion and his own
+tongue, could not refrain from slightly shrugging his shoulders.
+Nevertheless, he presently asked--
+
+"Is the plant in blossom?"
+
+"I don't know. I will ask the woman."
+
+"Ask whom? Your wife? So your wife goes to Casa Maironi also?"
+
+"Yes, from time to time."
+
+Zérboli fixed his two little scornful eyes on Bianconi's face, and put
+the following question, enunciating every syllable very distinctly.
+
+"Does she, or does she not, go there from good motives?"
+
+"Well, as to that, it depends! She imagines she goes as a friend of
+Luisina's, to talk about the flowers, their sewing, and for little bits
+of gossip, and they chatter and chirp away as women will; you know the
+way. But I get out of her----"
+
+"_Tè ch́, tè ch́!_ Behold, behold!" Signora Peppina Bianconi exclaimed
+in her Porta Ticinese dialect, as she came forward with the coffee,
+smiling pleasantly. "The Commissary! What a pleasure it is to see you! I
+am afraid the coffee isn't very good, but any way it is fresh made. It
+is a great nuisance not being able to have it from Lugano!"
+
+"Tut, tut, tut!" grumbled her husband crossly.
+
+"Well, what harm is that? I only said so in fun. You understood, didn't
+you, _Sür Commissari_? That blessed man there never understands
+anything. I never get any coffee for myself, anyway. I am taking
+mallow-water now for a dizzy head."
+
+"Don't talk so much, don't talk so much!" her husband interpolated, and
+the Commissary, setting down the empty cup, told the good woman that he
+was coming to see her flowers presently, and this gallantry was like the
+act of one who, at a café, throws the money upon the tray, that the
+waiter may take it and be gone.
+
+Signora Peppina understood, and awed by the ferocious eyes of her
+Carlascia, withdrew in haste.
+
+"Listen, listen, listen," the Commissary exclaimed, covering his brow
+with his left hand, and pressing his temples. "Oh!" he ejaculated,
+suddenly remembering, "I have it! I wanted to inquire if Engineer Ribera
+is in Oria at present."
+
+"He is not here now, but I believe he is coming very shortly."
+
+"Does Engineer Ribera spend much money on this Maironi family?"
+
+"He certainly must spend a great deal. I don't believe Don Franco has
+more than three _svanziche_ a day of his own, and she----" The Receiver
+blew across the palm of his hand. "So you see----! They keep a servant.
+They have a little girl about two years old, and so they must needs keep
+a maid to look after the child. They send away for flowers, books,
+music, and all sorts of things. Of an evening they play cards, and there
+is always a bottle of wine. It takes a good many _svanziche_ to live in
+this way, you know."
+
+The Commissary reflected a moment with a clouded brow, and eyes rolled
+up to the ceiling, and then, in short, disjointed sentences that sounded
+like fragments of an oracle, he let it be understood that Engineer
+Ribera, an Imperial and Royal official, recently favoured by the
+Imperial and Royal government with a promotion _in loco_, should exert a
+better influence over his nephew's family. Then with further
+questionings and further observations touching the engineer's present
+weaknesses, he intimated to Bianconi that his paternal attention should
+be directed with special secrecy and delicacy towards their Imperial and
+Royal colleague, in order that--should this become necessary--they might
+be able to enlighten their Superiors concerning certain acts of
+tolerance which would be scandalous. He ended by inquiring if Bianconi
+was aware that the lawyer V. from Varenna and another individual from
+Loveno were in the habit of visiting the Maironis quite often. The
+Receiver knew this, and had learned from his Peppina that they came to
+make music. "I don't believe it," the Commissary announced, with sudden
+and unusual asperity. "Your wife does not understand at all. If you go
+on like this, my dear Bianconi, they will lead you by the nose. Those
+two are a couple of rascals, who would be better off at Kufstein.[K] You
+must seek for more information, and when you have obtained it, you will
+pass it on to me. And now let us go into the garden. By the way, when
+anything comes from Lugano for the Marchesa Maironi----" Zérboli
+finished the sentence with a gesture of amiable munificence, and started
+forward, followed by the deeply mortified mastiff.
+
+Signora Peppina allowed them to find her in the garden watering the
+flowers aided by a small boy. The Commissary looked, admired, and found
+a means of giving the subaltern police-officer a little lesson. By
+praising her flowers he easily led Signora Bianconi to mention Franco,
+but, as if quite indifferent to that gentleman, he did not dwell a
+moment upon him, but stuck to the flowers, declaring that Maironi could
+not possibly have finer ones. Little cries, groans, and ejaculations
+broke from the humble Signora Peppina, who was really embarrassed by
+such a comparison. But the Commissary insisted. How? Even the Casa
+Maironi fuchsias were finer? The heliotrope and the _pelargonia_ also?
+How about the jasmine?
+
+"The jasmine!" Signora Peppina exclaimed. "Why, Signor Maironi has the
+finest jasmine in the whole Valsolda, my dear sir!"
+
+Thus, in the most natural way possible, did the Commissary presently
+discover that the famous jasmine had not yet blossomed. "I should like
+to see Don Franco's dahlias," said he. The ingenuous creature offered to
+accompany him to Casa Ribera that very day. "They will be so
+delighted!" But the Commissary expressed his desire to wait the coming
+of the Imperial and Royal Engineer-in-Chief, that he might have an
+opportunity of greeting him, whereupon Signora Peppina said approvingly:
+"That is right." Meanwhile the mastiff, humiliated by that superior
+skill, and wishing to show in some way that, at least, he was zealous,
+seized the boy with the watering-pot by the arm, and presented him:
+
+"My nephew. Son of a sister of mine, married to an Imperial and Royal
+doorkeeper, at the police station in Bergamo. He has the honour to bear
+the names, _Francesco Giuseppe_--Francis Joseph--bestowed upon him by my
+express desire. Of course, you see, it would not be respectful to use
+these names ordinarily----"
+
+"His mother calls him Rat́, and his father calls him Ratù, fancy that!"
+Aunt Peppina put in.
+
+"Be quiet!" said his uncle. "I call him Francesco. He is a well-behaved
+boy, I must say; a very well-behaved boy. Now tell us, Francesco, what
+are you going to do when you are a man?"
+
+Rat́ rattled off his answer as if he were reciting his catechism.
+
+"When I am a man I shall always comport myself as behooves a faithful
+and devoted subject of His Majesty our Emperor, and a good Christian;
+and I hope, with the help of the Lord, to become some day, an Imperial
+and Royal Receiver of Customs like my uncle, that I may, at last, enter
+Paradise, and be duly rewarded for my virtuous actions."
+
+"Well done, well done, well done!" said Zérboli, caressing Rat́. "Always
+walk in the path of virtue."
+
+"You be quiet, _Sür Commissari_," Peppina once more burst out. "This
+morning the little villain ate half the sugar out of the sugar-basin!"
+
+"What, what, what?" Carlascia exclaimed, forgetting his part in his
+astonishment. He remembered himself at once however, and declared: "It
+was your own fault. Things should be put away. Is not that true,
+Francesco?"
+
+"Perfectly," Rat́ answered; and the Commissary vexed at this wrangle,
+and at the twist his paternal admonition had received, took himself off
+without ceremony.
+
+Hardly had he disappeared when Carlascia scolded angrily: "You take the
+sugar again if you dare, you!" and hit Francis Joseph a formidable knock
+on the side of the head. This worthy had expected quite different
+treatment, and ran off to hide among the beans. Then Bianconi had it out
+with his wife, scolding her roundly, and swearing that in the future he
+would look after the sugar himself; and upon her daring retort: "What
+business is it of yours, after all?" he flung out: "Everything is my
+business, everything is my business!" and turning his back upon her,
+strode off, puffing and tingling, to the spot where his attentive wife
+had prepared the fishing-rod and the _polenta_, and began to bait the
+two great hooks he used in catching tench. In the olden days that little
+world was even more completely isolated from the great world than at
+present, and was, even more than at present, a world of silence and of
+peace, in which the functionaries of both State and Church, and,
+following their venerable example, many faithful subjects as well,
+dedicated several hours a day to edifying contemplation. Seated first on
+the West, the Receiver cast two hooks attached to a single line, two
+tempting mouthfuls of _polenta_, as far out from the shore as possible;
+when the line was stretched tight, when the float seemed firmly anchored
+in quiet expectation, the Imperial and Royal personage placed the short
+rod delicately upon the low wall, and sat down to contemplate. To the
+east of him the _sedentario_, as the customs-guard was then called,
+crouching on the humble landing-stage in front of another float, smoked
+his pipe and contemplated. A few steps beyond old, half-starved Cüstant,
+a retired white-washer, sacristan and churchwarden, one of the
+patricians of the village of Oria, sat in contemplation, on the prow of
+his boat, a lofty, prehistoric, tall hat on his head, the magic wand in
+his hand, his legs dangling above the water, and his soul concentrated
+on his own particular float. Seated on the edge of a small field, in the
+shade of a mulberry-tree and a large, black, straw hat, the puny, thin,
+be-spectacled Don Brazzova, parish-priest of Albogasio, was lost in
+contemplation, his image reflected in the clear water. In a
+kitchen-garden of Albogasio Inferiore, between the banks of the Ceron
+and that of Mandroeugn, another patrician in a jacket and high boots,
+the churchwarden Bignetta, called _el Signoron_, the _fine gentleman_,
+sitting stiff and solemn, upon an eighteenth century chair, with the
+famous rod in his hand, watched and contemplated. Under the fig-tree at
+Cadate, Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri sat in contemplation. At S. Mamette
+the doctor, the grocer, and the shoemaker were hanging over the water
+and contemplating most diligently. At Cressogno the Marchesa's florid
+cook was contemplating. Opposite Oria, on the shady deserted shore of
+Bisgnago, a dignified arch-priest from lower Lombardy was in the habit
+of leading a life of contemplation for forty days every year. All alone
+he sat, with three rods resting at his feet, while with the air of a
+bishop, he contemplated the three floats belonging to these rods--two
+with his eyes, one with his nose. If some one, passing far out on the
+lake could have seen all these brooding figures without perceiving the
+rods, the lines, and the floats, he would have thought himself in a
+country inhabited by hermits and ascetics, who, weary of the earth, were
+contemplating the sky in this liquid mirror, simply for the sake of
+greater convenience.
+
+As a matter of fact, all these ascetics were fishing for tench, and no
+mystery the future of humanity might contain could be of more
+importance to them than those mysteries at which the little float
+secretly hinted, when, as if possessed by a spirit, it showed signs of
+growing unrest, and, at last, even of mental derangement; for, after
+dipping and jerking, now forward, now backward, it would at last, in the
+utter confusion of its ideas, choose the desperate course of plunging
+head foremost into the depths. These phenomena, however, occurred only
+at rare intervals, and some of the contemplators would pass whole
+half-days without noticing the slightest movement in their floats. Then
+each one, removing his eyes from the bit of cork, would follow a line of
+thought running parallel with the line attached to the rod. Thus it
+sometimes happened that the arch-priest would land an episcopal see, the
+"fine gentleman," a wood that had once belonged to his ancestors, the
+cook, a tench from the hills, rosy and fair, and Cüstant, an order from
+government to whitewash the peak of Cressogno. As to Carlascia, his
+second line was usually of a political nature, and the reason of this
+will be more readily grasped if we reflect that the main line, the one
+attached to the rod, often awoke in his big, dull head certain political
+considerations which the Commissary Zérboli had suggested to him. "You
+see, my dear Receiver," Zérboli had once said, when discoursing weakly
+about the events which had taken place on the sixth of February in
+Milan, "you who fish for tench, can easily understand this matter. Our
+great monarchy is fishing with a line. The twin baits are Lombardy and
+the Venetian provinces; two round and tempting morsels, with iron
+inside. Our monarchy has cast them there at its feet, opposite the
+lurking-place of that foolish little fish, Piedmont. In 1848 it grabbed
+at the bait Lombardy, but eventually succeeded in spitting it out and
+making off. Milan is our float. When Milan moves, it means that the
+little fish is just beneath. Last year the float moved a wee bit, but
+the dear little fish had only sniffed at the bait. But wait, some day
+there will be a violent movement, and we shall give a jerk; there will
+be some struggling, some floundering, but we shall land our little fish,
+and never let it escape again, the little white, red, and green pig!"
+
+Bianconi had laughed heartily at this, and often when he sat down to
+fish, he would amuse himself by ruminating on this graceful simile, from
+which would generally arise other subtle and profound political musings.
+That morning the lake was quiet and most favourable to contemplation.
+The tallest grass of the precipitous bottom could be seen standing
+erect, a sign that there was no under-current. The baited hook cast far
+out, sunk straight and slowly, the line stretched evenly and smoothly
+below the float which sailed behind it a little way, surrounded by a
+series of tiny rings, that told of the ticklings of small carp, and then
+sunk into repose, a sign that the bait was resting on the bottom, and
+that the carp no longer worried it. The fisherman placed the short rod
+on the low wall, and fell to thinking of Engineer Ribera.
+
+Though he was not aware of it Bianconi had a large dose of meekness in
+one corner of his heart which God, without informing him of it, had made
+with a false bottom. The world had proof of this in 1859, when the dear
+little fish, having swallowed the bait Lombardy, with the hook, the
+line, the rod, the Commissary, and everything else, Bianconi took to
+planting national and constitutional cabbages at Precotto. In spite of
+this hidden meekness, as he now laid down his rod and reflected that
+poor, old Engineer Ribera was to be fished for, he experienced a
+singular satisfaction, neither in his heart, nor his head, nor in any of
+the usual senses, but in a particular sense of his own, purely Imperial
+and Royal! Indeed he had no consciousness of himself as distinct from
+the Austrian governing organism. Receiver at a small frontier
+customs-house, he considered himself the point of the nail on a finger
+of the state; then, as a police-agent, he considered himself a
+microscopic eye under that nail. His life was that of the monarchy. If
+the Russians tickled the skin of Galicia, he felt the itching at Oria.
+The greatness, the power, the glory of Austria inflated him with
+unbounded pride. He would not admit that Brazil was vaster than the
+Austrian Empire, or that China was more thickly populated, or that the
+Archangel Michael could take Peschiera, or the Almighty Himself take
+Verona. His real Almighty was the Emperor; he respected the One in
+Heaven as an ally of the one at Vienna.
+
+So, although he had never suspected that Engineer Ribera was an
+unfaithful subject, the Commissary's words--gospel truth to him--had
+carried conviction with them, and the idea of getting hold of this
+untrustworthy servant fired the zeal of the royal eye and the imperial
+finger nail. He called himself an ass for not having seen through this
+man before. Oh, but there was still time to catch him and hold him fast,
+fast, fast! "You just leave it to me! Just leave it to me, Signor
+Comm----"
+
+He broke off suddenly and seized the rod. Gently, almost without moving,
+the float had printed a ring on the water, the sign of a tench. Bianconi
+clutched the rod tight, holding his breath. Another dip of the float,
+another and larger ring; the float moved slowly, slowly upon the water,
+and then stopped. Bianconi's heart was beating violently; the float
+moved still a little further on the surface, and then went under; zag!
+Bianconi gave a jerk, and the rod bowed with the tugging on the line of
+a hidden fish. "Peppina, I've got him!" shouted Carlascia, losing his
+head. "The _guadèll_, the _guadèll_!" The customs-guard turned round
+enviously: "Have you got him, _Scior Reciṭr_?" Cüstant, consumed with
+envy, gave no sign, not even turning his tall hat. Rat́ and Signora
+Peppina came rushing up, the latter bringing the _guadèll_, a long pole
+with a large net at the end of it, used for bagging the tench in the
+water, for it would be a desperate risk to lift it up by the line.
+Bianconi took the line and began drawing it in very slowly. The tench
+was not yet visible, but must surely be enormous. The line came in
+smoothly for a few feet, and then was jerked violently back; then it
+began to come in again, nearer, ever nearer, until, far down below the
+surface, underneath the very noses of the three personages, something
+yellow flashed, a monstrous shadow! "Oh, the beauty!" said Signora
+Peppina under her breath. Rat́ exclaimed: "_Madone, Madone!_" But
+Bianconi spoke never a word, and only pulled and pulled cautiously. It
+was a fine, big fellow, short and fat, with a dark back and a yellow
+belly, this fish that was coming up from the depths, nearly exhausted
+and moving crosswise with evident reluctance.
+
+The three faces did not please the fish, for it suddenly turned tail
+upon them, and once more dived furiously towards the depths. At last,
+however, completely exhausted, it followed the line, and appeared at the
+foot of the wall, its gilded belly uppermost. Signora Peppina, almost
+upside down on the parapet, plunged her rod as far as it would go,
+seeking in vain to bag the unhappy fish. "By the head!" shouted her
+husband. "By the tail!" piped Rat́. At the noise, at sight of that
+terrible net, the fish struggled and dived. Peppina worked harder than
+ever, but could find neither head nor tail. Bianconi pulled and the
+tench rose to the surface once more, coiled itself up, and with a mighty
+jerk, snapped the line, and shot off amid the foam. "_Madone!_"
+exclaimed Rat́, while Peppina continued to hunt about in the water with
+her rod. "Where is that fish? Where is that fish?" Bianconi, who had sat
+as one petrified, still grasping the line, now faced about in a rage; he
+kicked Rat́, caught his wife by the shoulder, and shook her like a bag
+of nuts, loading her with reproaches. "Has it made off, _Scior
+Reciṭr_?" asked the customs-guard mellifluously. Cüstant turned his
+tall hat just a little, glanced towards the scene of the disaster, and
+then, returning to the contemplation of his own placid float, mumbled in
+an indulgent tone: "_Minga pratich!_ Not skillful!"
+
+Meanwhile the tench had returned to its native grass-grown depths,
+melancholy but free, like Piedmont after Novara. It is, however,
+doubtful if the poor Engineer-in-Chief will be equally fortunate.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[I] A short, pointed beard, called _la mosca_, and worn by patriots in
+those days. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[J] Box, red; leaves, green; flower, white. The Italian colours, so the
+worthy Receiver scents sedition. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[K] Kufstein was one of the Austrian fortresses where "politicals" were
+imprisoned. [_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE MOONSHINE AND CLOUD SONATA
+
+
+The sun was sinking behind the brow of Monte Brè and darkness was
+rapidly covering the precipitous shores and the houses of Oria, stamping
+the purple and gloomy profile of the hill on the luminous green of the
+waves, which were running obliquely towards the west, still high, but
+foamless in the tired _breva_. The lights in Casa Ribera had been the
+last to go out. Standing against the steep vineyards of the mountainside
+dotted with olives, it spanned the narrow road that follows the
+coast-line, its modest façade rising from the clear water, and flanked
+on the west, towards the village, by a little hanging-garden, divided
+into two tiers, on the east, towards the church, by a small terrace
+raised on pillars, which framed a square of church ground. In this
+façade there was a small boathouse where at that time the boat belonging
+to Franco and Luisa lay rocking on the jostling waves. Above the
+boathouse a slender gallery united the hanging-garden on the west and
+the terrace on the east, and looked out upon the lake by means of three
+windows. They called it a loggia, perhaps because it really had been
+one in olden times. The old house bore incrusted here and there several
+of these venerable, fossil names, which had survived through tradition,
+and represented, in their apparent absurdity, the mysteries of the
+religion of domestic walls. Behind the loggia was a spacious hall, and
+there were two rooms more behind that. On the west was the small
+dining-room, its walls covered with little, illustrious, paper men, each
+under his own glass and in his own frame, each in a dignified attitude,
+like the illustrious in flesh and blood, looking as if his colleagues
+did not exist at all, and the world was gazing at him alone. On the east
+was the alcove-room, where next to her parents, in her own little bed,
+slept Signorina Maria Maironi, born in August, 1852.
+
+From the great rococo chests to the bed-rooms, the kitchen cupboard, the
+black clock in the little dining-room, the sofa in the loggia, with its
+brown cover, sprinkled with red and yellow Turks; from the
+straw-bottomed chairs to the armchairs with disproportionately high
+arms, the furniture of the house all belonged to the epoch of the
+illustrious men, most of whom wore the wig and pigtail. Even though it
+did appear to have just descended from the garret, it seemed,
+nevertheless, to have regained in the light and air of its new
+surroundings certain lost habits of cleanliness, a decided interest in
+life, and the dignity of old age. Thus a collection of disused words
+might to-day be composed by the breath of some aged and conservative
+poet, and reflect his serene and graceful senility. Under the
+mathematical and bureaucratic rule of Uncle Piero, chairs and armchairs,
+tables large and small, had lived in perfect symmetry, and the privilege
+of immobility had been extended to the very mats themselves. The only
+piece of furniture which might have been called _movable_, was a grey
+and blue cushion, an abortive mattress, which the engineer, during his
+short visits at Oria, carried with him when he moved from one easy-chair
+to another. When he was absent the caretaker respected all relics of him
+to such an extent as never to dare touch them familiarly, or dust the
+less visible parts. This caused the housekeeper to fly into a rage,
+regularly, every time they returned to Valsolda. The master, vexed that
+a little dust should cause so much scolding of a poor peasant, would
+reprimand her, and suggest that she do the dusting herself; and when the
+woman--by way of a scornful retort--would demand, wrathfully, if she was
+to kill herself with dusting the house every time they came, he would
+answer good-naturedly: "If you kill yourself once, that will be
+sufficient."
+
+The cultivation of the little garden as well as of a kitchen-garden he
+owned to the east of the church grounds, he left entirely to the caprice
+of the caretaker. Only once, two years before Luisa's marriage, arriving
+at Oria at the beginning of September, and finding six stalks of maize
+growing on the second terrace of the little garden, did he allow
+himself to say to the man: "Look here, my friend. Couldn't you really
+get along without those six stalks of Indian corn?"
+
+Those liberal poets, Franco and Luisa, had breathed upon things and
+changed their aspect. Franco's poetry was more ardent, fervid and
+passionate; Luisa's more prudent. Thus Franco's sentiments always flamed
+out in his eyes, his face, his words, while Luisa's seldom burst into
+flames, and only tinged the depths of her penetrating glance, and her
+soft voice. Franco was conservative only in matters of religion and art;
+he was an ardent radical as far as the domestic walls were concerned,
+always planning transformations of ceilings, walls, floors, and drapery.
+Luisa began by admiring his genius, but as nearly all the funds came
+from her uncle, and there was little margin for extraordinary
+undertakings, she persuaded him, very gently and little by little, to
+leave the walls, the ceilings, and the floors as they were, and to study
+how best to arrange the furniture without seeking to transform it. And
+she would make suggestions without appearing to do so, letting him
+believe the ideas were his own, for Franco was jealous of the paternity
+of ideas, while Luisa was quite indifferent to this sort of maternity.
+Thus, together, they arranged the hall as a music-room, drawing-room,
+and reading-room; the loggia as a card-room, while the terrace was
+sacred to coffee and contemplation. This small terrace became in
+Franco's hands the lyric poem of the house. It was very tiny and Luisa
+felt that here a concession might be made, and an outlet provided for
+her husband's enthusiasms. It was then that the king of Valsoldian
+mulberry-trees fell from his throne, the famous and ancient mulberry of
+the churchyard, a tyrant that deprived the terrace of the finest view.
+Franco freed himself from this tyrant by pecuniary means; then he
+designed and raised above the terrace an airy context of slim rods and
+bars of iron which formed three arches surmounted by a tiny cupola, and
+over this he trained two graceful passion-flower vines, that opened
+their great blue eyes here and there, and fell on all sides in festoons
+and garlands. A small round table and some iron chairs served for coffee
+and contemplation. As to the little hanging-garden, Luisa would have
+been willing to put up even with maize, with that tolerance of the
+superior mind which loves to humour the ideas, the habits, the
+affections of inferior minds. She felt a sort of respectful pity for the
+horticultural ideals of the poor caretaker, for that mixture of
+roughness and gentleness he had in his heart, a great heart, capable of
+holding at once, reseda and pumpkins, balsam and carrots. But Franco,
+generous and religious though he was, would not have tolerated a carrot
+or a pumpkin in his garden for love of any neighbour. All stupid
+vulgarity irritated him. When the unfortunate kitchen-gardener heard Don
+Franco declare that the little garden was a filthy hole, that
+everything must be torn up, everything thrown away, he was so dazed and
+humiliated as to excite pity; but when, working under his master's
+orders, tracing out paths, bordering them with tufa-stones, planting
+flowers and shrubs, he saw how skilful Franco himself was with his
+hands, and how many terrible Latin names he knew, and what a surprising
+talent he possessed for imagining new and beautiful arrangements, he
+conceived, little by little, an almost fearful admiration for him, which
+soon--in spite of many scoldings--developed into devoted affection.
+
+The little hanging garden was transformed in Franco's own image and
+likeness. An _olea fragrans_ in one corner spoke of the power of gentle
+things over the hot, impetuous spirit of the poet; a tiny cypress, not
+over-acceptable to Luisa, spoke in another corner of his religiosity; a
+low, brick parapet, in open-work pattern, ran between the cypress and
+the _olea_, supporting two parallel rows of tufa-stones, between which
+blossomed a smiling colony of verbenas, petunias, and wall-flowers, and
+spoke of the singular ingenuity of its author; the many rose-bushes
+scattered everywhere spoke of his love of classic beauty; the _ficus
+repens_ which decked the walls towards the lake, the twin orange-trees
+between the two tiers, and a vigorous carob-tree, revealed a chilly
+temperament, a fancy turning always towards the south, insensible to the
+fascination of the north.
+
+Luisa had worked far harder than her husband, and still continued to do
+so, but whereas he was proud of his labours and glad to speak of them,
+Luisa, on the contrary, never mentioned hers, nor was she in the least
+proud of them. She laboured with the needle, the crochet, the iron, the
+scissors, with a wonderful, calm rapidity; working for her husband, her
+child, the poor, herself, and for the adornment of her house. Each room
+contained some creation of hers; dainty curtains, rugs, cushions, or
+lamp-shades. It was also her duty to arrange the flowers in the hall and
+the loggia; no flowers in pots, for Franco did not have many, and did
+not wish them shut up in rooms; no flowers from the little garden, for
+to gather one of those was like tearing it out of Franco's heart. But
+the dahlias, the gladioles, the roses, and the asters of the
+kitchen-garden were at Luisa's disposal. These, however, were not
+sufficient, and as the village loved "Sciora Luisa" best after the
+Almighty, St. Margherita, and St. Sebastian, at a sign from her, its
+children would bring her wildflowers and ferns, and ivy to festoon
+between the great bunches, stuck in metal rings on the walls. Even the
+arms of the harp that hung from the ceiling of the hall, were always
+entwined with long serpents of ivy and passion-flower.
+
+If they wrote to Uncle Piero of these innovations he would answer little
+or nothing. At most he would caution them not to keep the
+kitchen-gardener too busy, but to leave him time for his own work. The
+first time he came to Oria after the transformation of the little
+garden he paused and contemplated it as he had contemplated the six
+stocks of maize, and murmured under his breath: "Oh dear me!" He went
+out to the terrace, looked at the little cupola, touched the iron bars,
+and pronounced an "Enough!" that was resigned, but full of disapproval
+of so much elegance, which he considered above the position of his
+family and himself. But when he had examined in silence all the nosegays
+and bunches of flowers, the pots and the festoons of the hall and the
+loggia, he said, with his good-natured smile: "Look here, Luisa! Don't
+you think it would be better to keep a couple of sheep with all this
+fodder?"
+
+But the housekeeper was delighted that she no longer need kill herself
+for dust and cobwebs, and the kitchen-gardener was for ever praising the
+wonderful works of "Signor Don Franco," so that Uncle Piero himself soon
+began to grow accustomed to the new aspect his house had assumed, and to
+look without disapproval upon the little cupola, which, indeed, afforded
+a most grateful shade. At the end of two or three days he asked who had
+made it, and he would sometimes pause to examine the flowers in the
+garden, to inquire the name of one or another. At the end of eight or
+ten days, standing with little Maria at the door leading from the hall
+to the garden, he would ask her: "Who planted all those beautiful
+flowers?" and teach her to answer: "Papa!" He exhibited his nephew's
+creations to an employé of his who one day came to visit him, and
+listened to his expressions of approval with a fine assumption of
+indifference, but with the greatest satisfaction. "Yes, yes, he is
+clever enough." Indeed he ended by becoming one of Franco's admirers,
+and would even listen, in the course of conversation, to other projects
+of his. And in Franco, admiration and gratitude were growing for that
+great and generous bounty that had vanquished conservative nature, and
+the old aversion for elegance of every description; for that same bounty
+that at all such opposition rose silently and even higher behind the
+uncle's resistance, until it surmounted all, covered all in a broad wave
+of acquiescence, or at least with the sacramental phrase: "However,
+_fate vobis_; do as you like." One innovation only Uncle Piero had not
+been willing to accept--the disappearance of his old cushion. "Luisa,"
+said he, gingerly lifting the new, embroidered cushion from the
+easy-chair, "Luisa, take this away." And he would not be persuaded.
+"Will you take it away?" When Luisa, smiling, brought him the little
+abortive mattress he sat down upon it with a satisfied, "That's it!" as
+if he were solemnly taking possession of a lost throne.
+
+At the present moment, while the violet dusk was invading the green of
+the waves and running along the coast from village to village,
+eclipsing, one after another, the shining white houses, the engineer
+was seated upon his throne holding little Maria on his knees, while out
+on the terrace Franco was watering the pots of pelargonia, his heart and
+his face as full of affectionate satisfaction as if he had been slaking
+the thirst of Ishmael in the desert. Luisa was patiently untangling a
+fishing-line belonging to her husband, a frightful snarl of string,
+lead, silk, and hooks. She was talking, meanwhile, with Professor
+Gilardoni, who always had some philosophical snarl to untangle, but who
+greatly preferred a discussion with Franco, who always contradicted him,
+right or wrong, believing him to possess an excellent heart, but a
+confused head. Uncle Piero, his right knee resting on his left, held the
+child on this elevation, and for the hundredth time at least, was
+repeating a little scrap of verse to her, with affected slowness, and a
+slight distortion of the foreign name--
+
+ Proud shade of the river,
+ Of Missipiṕ----
+
+As far as the seventh word the child would listen, motionless and
+serious, with earnest eyes; but when he reached "Missipiṕ," she would
+burst out laughing, pound hard with her little legs, and clap her tiny
+hands over the uncle's mouth, who would also laugh merrily, and after a
+short pause he would begin again, speaking slowly, slowly, in the same
+approved tone:
+
+ Proud shade of the river----
+
+The child did not resemble either father or mother; she had the eyes,
+the delicate features of Grandmother Teresa. She exhibited a strange
+impetuous tenderness for the old uncle, whom she so seldom saw. Uncle
+Piero did not use sweet words to her; indeed, when necessary, he would
+even chide her gently, but he always brought her toys, often took her
+out to walk, danced her upon his knee, laughed with her, and repeated
+comic verses to her--the one beginning with the "Missipiṕ," and that
+other, ending with the words:
+
+ Answered so promptly young Barucabà!
+
+Who may this Barucabà have been, and what had they been asking him?
+"_Toa Bà! Toa Bà!_ Barucabà again! Barucabà again!" and once more the
+uncle would recite the poetic tale to the child, but there is no one now
+to repeat it to me.
+
+This is what Professor Gilardoni was discussing in his timid, gentle
+voice with Luisa; the Professor, grown just a little older, just a
+little more bald, just a little more sallow. "Who knows," Luisa had
+said, "if Maria will resemble her grandmother in soul as she does in
+face." The Professor replied that it would indeed be a miracle to find
+two such souls in the same family, and separated by so short an interval
+of time. Then wishing to explain to how rare a species he conceived the
+grandmother's soul to have belonged, he gave voice to the following
+tangle: "There are souls," said he, "that openly deny a future life, and
+live according to their opinions, solely for the present life. Such are
+few in number. Then there are souls that pretend to believe in a future
+life, and live entirely for the present. These are far more numerous.
+There are souls that do not think about the future life, but live so
+that they may not run too great a risk of losing it if, after all, it
+should be found to exist. These are more numerous still. Then there are
+souls that really do believe in the future life, and divide their
+thoughts and actions into two categories, which are generally at war
+with each other; one is for heaven, the other for earth. There are very
+many such. And then there are souls that live entirely for the future
+life, in which they believe. These are very few, and Signora Teresa was
+one of them."
+
+Franco, who hated psychological disquisitions, passed frowning, with his
+empty watering-pot, on his way to the little garden, and thought: "Then
+there are those souls that are bores!" Uncle Piero who, by the way, was
+slightly deaf, was laughing with Maria. When her husband had passed,
+Luisa said softly: "Then there are souls that live as if there were only
+the future life, in which they do not believe. And of such there is
+one." The Professor started, and looked at her in silence. She was
+hunting in the tangle of the line for a double thread with a ring that
+must be drawn through, and though she did not see his glance, still she
+felt it, and quickly nodded towards her uncle. Had she really been
+thinking of him when speaking those words? Or had there been in her
+some occult complication? Had she alluded to her uncle without
+conviction, simply because she dare not name, even in thought, another
+person to whom her words might more justly apply? The Professor's
+silence, his searching glance which she had felt without meeting,
+revealed to her that he suspected her. It was for that reason she had
+hastily nodded towards Uncle Piero.
+
+"Does he not believe in a future life?" the Professor asked.
+
+"I should say not," Luisa answered, and then at once her heart was
+filled with remorse, for she felt that her reasons for affirming this
+were not sufficient, that she had no right to answer thus. In fact her
+uncle had never taken the trouble to meditate on religion. In his
+conception of honesty were included the continuation of the ancient,
+family practices and the profession of the inherited faith, accepted
+carelessly, as it stood. His was a good-natured God like himself, who,
+again like himself, cared little for genuflections and rosaries; a God
+well pleased to have honest, hearty men for His ministers, as Uncle
+Piero was well pleased to have such for his friends, even though they
+might be merry eaters and drinkers, life-long devotees of _tarocchi_,
+open tellers of spicy but not filthy stories, as a lawful outlet for
+that prurient hilarity which is in all of us. Certain joking remarks of
+his, certain aphorisms uttered thoughtlessly upon the relative
+importance of religious practices and the absolute importance of honest
+living, had struck her, even as a child, especially as they greatly
+vexed Signora Teresa, who would entreat her brother not to "talk
+nonsense." She suspected that he went to church simply because it was
+fitting to do so. Perhaps this was not true; one must overlook the
+aphorisms of a man who had grown old in self-sacrifice and
+self-abnegation, and who was wont to say: _Charitas incipit a me._
+Besides, even if her uncle did hold religious practices in slight
+esteem, there was a vast difference between that and denying a future
+life. Indeed, as soon as Luisa had uttered her opinion and had heard how
+it sounded, she felt it was false, saw more clearly within herself and
+realised that she had been seeking in her uncle's example, a prop and a
+comfort for herself.
+
+The Professor was greatly moved by this unexpected revelation.
+
+"This one soul," said he, "that lives as if thinking only of a future
+life in which it does not believe, is indeed in error, but nevertheless,
+we are bound to admire it as the most noble, the greatest of all. It is
+something sublime!"
+
+"But are you then sure that this soul is in error?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes!"
+
+"And you yourself, to which category do you belong?"
+
+The Professor really believed he was of the few who rule their actions
+entirely according to an aspiration towards a future life, but he would
+have been embarrassed had he been called upon to demonstrate that his
+earnest study of Raspail, his zeal in the preparation of sedative water
+and camphor cigarettes, his horror of dampness and of draughts, were
+proofs of slight attachment to the present life. However, he would not
+answer, but said that though he did not belong to any church, he
+nevertheless, believed firmly in God and the future life, and that he
+could not judge of his own conduct.
+
+Meanwhile, Franco, watering the little garden, had discovered that a new
+verbena had blossomed, and setting down his watering-pot, had come to
+the door of the loggia and was calling to Maria, to whom he wished to
+point it out. Maria let him call, and demanded "Missipiṕ" again,
+whereupon the uncle put her down, and himself led her to her father.
+
+"But, Professor," Luisa said, emerging by means of the living word from
+a course of occult ponderings, "do you not think one may believe in God
+and still be in doubt concerning the future life?"
+
+Speaking thus she had dropped the tangled maze of net, and was looking
+the Professor straight in the face, with an expression of lively
+interest, and a manifest desire that he might answer yes. As Gilardoni
+did not speak she added--
+
+"It seems to me some one might say: What obligation is God under to
+give us immortality? The immortality of the soul is an invention of
+human selfishness, which, after all, simply wishes to make God serve its
+own convenience. We want a reward for the good we do to others, and a
+punishment for the evil others do to us. Let us rather resign ourselves
+to complete death, which comes to every living thing, being just with
+ourselves and with others as long as we live, without looking for future
+reward, but simply because God wishes it, as he wishes every star to
+give light, and every tree to give shade. What do you think about it?"
+
+"What can I say?" Gilardoni answered. "It seems to me a thought of great
+beauty! I cannot say: a great truth. Indeed I do not know. I have never
+thought about it, but it is very beautiful! I will say that Christianity
+has never had, has never even imagined a Saint so sublime as this _some
+one_! It is very beautiful, very beautiful!"
+
+"And besides," Luisa continued after a short silence, "it might also be
+maintained that this future would not mean perfect happiness. Can there
+be happiness if we do not know the reasons of all things? If we may not
+explain all mysteries? And will this longing to know all things be
+satisfied in the future life? Will there not always remain one
+impenetrable mystery? Do they not teach us that we shall never
+understand God perfectly? Therefore, in our longing to know, shall we
+not end by suffering as at present, perhaps even more, because in a
+higher life that longing must become stronger? I can only see one way of
+arriving at a knowledge of everything, and that would be to become
+God----"
+
+"Ah! You are a pantheist!" the Professor exclaimed, interrupting her.
+
+"Hush!" said Luisa. "No, no, no, I am a Catholic Christian. I am only
+repeating what others might say."
+
+"Pardon me, but there is a pantheism----"
+
+"Philosophy still?" exclaimed Franco, coming in with the little one in
+his arms.
+
+"Oh, misery!" grumbled Uncle Piero behind him.
+
+Maria held a beautiful white rose in her hand. "Look at this rose,
+Luisa," said Franco. "Maria, give Mamma the flower. Look at the shape of
+this rose, its pose, its shading, the veins in its petals; look at that
+red stripe, and inhale its perfume. Now drop philosophy."
+
+"You are an enemy of philosophy?" the Professor said, smiling.
+
+"I am a friend of that simple and sure philosophy which even roses can
+teach me," Franco answered.
+
+"Philosophy, my dear Professor," Uncle Piero put in solemnly, "is all
+contained in Aristotle. You can get all you want from that source."
+
+"You are jesting," the Professor said, "but you yourself are a
+philosopher."
+
+The engineer placed a hand on his shoulder.
+
+"Listen, dear friend! My philosophy could all be put into eight or ten
+glasses."
+
+"Mercy on us! Eight or ten glasses!" grumbled the housekeeper, who had
+caught her most temperate master's words of boastful intemperance, as
+she came in. "Eight or ten fiddlesticks!"
+
+She had come to announce Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri, whose hollow but
+jolly voice was just then heard in the hall, saying heartily, "_Deo
+gratias_." Then the red and wrinkled face, the lively eyes, and the grey
+hair of the gentle priest appeared.
+
+"We are discussing philosophy, Don Giuseppe," said Luisa when greetings
+had been exchanged. "Come here and let us have your valuable opinion."
+
+Don Guiseppe scratched his head, and then turning it slightly towards
+the engineer, with the expression of one who desires something for which
+he hardly dares to ask, gave utterance to this flower of his
+philosophical opinions.
+
+"Wouldn't a little game of primero be better?"
+
+Franco and Uncle Piero, who were only too glad to escape from
+Gilardoni's philosophy, sat merrily down to the little table with the
+priest.
+
+As soon as he and Luisa were alone, the Professor said softly--
+
+"The Marchesa left yesterday."
+
+Luisa, who had taken Maria upon her lap, pressed her lips to the child's
+neck passionately.
+
+"Perhaps," continued Gilardoni, who had never known how to read in the
+human heart, or to touch its chords correctly, "perhaps sometime--it is
+only three years, yet--perhaps the day may come when she will yield."
+
+Luisa raised her face from Maria's neck. "Perhaps _she_ may yield!" said
+she. The Professor did not understand, and giving way to the evil genius
+that invariably suggested to him the worst word at the worst moment, he
+persisted instead of breaking off. "Perhaps, if she could see Maria!"
+Luisa pressed the little girl to her breast, and looked at him so
+fiercely that he was confused, and stammered, "I beg your pardon!"
+Maria, in this close embrace, raised her eyes to her mother's strange
+face, grew very red, pressed her lips tight together, cried two great
+tears, and began to sob.
+
+"No, no, dear!" Luisa murmured tenderly to her, "be quiet, be quiet! You
+shall never see her, never!"
+
+As soon as the child was comforted the Professor, distressed at the
+mistake he had made, at having offended this Luisa, who seemed to him a
+superhuman being, wished to explain, to justify himself, but Luisa would
+not allow him to speak. "Pardon me, but that will do," said she, rising.
+"Let us go and watch the game."
+
+But, as a matter of fact, she did not go near the players. She sent
+Maria to amuse herself in the church-grounds with her little nurse,
+Veronica, and herself went to carry a piece of pudding to an old
+villager who had a voracious appetite and a small voice, with which he
+would every day promise his benefactress the same precious recompense,
+"Before I die, I will give you a kiss."
+
+Meanwhile the Professor was filled with scruples and remorse for the
+unfortunate step he had taken. Not knowing whether to go or to remain,
+whether the lady would or would not return, whether it would or would
+not be indiscreet to go in search of her, after having looked out
+towards the lake as if seeking advice from the fishes, towards the hills
+to see if she or some one of whom he could inquire about her happened to
+be at one of the windows, he finally went to watch the game.
+
+Each one of the players kept his eyes fixed on the four cards he held in
+his left hand, placed one upon the other in such a way that the second
+and third projected above the others just enough to be recognisable,
+while the fourth remained carefully hidden.
+
+The Professor reflected that he also held a secret card, a trump, and he
+was undecided whether to play it or not. He held old Maironi's will. A
+few days after Signora Teresa's death, Franco had told him to destroy
+it, and never breathe a word about it to Luisa. He had obeyed only so
+far as keeping silence was concerned. The document still existed, though
+of this Franco was ignorant, because its custodian had determined to
+await the development of events, to see if Cressogno and Oria would come
+to terms, or if, in consequence of prolonged hostilities, Franco and
+his family would be reduced to want, in which case he himself intended
+to do something. What he should do, he did not really know. He was
+nurturing the germs of several foolish plans in his head, and trusted
+that one or other of them would have ripened before the time for action
+arrived. Now, as he watched Franco play, he wondered how that man, so
+engrossed in his desire to win a pasteboard king, could ever have
+refused that other precious card, not even wishing to inform his wife of
+its existence. He attributed this silence to modesty, to a desire to
+hide a generous action, and although he had suffered more than one sharp
+rebuff from him, and felt that Franco esteemed him lightly, still he
+looked upon him with a respect full of humble devotion.
+
+"Give me the cards! Give me the cards!" the priest exclaimed, and he
+shuffled them eagerly. Then the game, symbol of the universal struggle
+between the blacks and the reds, began once more.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The lake now lay sleeping, covered and encircled by shadows. Only on the
+east the great, distant mountains of the Lario were still in a glory of
+purple and rich, yellow gold. The first breath of the evening breeze out
+of the north, moved the tender branches of the passion-flowers, ruffled,
+in spots, the surface of the grey waters towards the upper lake, and
+wafted a perfume of cool woods.
+
+When Luisa returned the Professor had been gone some time.
+
+"Ah, here is _Sciora_ Luisa!" said Don Giuseppe, who was feeling quite
+satisfied, having had his fill of primero, and he gently stroked the
+modest rotundity of his ribs and belly. Then this little personage of
+the world of long ago remembered the second object of his visit. He had
+wished to speak a little word to Signora Luisa. The engineer had gone
+out to take his usual short walk as far as the Tavorell hill, which he
+jokingly called the St. Bernard, and Franco, after a glance at the moon
+which was just then sparkling above the black brow of the Bisgnago, and
+below, in the undulations of the water, began improvising on the piano
+outpourings of ideal sorrow, that floated out of the open windows upon
+the deep sonorousness of the lake. His musical improvisations were more
+successful than his elaborate poems because in music his impulsive
+feelings found a mode of expression more facile, more complete, and the
+scruples, the uncertainties, the doubts which rendered the labour of
+language most wearisome and slow, did not torment his fancy at the
+piano. There he would give himself up, body and soul, to the poetic
+rage, and quivering to the roots of his hair, his clear, speaking eyes
+reflecting every little shade in the musical expression, while his face
+worked with the continuous movement of inarticulate words, his hands,
+though neither very agile nor very supple, would make the piano sing
+ineffably.
+
+At the present moment he was passing from one tone to another, breathing
+hard, and putting all the strength of his intellect into those passages,
+eviscerating the instrument, as it were, with his ten fingers, and
+almost with his glowing eyes as well. He had begun to play under the
+spell of the moonshine, but as he played, sad clouds had arisen from the
+depths of his heart. Conscious that as a youth he had dreamed of glory
+and that later he had humbly laid aside all hope of attaining it, he
+said, almost to himself, with his sad and passionate music, that in him
+there was indeed some glow of genius, some of the fire of creation seen
+only by God, for not even Luisa exhibited that esteem for his intellect
+which he himself lacked, but which he could have wished to find in her;
+not even Luisa, the heart of his heart. She praised his music and his
+poetry in measured terms, but she had never said: "Follow this path,
+dare, write, publish." He was thinking of this as he played on in the
+dark hall putting into a tender melody the lament of his love, the
+timid, secret lament he would never have dared to put into words.
+
+Out on the terrace in the quivering light-and-shade formed by the breath
+of the north wind and the passion-flower vines, by the moon and its
+reflection in the lake, Don Giuseppe was telling Luisa that Signor
+Giacomo Puttini was angry with him on account of Signora Pasotti, who
+had repeated to him the false report that he, Don Giuseppe, was going
+about preaching the necessity of a marriage between Puttini and
+Marianna. "May I be struck dead," the poor priest protested, "if I ever
+breathed a single word! Not a single word! It is all a lie!" Luisa would
+not believe poor Barborin guilty, but Don Giuseppe declared he had it
+straight from the Controller himself. Then she understood at once that
+the cunning Pasotti was indulging in a joke at the expense of his wife,
+Signor Giacomo, and the priest, and declining to interfere in the matter
+as Don Giuseppe wished her to do, she advised him to speak to Signora
+Pasotti herself. "She is so terribly deaf!" said the priest, scratching
+his head; and he finally departed, dissatisfied, and without saluting
+Franco, whom he did not wish to interrupt. Luisa went towards the piano
+on tiptoe, and stopped to listen to her husband, to hear the beauty, the
+richness, the fire of that soul which was hers, and to which she
+belonged for ever. If she had never said to Franco, "Follow this path,
+write, publish!" it was perhaps because in her well-balanced affection
+she believed, and with reason, that he would never be able to produce
+anything superior to mediocrity, but it was above all, because, although
+she had a fine feeling for music and poetry, she did not really esteem
+either of much account. She did not approve of a man's dedicating
+himself wholly to either, and she had an ardent longing that her
+husband's intellectual and material activity should flow in a more
+manly channel. Nevertheless, she admired Franco in his music more than
+if he had been a great master; she found in this almost secret
+expression of his soul something virginal, something sincere, the light
+of a loving spirit, most worthy to be loved.
+
+He did not perceive her presence until two arms brushed his shoulders
+and he saw two little hands hanging on his breast. "No! no! Play, play!"
+Luisa murmured, for Franco had grasped the hands; but, without
+answering, his head thrown back, he sought her, sought her lips and her
+eyes, and she kissed him and then raised her face, repeating, "Play." He
+drew the imprisoned wrists still farther down, silently praying for the
+sweet, sweet mouth: then she surrendered, and pressed her lips upon his
+in a long kiss, full of understanding, and infinitely more exquisite,
+more exhilarating than the first. Then she once more whispered, "Play."
+
+And in his happiness he played the music of triumph, full of joy and of
+cries. For at that moment it seemed to him he possessed the soul of this
+woman in its entirety, whereas sometimes, even though convinced that she
+loved him, he seemed to feel in her that lofty reason, towering serene
+and cold, above love itself, and far beyond the reach of his
+enthusiasms. She would often place her hands upon his head, and from
+time to time kiss his hair softly. She was aware of her husband's
+doubts, and always protested that she was all his, but in her heart she
+knew he was right. There was in her a tenacious, fierce sense of
+intellectual independence which withstood love. She could judge her
+husband calmly, recognising his imperfections, but she felt he was not
+capable of doing the same, felt how humble he was in his love, in his
+boundless devotion. She did not think she was unjust to him, she felt no
+remorse, but she was touched with loving pity when she pondered these
+things. Now she guessed the meaning of this joyous musical outpouring,
+and, deeply moved, she embraced Franco and the piano became suddenly
+silent.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Uncle Piero's slow, heavy step was heard on the stairs; he was returning
+from his St. Bernard.
+
+It was eight o'clock, and the usual _tarocchi_-players, Signors Giacomo
+and Pasotti, had not yet arrived, for in September Pasotti himself
+became a regular visitor at Casa Ribera, where he pretended to be in
+love with the engineer, with Luisa, and even with Franco. Franco and
+Luisa suspected some duplicity, but Pasotti was an old friend of the
+uncle's, and must be tolerated out of respect to him. As the players
+failed to appear Franco proposed to his wife that they should go out in
+the boat to enjoy the moon. First, however, they went to see Maria, who
+was asleep in her little bed in the alcove, her head drooping towards
+her right shoulder, one arm under her pillow, and the other resting
+across her breast. They looked at her and kissed her smiling, and then
+the silent thoughts of both flew to Grandmamma Teresa, who would have
+loved her so dearly. With serious faces, they kissed her once more. "My
+poor little one!" said Franco. "Poor, penniless, Donna Maria Maironi!"
+
+Luisa placed her hand upon his mouth. "Be quiet!" said she. "We are
+fortunate, we who are the penniless Maironis."
+
+Franco understood, and did not answer at once, but presently, when they
+were leaving the room to go to the boat, he said to his wife, forgetting
+one of his grandmother's threats, "It will not always be thus."
+
+This allusion to the old Marchesa's wealth displeased Luisa. "Do not
+speak of it to me," she said. "I would not soil my fingers by touching
+that money."
+
+"I was thinking of Maria," Franco observed.
+
+"Maria has us. We can work."
+
+Franco was silent. Work! That was one of the words that chilled his
+heart. He knew he was leading a life of indolence, for were not music,
+books, flowers, and a few verses now and then, merely vanities and a
+waste of time? And he was leading this life almost entirely at the
+expense of others, for how could he possibly have managed with only his
+one thousand Austrian lire a year? How could he have maintained his
+family? He had taken his collegiate degree, but without deriving the
+slightest profit from it. He doubted his own ability, felt himself too
+much of an artist, too foreign to forensic wiles, and he was well aware
+that the blood of earnest labourers did not flow in his veins. His only
+hope was in a revolution, a war, in the freedom of his country. Ah! When
+Italy should be free, how well he would serve her, with what great
+strength, what joy! This poetry he had indeed in his heart, but he
+lacked the energy, the constancy to prepare himself by study for such a
+future.
+
+While he was rowing away from the shore in silence, Luisa was wondering
+how it was that her husband could pity the child because she was poor.
+Did not this sentiment stand in contradiction to Franco's faith, to his
+Christian piety? She recalled Professor Gilardoni's categories. Franco
+believed firmly in a future life, but in practice he clung passionately
+to all that is beautiful and good in this earthly life, clung to all its
+lawful pleasures, including cards and dainty dinners. One who obeyed the
+precepts of the Church so scrupulously, who was so careful to abstain
+from flesh on Fridays and Saturdays, to listen to a sermon every Sunday,
+should conform his daily life far more strictly to the evangelical
+ideal. He should rather fear than desire riches.
+
+"A pleasant sail to you!" Uncle Piero called out from the terrace,
+catching sight of the boat and Luisa seated in the prow in the
+moonlight. Opposite black Bisgnago all Valsolda, from Niscioree to
+Caravina lay spread out in the glory of the moon; all the windows of
+Oria and of Albogasio, the arches of Villa Pasotti, the tiny white
+houses of the most distant villages, Castello, Casarico, S. Mamette,
+Drano, seemed to be gazing as if hypnotised, at the great, motionless
+eye of the dead orb in the heavens.
+
+Franco drew the oars into the boat. "Sing," said he.
+
+Luisa had never studied singing, but she possessed a sweet mezzo-soprano
+voice and a perfect ear, and had learned many operatic airs from her
+mother, who had heard Grisi, Pasta, and Malibran, during the golden days
+of Italian opera.
+
+She began the air from _Anne Boleyn_:
+
+ Al dolce guidami
+ Castel natio.
+
+The song of the soul which at first descends, little by little, and
+finally, in greater sweetness gives itself up to its love, to rise
+again, locked in his embrace, in an impulse of desire towards some
+distant light which shall complete its happiness. She sang, and Franco,
+carried away, fancied that she longed to be united to him in that lofty
+region of the soul from which she had, until now, excluded him; that in
+this perfect union, she longed to be guided by him towards the goal of
+his ideals. A sob rose in his throat, and the rippling lake, the great
+tragic mountains, those eyes of things fixed upon the moon, the very
+light of the moon itself, everything, was filled with his indefinable
+sentiment. And so, when beyond the broken image of the orb, silver
+lights flashed for a moment as far as Bisgnago, and even into the
+shadowy gulf of the Doi, he was moved, as if they had been mysterious
+signals concerning him, which lake and moon were exchanging, while Luisa
+finished the verse:
+
+ Ai verdi platani,
+ Al cheto rio
+ Che i nostri mormora
+ Sospi ancor.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Pasotti's voice called from the terrace--
+
+"_Brava!_"
+
+And Uncle Piero shouted--
+
+"_Tarocco!_"
+
+At the same moment they heard the oars of a boat coming from Porlezza,
+and a bassoon mimicked the air of _Anne Boleyn_. Franco, who had seated
+himself in the stern of his boat, started to his feet, crying
+delightedly--
+
+"Who goes there?" A fine, big, bass voice answered him--
+
+ Buona sera
+ Miei signori,
+ Buona sera,
+ Buona sera.
+
+They were his friends from the Lake of Como, the lawyer V. of Varenna
+and a certain Pedraglio of Loveno, who were in the habit of coming to
+make music openly, and discuss politics in secret; this was known only
+to Luisa.
+
+They called from the terrace--
+
+"Well done, Don Basilio!--Bravo, bassoon!" And in the interval the voice
+could be heard of some one who was begging to be excused from _tarocco_:
+"No, no, most gracious Controller, it is late! The time is too short;
+really too short. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Indeed you must excuse me. I
+cannot, I cannot. Most worshipful Engineer, I appeal to you!"
+
+But they made the little man play, promising that they would not go
+beyond two games. He puffed very hard, and sat down to the little table
+with the engineer, Pasotti, and Pedraglio. Franco seated himself at the
+piano, and the lawyer placed himself beside him with the bassoon.
+
+Between Pasotti and Pedraglio, two terrible quizzers, poor Signor
+Giacomo passed a short half-hour which was full of tribulation. They did
+not leave him alone a minute. "How goes it, _Scior Zacomo_?--Badly,
+badly! _Scior Zacomo_, are there no friars walking about in
+slippers?--Not one. And the bull, how is the bull, _Scior
+Zacomo_?--Stop, stop--A most accursed beast, eh?--Yes, indeed, Sir. And
+the servant, _Scior Zacomo_?" "Hush!" exclaimed Pasotti at this
+impertinent question of Pedraglio's. "Be prudent. On this point Signor
+Giacomo is having a great deal of trouble, through the indiscretion of
+certain individuals." "Let us not discuss it, most gracious Controller,
+let us not discuss it!" Signor Giacomo exclaimed, writhing all over, and
+the engineer advised him to send his tormentors to the devil. "But how
+is this, _Scior Zacomo_," Pasotti went on, undaunted, "don't you call
+that little priest indiscreet?" "I call him an ass!" Signor Giacomo
+answered angrily. Then Pasotti, smiling and triumphant, because this
+joke was really of his own making, ordered Pedraglio to be quiet, and
+started the game afresh, although Pedraglio was bursting with curiosity
+to hear the story.
+
+Franco and the lawyer were studying a new composition for piano and
+bassoon, continually making mistakes and beginning over again. Presently
+Signora Bianconi came in on tiptoe that she might not interrupt the
+melody. No one noticed her entrance save Luisa, who made her sit down
+beside her on the little sofa near the piano.
+
+Signora Peppina with her cordial good-nature, her long tongue, and her
+foolishness was irritating to Franco, but not to Luisa. Luisa liked her,
+but she was careful on account of Carlascia. From her garden Peppina had
+heard that "lovely song," and then the bassoon and the greetings; she
+had imagined there was going to be music, and she was "so madly fond of
+music, you know!" There was that lawyer who "blows into that shiny
+thing," to say nothing of Don Franco with those fingers of his "that
+seem bewitched." To hear the piano played with such precision was as
+good as hearing a barrel-organ, and she was "so awfully fond" of
+barrel-organs! She added that she had been afraid she should disturb
+them, but that her husband had encouraged her to come. And she asked if
+that other gentleman from Loveno did not play also; if they were going
+to stay long; and observed that both must be passionately fond of music.
+
+"I'll be even with you, you rascal of a Receiver," thought Luisa, and
+she proceeded to stuff his wife with the most ridiculous tales of the
+melomania of Pedraglio and the lawyer, inventing more and more as she
+grew more and more angry with those odious persons against whom one was
+obliged to defend one's self by lying. Signora Peppina swallowed all the
+stories scrupulously down to the very last, accompanying them with
+gentle notes of pleased wonder: "Oh, how strange!--Just fancy!--Just
+think of that!" Then, instead of listening to the diabolical dispute
+going on between the piano and the bassoon, she began to talk of the
+Commissary, saying he intended to come and see Don Franco's flowers.
+
+"He may come," said Luisa, coldly.
+
+Then Signora Peppina, taking advantage of the storm Franco and his
+friend were raising, risked a little private speech, which would have
+cost her dear had her Carlascia overheard it, but fortunately that
+faithful mastiff was asleep in his own bed, his night-cap drawn well
+down over his ears.
+
+"I am so devoted to these dear flowers!" she began. It was her opinion
+the Maironis would do well to pet the Commissary a little. He was one
+of the Marchesa's intimates, and it would be awful if he should take it
+into his head to cause them trouble. He was a terrible man, this
+Commissary! "Now my Carlo barks a little, but he is a good creature; the
+other one doesn't bark, but--you understand?" She herself knew nothing
+about it, had not heard anything, but if, for example, that lawyer and
+the other gentleman had come for something else than music, and the
+Commissary should find it out----! Then the Lord have mercy on us!
+
+The moon was dragging its splendour across the lake towards the western
+waters; the game had come to an end, and Signor Giacomo was preparing to
+light his little lantern, in spite of Pasotti's remonstrances. "A light,
+_Scior Zacomo_? You are mad! A light with such a moon!" "At your
+service," Puttini replied. "In the first place there is that accursed
+Pomodoro to cross, and then--_cossa vorla_--the moon nowadays! Besides I
+must tell you it is the August moon, for although we are in September,
+still the moon belongs to August. Well, once upon a time, my dear sirs,
+August moons were fine and big, as large as the bottom of a cask at
+least; now they are no better than moonlets, good-for-nothing
+moons----no, no, no." And his lantern lighted, he departed with Pasotti,
+the impertinent Pedraglio accompanying them as far as the gate of the
+little garden, with his usual fire of antiphones about the bull and the
+servant. Then the little man turned towards the cavernous streets of
+Oria, greatly comforted by Pasotti's exclamations: "Ill-bred people,
+_Scior Zacomo_! Vulgar people!" exclamations uttered in a tone
+calculated to reach the others, and add to their amusement.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+A loud gape from the engineer put Signora Peppina to flight. A few
+minutes later, having drunk his cup of milk, Uncle Piero took leave of
+the company in verse--
+
+ Tall laurel trees and myrtle sweet upon Parnassus grow,
+ May night upon you, worthy Sirs, great happiness bestow.
+
+The two guests also asked for a little milk, but Franco, who understood
+their Latin, went for an old bottle of the wine from the small but
+excellent vineyard of Mainé.
+
+When he returned Uncle Piero was no longer present. The dark, bearded
+lawyer, the picture of strength and placidity, raised both hands
+silently, summoning Luisa and Franco, one to either side of him. Then he
+said softly, in his voice like a violoncello, warm and deep--
+
+"Great news!"
+
+"Ah!" ejaculated Franco, opening his eager eyes wide. Luisa turned pale,
+and clasped her hands in silence.
+
+"Yes, indeed!" said Pedraglio calmly and seriously, "we have succeeded!"
+
+"Speak out! Speak out!" Franco begged. The lawyer answered him:
+
+"We have Piedmont allied with France and England! To-day war with
+Russia, to-morrow with Austria! Are you satisfied?"
+
+With a sob Franco sprang to embrace his friends.
+
+The three stood clinging to one another in silence, pressing close in
+the intoxication of the magic word: War! Franco forgot that he still
+held the bottle. Luisa took it from him. Then he tore himself
+impetuously from the other two, rushed between them, and seizing each
+round the waist, dragged them into the hall like an avalanche,
+repeating: "Tell all, tell all, tell all!"
+
+There, when they had prudently closed the glass door leading to the
+terrace, the lawyer and Pedraglio disclosed their precious secret. An
+English lady, spending her holiday at Bellagio, who was a devoted friend
+of Italy, had received a letter (of which the lawyer possessed a
+translation) from another lady, a cousin of Sir James Hudson, English
+Minister at Turin. The letter stated that secret negotiations were being
+carried on in Turin, Paris, and London, to obtain the armed co-operation
+of Piedmont in the Orient; that the matter was looked upon as settled by
+the three cabinets, but that there still remained a few formal
+difficulties to arrange, as Count Cavour demanded the greatest
+consideration for the dignity of his country. At Turin they were
+confident the official and open invitation from the Western powers to
+accede to the treaty of the tenth of April, 1851, would come to hand not
+later than December. It was even affirmed that the troops forming the
+contingent would be under the command of the Duke of Genoa.
+
+The lawyer read, and Franco held his wife's hand tight. Then he wanted
+to read the letter himself, and after him Luisa read. "But," said she,
+"war with Austria? How is that?"
+
+"Most certainly," said the lawyer. "Do you suppose Cavour is going to
+send the Duke of Genoa with fifteen or twenty thousand men to fight the
+Turks unless he already holds the war with Austria in his hand? You may
+believe me, Madam, it will come about before a year is passed."
+
+Franco shook his fists in the air, his whole body quivering.
+
+"Hurrah for Cavour!" whispered Luisa.
+
+"Ah!" the lawyer exclaimed, "Demosthenes himself could not have praised
+Cavour with greater efficacy."
+
+Franco's eyes were filling with tears. "I am a fool!" he said. "I don't
+know what to say!"
+
+Pedraglio asked Luisa where the deuce she had hidden the bottle. Luisa
+smiled and went out, returning again immediately with the wine and
+glasses.
+
+"Count Cavour!" said Pedraglio in a low tone. All raised their glasses
+repeating: "Count Cavour!" Then they drank, even Luisa, who never took
+wine.
+
+Pedraglio refilled the glasses and again rose to his feet.
+
+"War!" said he.
+
+The three others sprang up, clutching their glasses in silence, too
+deeply moved to speak.
+
+"We must all go!" said Pedraglio.
+
+"All!" Franco repeated. Luisa kissed him impetuously on the shoulder.
+Her husband seized her head in both hands, and imprinted a kiss upon her
+hair.
+
+One of the windows towards the lake was open. In the silence that
+followed the kiss, they heard the measured dip of oars.
+
+"The customs-guards," whispered Franco. While the guards' long-boat was
+passing beneath the window, Pedraglio said: "D---- hogs!" in such a loud
+tone, that the others hushed him. The long-boat floated past. Franco
+looked out of the window.
+
+It was cool; the moon was sinking towards the hills of Carona, streaking
+the lake with long, gilded stripes. What a strange sensation it gave him
+to contemplate that quiet solitude, with a great war so near at hand!
+The dark, sad mountains seemed to be thinking of the formidable future.
+Franco closed the window, and the conversation began again in low tones
+round the little table. Each one had his own suppositions concerning
+future events, and all spoke of these events as of a drama, of which the
+manuscript was lying quite ready, down to the very last verse, with all
+its stops and commas in place, in Count Cavour's writing-desk. V., who
+was a Bonapartist, saw clearly that Napoleon intended to avenge his
+uncle, overthrowing one after another, the parties to the Holy Alliance;
+to-day Russia, to-morrow Austria. But Franco, on the other hand, who was
+mistrustful of the emperor, attributed the Sardinian alliance to the
+good-will of England, but acknowledged that as soon as this alliance
+would be proclaimed, Austria, sacrificing her own interests to
+principles and hatred, would cast in her lot with Russia, and therefore
+Napoleon would be obliged to fight her. "Listen," said his wife, "I am
+afraid Austria will come over to the side of Piedmont," "Impossible!"
+said the lawyer. Franco felt alarmed, and admired the acuteness of the
+observation, but Pedraglio exclaimed: "Nonsense! Those blockheads are
+too great asses to think out a trick like that!" This argument appeared
+decisive, and no one save Luisa gave the possibility another thought.
+They began discussing plans for the campaign, plans for insurrections,
+but here they could not agree. V. knew the men and the mountains of the
+Lake of Como from Colico to Como and Lecco, better perhaps than any one
+else. And everywhere all along the lake, in Val Menaggio, in Vall
+'Intelvi, in Valsassina, in the Tre Pievi, he knew those who were
+devoted to the cause, and even ready to strike the blow at a sign from
+the _Scior Avocât_. He and Franco considered any insurrectional movement
+useful that might serve to distract part of the Austrian forces even for
+a moment. But Luisa and Pedraglio were of opinion that all the
+able-bodied men should hasten to swell the Piedmontese battalions. "We
+women will make the revolution," said Luisa, with her mock gravity. "I,
+for my part, will pitch Carlascia into the lake!"
+
+They still conversed in an undertone, with an electric current in their
+veins that flashed from their eyes, and made their nerves tingle;
+enjoying this hushed talk behind closed doors and windows, the danger of
+being in possession of that letter, the glowing life they felt in their
+blood, and those intoxicating words they were always repeating:
+Piedmont, War, Cavour, Duke of Genoa, Victor Emmanuel, Cannon,
+_Bersaglieri_.
+
+"Do you know what time it is?" said Pedraglio, consulting his watch. "It
+is half-past twelve! Let us go to bed."
+
+Luisa went for the candles, and lighted them, standing the while, but no
+one moved, so she also sat down again. When he saw the candles lighted,
+even Pedraglio himself lost his desire to go to bed.
+
+"A fine kingdom!" said he.
+
+"Piedmont," said Franco, "Lombardy-Venice, Parma, and Modena."
+
+"And the Legations!"[L] V. added.
+
+More discussions followed. All wished for the
+
+Legations, especially the lawyer and Luisa, but Franco and Pedraglio
+were afraid to touch them, fearing to stir up difficulties. They grew so
+warm that Pedraglio entreated his companions to "scream" in an
+undertone. "Scream softly, children!" Then it was V.'s turn to propose
+going to bed. He took his candle in his hand but did not rise.
+
+"Body of Bacchus!" said he, not knowing whether he meant it as a
+conclusion or an exhortation. Indeed he had a terrible desire to talk,
+and to hear others talk, but could find nothing new to say. "Body of
+Bacchus it is indeed!" Franco exclaimed, who was in much the same state
+of mind. A long silence ensued. At last Pedraglio said, "Well?" and
+rose. "Shall we go?" said Luisa, leading the way. "And the name?" the
+lawyer asked. They all stopped. "What name?" "The name of the new
+Kingdom!" Franco set down his candle at once. "Well done!" said he, "the
+name!" as if it had been a point that must be settled before going to
+bed. Fresh discussions followed. Piedmont? _Cisalpino?_ Upper Italy?
+Italy?
+
+Luisa also was quick to put down her candle, and as the others were not
+willing to accept his "Italy," Pedraglio set his down also. But finding
+the debate promised to be a long one, he resumed it, and ran away,
+repeating: "Italy, Italy, Italy, Italy!" heedless of the "hushes" and
+admonitions of the others, who were following on tiptoe. They all
+stopped once more at the foot of the stairs that Pedraglio and the
+lawyer must ascend to reach their room, and exchanged good-nights. Luisa
+entered the neighbouring alcove-room; Franco waited to watch his friends
+upstairs. "Look here!" he suddenly exclaimed. He had been going to speak
+to them from the foot of the stairs, but finally decided it was better
+to go up to them. "And what if we are defeated?" he whispered.
+
+The lawyer simply uttered a contemptuous "Nonsense!" but Pedraglio
+turning like a hyena, seized Franco by the throat. They struggled gaily
+there on the landing, and then once more said good-night. Pedraglio
+rushed upwards, while Franco flung himself downstairs.
+
+His wife was waiting for him, standing in the centre of the room, her
+eyes fixed on the door. When she saw him enter she moved gravely towards
+him, and folded him in a close embrace. When, after a few moments had
+elapsed, he moved as though to draw away, she silently pressed him
+closer. Then Franco understood. She was embracing him now as she had
+kissed him before, when they had talked of all going to the war. He
+pressed her temples between his hands, kissed her again and again on the
+hair, saying gently: "Dearest, think how great she will be afterwards,
+this Italy!" "Yes, yes!" said she. She raised her face to his, and
+offered him her lips. She was not crying, but her eyes were moist. To
+feel himself gazed upon like this, to be kissed thus, was indeed worth a
+few years of life, for never, never before had her tenderness towards
+him contained this humility.
+
+"Then," said she, "we shall no longer live in Valsolda. You will be
+obliged to assume the duties of a citizen, will you not?"
+
+"Yes, yes, certainly!"
+
+They began to talk eagerly, both he and she, about what they should do
+after the war, as if to banish the thought of a terrible possibility.
+Luisa let down her hair, and went to look at Maria in her little bed.
+The child had probably been roused some time before, and had put a tiny
+finger in her mouth, which, little by little, as sleep returned, had
+slipped out. Now she was sleeping with her mouth open, and the little
+finger resting on her chin. "Come here, Franco," said her mother. Both
+bent over the bed. Maria's small face held the sweetness of paradise.
+
+Husband and wife lingered over her in silence, and then rose, deeply
+moved. The interrupted conversation was not resumed.
+
+When they were in bed and the light put out, Luisa murmured, on her
+husband's lips--
+
+"If that day should come, you will go; but I shall go also."
+
+And she would not allow him to answer.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[L] The Legations were provinces of the Roman state, governed by a
+legate from Rome. The Marches, Romagna and Umbria. [_Translator's
+note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE GLOVED HAND
+
+
+To make his joke more complete Pasotti reproached his wife for having
+repeated to Signor Giacomo Don Giuseppe's speech concerning the
+necessity of a marriage. The poor deaf woman was thunderstruck; she knew
+nothing either of a speech or of a marriage, and protested that this was
+a calumny, entreating her husband not to believe it, and was nearly
+beside herself because the Controller still appeared to harbour a
+suspicion. This malicious man was preparing a treat for himself; he was
+going to tell Signor Giacomo and Don Giuseppe that his wife wished to
+make amends for the harm she had done, and bring about a truce; in this
+way he would get all three together at his house, and from behind a door
+would enjoy the delicious scene that must ensue between the wrathful
+Signor Giacomo, the terrified Don Giuseppe, and the deaf and distracted
+Barborin. But his plan failed, for his wife could not wait, and ran off
+to the "Palace" to clear herself.
+
+She found Don Giuseppe and Maria in a state of the most extraordinary
+agitation. Something tremendous had happened to them, something that
+Maria wished to tell, and Don Giuseppe did not. However, the master
+yielded on condition that she should not shout, but should convey her
+news by signs. Meeting with opposition on this point also, he, in his
+prudence, became furious, and the servant did not insist.
+
+A rumour had spread of a case of cholera at Lugano, the victim being a
+man who had come there from Milan, where the disease had broken out; so
+Don Giuseppe had arranged to have all provisions for the kitchen come
+from Porlezza instead of Lugano, and had entrusted the commission to
+Giacomo Panighet, the postman, who brought the letters to Valsolda, not
+three times a day, as at present, but twice a week, as was the
+comfortable custom in the little world of long ago. Now, not five
+minutes before Signora Pasotti's arrival, Giacomo Panighet had brought
+the usual basket, and in the bottom of that basket, beneath the
+cabbages, they had discovered a note addressed to Don Giuseppe. It ran
+as follows:--
+
+
+ "You, who play at primero with Don Franco Maironi, should warn
+ him that the air of Lugano is far better than the air of Oria.
+
+ "TIVANO."
+
+
+
+Maria silently exhibited the basket, which was still full, to Signora
+Pasotti, and by clever acting illustrated the manner of discovery of the
+letter, which she gave her to read.
+
+As soon as the deaf woman had finished reading, a strange, indescribable
+pantomime began between the three. Maria and Don Giuseppe, by dint of
+gesticulations and rollings of their eyes, expressed their surprise and
+terror; Barborin, half frightened, half dazed, stared open-mouthed, from
+one to the other, the letter still in her hand, as if she had
+understood. As a matter of fact she had made out only that the letter
+must be terrible. Presently a thought struck her. She held the letter
+out to Don Giuseppe with her left hand, while with her right forefinger
+she pointed to the word _Franco_; then she crossed her wrists with a
+questioning gesture; and as the others, recognising that the sign meant
+handcuffs, nodded their heads violently in confirmation, she became half
+frenzied, so great was her affection for Luisa, and forgetting the
+matter that had brought her there, she explained by signs, as if both
+the others had been deaf also, that she would go straight to Oria, see
+Don Franco, and give him the letter.
+
+She started to rush away, cramming the letter into her pocket, and with
+hardly a word of leave-taking to Don Giuseppe and Maria, who, greatly
+distressed, were trying in vain to get hold of her, to detain her and
+recommend all possible precautions. But she slipped through their
+fingers, and her great, tall bonnet quivering, her old grey skirt
+dragging, set off at a trot towards Oria, where she arrived quite out of
+breath, with her head full of gendarmes, inspections, scenes of terror
+and of grief.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+She went up the stairs of the little Ribera garden, making straight for
+the hall, where she saw there were visitors. She recognised the Receiver
+and the Imperial and Royal Commissary of Porlezza, and was terrified,
+believing they were come for the terrible blow, but then she perceived
+Signora Bianconi and Signor Giacomo Puttini, and once more breathed
+freely.
+
+The Commissary, seated in the post of honour on the large sofa, next to
+the Engineer-in-Chief, talked a great deal, with much fluency and
+brilliancy, looking oftenest at Franco, as if he were the only person
+present upon whom it was worth while to waste breath and wit. Franco,
+lounging in an armchair, was mute and sullen, like one who, in the house
+of another, perceives a bad odour which good manners forbade him either
+to flee from or curse. They were discussing the Crimean campaign, and
+the Commissary was praising the plan of the allied powers to attack the
+colossus in that vital point, his ambition. He spoke of the Russian
+barbarities, and of the autocrat himself in such terms as to cause
+Franco to tremble in his dread of an Anglo-Franco-Austrian alliance, and
+Carlascia to open his eyes wide, for he still held the views of 1848,
+and looked upon the Czar as a good friend of the family. "And you,
+Signor First-Political-Deputy, what do you think of it?" said the
+Commissary, turning his sarcastic smile upon Signor Giacomo. Puttini
+winked his little eyes very hard, and having felt his knees all over,
+replied: "Most respected Signor Commissary, I know little about Russia,
+France, or England, and I care still less. I let them settle their own
+affairs. But, to speak the truth, I am sorry for that poor dog
+'Papuzza.' He was as quiet as a young chicken until they worried him,
+then when he called for help, fifty rushed to his aid, and now they are
+all upon him, devouring everything they can grab; and whether poor
+'Papuzza' win or lose, he will have nothing left but his shirt."
+
+This nickname "Papuzza,"--a Venetian distortion of _Babbuccia_
+slippers--Signor Giacomo applied to the Turk. "Papuzza" personified
+Turkey in the form of one ideal Turk, with a huge turban, a long beard,
+a big belly, and slippers. Puttini, the peaceful, half free-thinker, had
+a weakness for the lazy, placid, easy-going "Papuzza."
+
+"Don't worry," the Commissary laughed. "Your friend 'Papuzza' will come
+out all right. We are his friends also, and will not allow him to be
+mutilated or bled."
+
+Franco, frowning sternly, could not refrain from grumbling.
+
+"Nevertheless, that would be a great injustice towards Russia."
+
+The Commissary was silent, and Signora Peppina, displaying unusual tact,
+proposed going out to see the flowers.
+
+"A good idea!" said the engineer, who was very glad to have the
+discussion interrupted.
+
+While passing from the hall to the little garden the Commissary took
+Franco's arm familiarly, and whispered in his ear: "You are right, you
+know, about the injustice; but there are certain things we government
+officials may not say." Franco, who was greatly astonished at this
+utterance, felt as if the touch of the Imperial and Royal hand were
+burning him. If this man had had a more Italian face he would have
+believed him, but with that Kalmuc countenance he did not believe him,
+and allowed the subject to drop. But his companion resumed it in a low
+tone, as he leaned over the parapet above the lake, and pretended to
+examine the _ficus repens_ that covered the wall.
+
+"You yourself should avoid certain expressions," said he. "There are
+fools who might place false interpretations upon them." And he gave a
+slight nod in the direction of the Receiver. "Be careful, be careful!"
+"Thank you," Franco replied, dryly, "but I hardly think I shall need to
+be careful." "We can never be sure, never be sure, never be sure!" the
+Commissary murmured, and, followed by Franco, he moved away towards the
+spot where the Receiver and the engineer were discussing the subject of
+tench, near the few steps leading down to the second terrace of the
+little garden.
+
+Close at hand stood the famous red box with the jasmine.
+
+"That red does not look well, Signor Maironi," said the mastiff, _ex
+abrupto_, and he threw up his hand with a gesture that meant, "Away with
+it!" Just then Luisa looked into the garden from the hall, and called
+her husband. The Commissary turned to his zealous acolyte, and said
+sharply, "Drop that!"
+
+Signora Pasotti was leaving, and wished to salute Franco. He would have
+shown her out through the garden, but she, anxious to avoid going
+through so many ceremonies with those other gentlemen, preferred to go
+down by the inside stairs, and Franco escorted her as far as the
+street-door, which stood open. To his great surprise Signora Pasotti,
+instead of passing out, closed the door, and began an excited and
+perfectly unintelligible pantomime, accompanying it with short sighs and
+rollings of the eyes; after this she took a letter from her pocket and
+offered it to him.
+
+Franco read, shrugged his shoulders, and put the letter in his pocket.
+Then as Signora Pasotti kept on recommending flight, flight--Lugano,
+Lugano, in despairing pantomime, he smiled and reassured her by a
+gesture. She once more seized his hands, and once more the lofty bonnet
+(which had a tipsy inclination towards the right), and the long black
+curls, trembled in earnest supplication. She strained her eyes wide,
+pushed out her lips as far as possible, and laid her forefinger against
+her nose to indicate silence. "With Pasotti also!" she said; and these
+were the only words she spoke during the whole interview. Then she
+trotted away.
+
+Franco went upstairs again, thinking about his position. This might be a
+false alarm, just as it might also be a serious matter. But why should
+they arrest him? He tried to remember if he had anything of a
+compromising nature in the house, and could recall nothing. It flashed
+across his mind that his grandmother might have been guilty of some
+perfidy, but he at once banished the thought, reproaching himself, and
+postponed a decision until he should have spoken to his wife.
+
+He returned to the little garden, where the Commissary, as soon as he
+caught sight of him, asked him to point out the dahlias Signora Peppina
+had been praising. Upon learning that they were in the kitchen-garden he
+proposed going there with Franco. They could go alone, for indeed all
+the others were ignorant on the subject of dahlias. Franco accepted.
+
+The conduct of this little police-spy in gloves puzzled him, and he
+sought to discover if it could in any way be connected with the
+mysterious warning.
+
+"Listen, Signor Maironi," the Commissary began resolutely, when Franco
+had closed the gate of the kitchen-garden behind him. "I wish to say a
+word to you."
+
+Franco who was descending the few steps leading from the threshold of
+the gate, stopped with a clouded brow. "Come here," the Commissary added
+imperiously. "What I am about to do is perhaps not in accordance with my
+duty, but I shall do it, notwithstanding. I am too good a friend of the
+Marchesa, your grandmother, not to do it. You are in great danger."
+
+"I?" Franco inquired, coldly. "In danger of what?"
+
+Franco was endowed with a rapid and sure intuition of the thoughts of
+others. The Commissary's words agreed perfectly with the message
+Barborin had brought; still, at that moment he felt that the little
+police-spy harboured treachery in his heart.
+
+"In danger of what? Of Mantua!" was Zérboli's reply.
+
+Franco did not flinch upon hearing the awful word, synonym of
+incarceration and the gibbet.
+
+"I need not fear Mantua," said he. "I have done nothing to deserve
+Mantua."
+
+"Nevertheless----!"
+
+"Of what am I accused?" Franco repeated.
+
+"You will soon find out if you remain here," the Commissary replied,
+laying stress upon the last words. "And now let us examine these
+dahlias."
+
+"I have done nothing!" Franco once more repeated. "I will not leave."
+
+"Let us see these dahlias, let us see these dahlias," the Commissary
+insisted.
+
+Franco felt that he should thank this man, but he could not. He showed
+him his flowers with just that amount of civility that was
+indispensable, and with perfect composure. Then he conducted him from
+the kitchen-garden to the house, talking of some obscure Professor
+Maspero, and of his secret method of combating _oidium_.
+
+In the hall they were discussing another and far worse form of _oidium_.
+Signora Peppina was harassed by a terrible fear of cholera. She
+recognised that cholera served as a warning to every good Christian to
+make his peace with God, and that when we are at peace with God, it is
+indeed a blessing to be called to the next world, "but still, this body
+of ours, you know! This precious body! And when you reflect that we have
+only one!"
+
+"The cholera," said Luisa, "might do no end of good, if it had any
+sense, but it has not. You see," she whispered to Signora Peppina as
+Bianconi rose and went towards the Commissary, who had returned with
+Franco, "the cholera is quite capable of taking you, and leaving your
+husband." At this extraordinary remark the terrified Peppina started
+violently, exclaiming: "_Jesusmaria!_" and then, perceiving she had
+betrayed her true feelings, that she had not exhibited that tenderness
+for Carlascia of which she was always prating, she clutched her
+neighbour's knee, and bending forward, said in an undertone, her face as
+red as a poppy: "Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!"
+
+But Luisa was no longer thinking of her. A glance from Franco had warned
+her that something had happened.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+When all the visitors had departed, Uncle Piero sat down to read the
+_Milan Gazette_, and Luisa said to her husband: "It is three o'clock.
+Let us go and wake Maria."
+
+When he and she were alone in the alcove-room, instead of at once
+opening the shutters, she inquired what had happened. Franco told her
+everything, from Signora Pasotti's letter to the Commissary's strange
+communication.
+
+Luisa listened with a serious face, but without exhibiting any sign of
+fear. Then she examined the mysterious note. Both she and Franco were
+aware that among the government agents at Porlezza there was one honest
+man, who, in 1849 and 1850 had saved several patriots by a timely
+warning. But they were also aware that this honest man was ignorant of
+the rules of orthography and grammar, and the note Barborin had brought
+was perfectly correct. As to the Commissary, it was well known that he
+was one of the most malicious and treacherous of the government's tools.
+Luisa approved of the answer her husband had made him.
+
+Franco himself was well aware of all this, but he could find no
+plausible explanation for this persecution. Luisa, however, had one in
+mind which contempt for the grandmother had suggested to her. This
+Commissary was a good friend of the grandmother's, he himself had said
+so, thereby displaying, so he thought, the refinement of cunning. In the
+Commissary's glove there was the talon of the Marchesa. She meant to
+strike not Franco alone, but all the others as well, and they were to be
+reached through him who maintained the family with the fruit of his
+labours, out of the kindness of his generous heart. She knew from
+speeches which had been repeated to her by the usual hateful gossips,
+that the grandmother hated Uncle Piero because Uncle Piero had made it
+possible for her grandson to rebel against her, and to live comfortably
+enough in rebellion. Now they were seeking for a pretext to strike him.
+The flight of the nephew would be a confession, and, for a government
+like the Austrian, a good pretext to strike the uncle. Luisa did not say
+so at once, but she let him see that she had an idea, and little by
+little, her husband drew it from her. When she had told him, though in
+his heart he believed she was right, he nevertheless protested in words,
+defending his grandmother against an accusation which seemed too
+monstrous, and which rested on so slight a foundation. At all events
+husband and wife agreed perfectly in their resolve not to flee, but to
+await further developments. They therefore wasted no time in making or
+discussing suppositions. Luisa rose and went to open the shutters, and
+standing in the full light, she turned to look smilingly at her husband,
+stretching out her hand to him. He pressed it and shook it, his heart
+aflame, but his tongue speechless. They felt like soldiers, who,
+conscious of the distant roar of cannon, are being led along a quiet
+road, towards what fate God only knows.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE HAND WITHIN THE GLOVE
+
+
+The Engineer-in-Chief noticed nothing, and two days later, the term of
+his leave having expired, he went away peacefully in his boat, wrapped
+in his great, grey travelling cloak, and accompanied by Cia, the
+housekeeper. Ten days passed without further developments, and Franco
+and Luisa concluded that a trap had been set for them, and that, after
+all, the police would not appear. On the evening of the first of October
+they played _tarocchi_ merrily with Puttini and Pasotti, and then, their
+guests having left early, they went to bed. When Luisa kissed the child,
+who was sleeping, she noticed that her flesh was hot. She felt of her
+hands and legs. "Maria is feverish," she said.
+
+Franco took up the candle and looked at her. Maria was sleeping with her
+little head drooping towards her left shoulder as usual. The lovely
+little face which always wore a frown when she was asleep, was slightly
+flushed, and the breathing rather quick. Franco was alarmed, and at once
+thought of scarlet fever, the measles, gastric, and brain fever. Luisa,
+who was more calm, thought of worms, and prepared a dose of santonine,
+which she placed ready on the pedestal. Then both father and mother went
+noiselessly to bed, put out the light and lay listening anxiously to the
+little one's short, quick breathing. At last they dozed, but towards
+midnight they were aroused by Maria, who was crying. They lighted the
+candle and Maria became quiet and took the santonine. Then presently she
+began to cry again, and wanted to be taken into the big bed, between
+mamma and papa, and finally went to sleep there; but her sleep was
+uneasy and often interrupted by sobs.
+
+Franco kept the candle burning that he might watch her more closely. He
+and his wife were bending over their darling when two knocks sounded in
+quick succession on the street-door. Franco started up in bed. "Did you
+hear?" said he. "Hush!" said Luisa, grasping his arm, and listening. Two
+more knocks sounded, louder still, and Franco exclaimed: "The Police!"
+and sprang to the floor. "Go, go!" Luisa begged in a low tone. "Don't
+let them take you! Go by the little courtyard! Climb over the wall!" He
+did not answer, but hastily threw on some clothes and rushed from the
+room, heedless of danger, and determined never of his own free will to
+leave his Luisa and his sick child.
+
+He dashed down the stairs. "Who is there?" he inquired, without opening
+the door. "The Police!" some one answered. "Open at once."
+
+"At this hour I open to no one I do not see."
+
+A short dialogue ensued in the street. The voice he had heard first
+said: "You speak to him," and the voice that spoke next was very
+familiar to Franco.
+
+"Open, Signor Maironi."
+
+It was the Receiver. Franco threw the door open. A gentleman, dressed in
+black and wearing spectacles, entered, and was followed by the mastiff;
+after the mastiff came a gendarme with a lantern, then three other armed
+gendarmes, two of whom were subalterns while the other was of higher
+rank, and carried a large leathern bag. Some one remained outside.
+
+"Are you Signor Maironi?" said the man in spectacles, a police-adjunct,
+or detective from Milan. "Come upstairs with me." And the whole party
+started upstairs, with the thud of heavy steps and the rattling of
+military trappings.
+
+They had not yet reached the first floor when a light fell on the stairs
+from above, and sobs and groans were heard on the second floor.
+
+"Is that your wife?" asked the detective.
+
+"Do you fancy it is?" Franco retorted ironically. The Receiver murmured:
+"It is probably the servant." The detective turned and gave an order;
+two gendarmes started forward and went rapidly up to the second floor.
+More sharply than before the adjunct asked Franco: "Is your wife in
+bed?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Where? She must get up."
+
+The door of the alcove-room was thrown open, and Luisa appeared in her
+dressing-gown, with flowing hair, and bearing a candle in her hand. At
+the same moment a gendarme leaned over the banisters on the upper floor,
+and said that the servant had nearly fainted away, and could not come
+down. The detective ordered him to leave his companion with the woman,
+and to descend. Then he saluted the lady, who did not reply. In the hope
+that Franco had fled, she had hastened to leave the room in order to
+detain and, if possible, deceive the police. She now saw her husband and
+shuddered, her heart beating wildly, but she composed herself at once.
+
+The detective stepped forward to enter the room. "No!" Franco exclaimed.
+"Some one is ill in there." Luisa clutched the handle of the closed
+door, looking the man straight in the face.
+
+"Who is ill?" asked the detective.
+
+"A little girl."
+
+"Well, what harm do you suppose we shall do her?"
+
+"Pardon me," said Luisa almost defiantly, and giving the handle a
+nervous shake, "must you all go in?"
+
+"All of us."
+
+At the sound of voices and the rattling of the door-handle little Maria
+had begun to cry in a weary and forlorn voice that was heart-rending.
+
+"Luisa," said Franco, "let these _gentlemen_ do their work."
+
+The detective was a fashionably-dressed young man, with a refined but
+cruel face. He threw Franco a sinister glance. "Obey your husband,
+Signora," said he, glad of an opportunity to retaliate. "I think he is
+prudent."
+
+"Less prudent than you are, who bring a whole army as escort," Luisa
+retorted, opening the door. He glanced at her, shrugged his shoulders,
+and passed in, followed by the others.
+
+"Open everything here," said he roughly, in a loud voice, pointing to
+the writing-desk. Franco's big, blue eyes flashed. "Speak softly!" said
+he. "Do not frighten my child."
+
+"Silence, you!" the detective thundered, bringing his fist down upon the
+desk. "Open!"
+
+At that noise the child began to sob violently. Franco, who was furious,
+flung the key upon the desk.
+
+"Open it yourself," said he.
+
+"You are under arrest!" cried the detective.
+
+"Very well."
+
+While Franco was answering thus, Luisa, who had bent low over her baby,
+trying to pacify her, raised her face impetuously.
+
+"I also have a right to that honour," said she, in her fine, ringing
+voice.
+
+The detective did not deign to reply, but ordered a gendarme to open all
+the drawers of the writing-desk, and he himself searched them, removing
+all the letters, examining them rapidly, throwing some on the floor,
+and tossing others into the great leathern bag. After the writing-desk
+it was the turn of the chests of drawers, where everything was turned
+upside down. Then Maria's little bed was inspected. The detective
+ordered Luisa to remove the child from the big bed, which he also
+intended to examine.
+
+"Then put the little bed in order for me," Luisa replied, quivering with
+rage. Up to this moment, the mastiff, Carlascia, had stood silent and
+stiff behind his moustaches, as if this operation, which he had perhaps
+desired in the abstract, were proving not entirely to his taste, now
+that it was being put into practice. He came forward and began arranging
+the mattresses and sheets of the little bed with his great ugly paws.
+Luisa placed the child in it, and then the large bed was torn to pieces
+and examined, but without any result. Maria had stopped crying, and was
+staring at the scene of confusion with wide eyes.
+
+"Now follow me, both of you," said the adjunct. Luisa, who believed she
+was to be led away with her husband, demanded that the servant be
+summoned, that she might give the child into her care. At the idea that
+Luisa was under arrest, that the sick child was to be deprived of her
+mother also, Franco, beside himself with rage and grief, uttered a
+protesting cry--
+
+"This is not possible! Say it is not so!"
+
+The detective did not vouchsafe a reply, but ordered that the servant
+be brought in. The maid, half dead with fright, entered between two
+gendarmes, groaning and sobbing.
+
+"Fool!" Franco muttered between his teeth.
+
+"The woman will stay here with the child," said the adjunct. "Both of
+you will come with me. You must be present when the rest of the house is
+searched." He sent for some lights, left a gendarme in the alcove-room,
+and went into the hall, followed by the other gendarmes, Bianconi,
+Franco, and Luisa.
+
+"Before continuing the search," said he, "I will ask you a question I
+should have asked before had your conduct been more correct. Tell me
+whether you have any weapons, or seditious publications, or papers
+either printed or in manuscript, which are hostile to the Imperial and
+Royal Government."
+
+Franco answered, in a loud tone--
+
+"No."
+
+"That is what we shall see," said the detective.
+
+"Do as you like."
+
+While the adjunct was causing furniture to be moved away from the wall,
+and was searching and peering everywhere, Luisa remembered that eight or
+ten years before her uncle had shown her in the chest of drawers of a
+room on the second floor, an old sabre that had lain there ever since
+1812. It had belonged to another Pietro Ribera, a lieutenant of cavalry,
+who had fallen at Malojaroslavetz. No one ever slept in that room above
+the kitchen and it was seldom entered; it was as if it did not exist.
+Luisa had completely forgotten the old sabre of the Empire. Oh, God! now
+she recalled it! What if her uncle had forgotten it also? What if he had
+not given it up in 1848, after the war, when orders had been issued to
+deliver up all weapons, under pain of death? Had her uncle grasped the
+fact, in his patriarchal simplicity, that this heir-loom that had lain
+for six-and-thirty years at the bottom of a drawer, had now become a
+dangerous and forbidden object? And Franco, Franco who knew nothing!
+Luisa was resting her hands on the back of a chair; it creaked sharply
+under her convulsive pressure. She withdrew her hands, frightened, as if
+the chair had spoken.
+
+In fancy she saw the adjunct pass from room to room with his gendarmes,
+and arrive at that door, open the drawer, and discover the sabre. She
+made every effort to recall the exact position in which she had seen it,
+to find some way out of this danger; and she was silent, mechanically
+following with her eyes the candle which a gendarme, in obedience to his
+chief's gestures, held close, now to an open drawer or cupboard, now to
+a picture which the detective had lifted, that he might look behind it.
+No, she could think of no remedy. If her uncle had failed to remove the
+sabre, she could only trust they would not visit that room.
+
+Franco, leaning against the stove, was following every motion of the
+searchers with a clouded brow. When they plunged their hands into the
+drawers, his rage was visible in the silent working of his jaws. Nothing
+was heard save, now and then, a sharp order from the detective, and a
+low-toned reply from the gendarmes. Nothing moved around them, save
+their great shadows wavering on the walls. The silence of the Receiver,
+of Franco and Luisa, was like the silence of those who have risked great
+sums in a secret gaming-house, and stand about the players who, from
+time to time, speak some brief word. The sinister face and voice of the
+detective never changed, although he had not discovered anything. To
+Luisa he seemed a man sure of achieving his purpose. And not to be able
+to do anything, not even warn Franco! But perhaps it was better he did
+not know; perhaps his ignorance would save him.
+
+Having searched the hall and the loggia the detective entered the salon.
+He took the candle from the gendarme's hands and swiftly examined the
+little, illustrious men.
+
+Seeing the portraits of Gouvion Saint-Cyr, Marmont, and other generals
+of Napoleon, he said: "The Engineer-in-Chief Ribera would have done far
+better to hang the portrait of His Excellency Field-Marshal Radetzky on
+his walls. Is it here?"
+
+"No," said Franco.
+
+"A nice government official!" said the other contemptuously, and with
+indescribable arrogance.
+
+"Are government officials bound," Franco burst forth, "to hang the
+portraits----"
+
+"I am not here to argue with you," the detective said, interrupting him.
+
+Franco was about to answer. "Be quiet, you with your tongue a yard
+long!" said the Receiver, brutally.
+
+The detective passed from the drawing-room into the corridor leading to
+the stairs. Would he go up or not, Luisa wondered. He went up, and she
+followed him, not trembling, but imagining with a dizzy rapidity, the
+many different things that might happen. All the possibilities of the
+moment, both disastrous and favourable, were whirling, as it were, in
+her head. If she lingered upon the first, horror carried her with a
+bound to the second; if she dwelt upon these, fancy returned with
+perverse eagerness to the first.
+
+Before they had set foot in the corridor of the second floor they heard
+Maria crying. Franco begged the adjunct to allow his wife to go down to
+the child, but she protested that she wished to remain. The idea of not
+being with him when the weapon was discovered, terrified her. Meanwhile
+the detective had entered a small room where there were some books, and
+finding a volume printed at Capolago, and bearing the title, Literary
+Writings of a Living Italian, he said: "Who is this living Italian?"
+"Padre Cesari," Franco replied boldly. The other, deceived by his
+prompt answer and the priestly name, assumed the air of a man of
+culture, saying: "Ah! I am acquainted with his works." Replacing the
+book, he inquired where the Engineer-in-Chief slept.
+
+Luisa was too completely dominated by the one great dread to sense
+anything else, but Franco, when he saw the police-agent and his band
+enter the uncle's room, which was so clean, so neat, so full of his
+dear, calm spirit, when he reflected what a blow to the poor old man the
+news of all this would be, was completely overcome, and could have wept
+with rage. "It seems to me," he said, "that this one room at least
+should be respected."
+
+"Keep your observations to yourself," the adjunct retorted, and began by
+ordering the blankets and mattresses stripped from the bed. Then he
+demanded the key to the chest of drawers. Franco had it, and went down
+to his room for it, accompanied by a gendarme. The uncle had entrusted
+it to him before leaving, telling him that in case of need he would find
+a small amount of _cum quibus_ in the top drawer. They opened it. It
+contained a roll of _svanziche_, a few letters and papers, some
+pocket-books, old note-books, compasses, pencils, and a small wooden
+bowl in which were several coins.
+
+The detective examined everything carefully, discovering among the coins
+in the little bowl a five-franc piece of the time of Carlo Alberto, and
+a forty-franc piece of the Provisory Government of Lombardy. "The
+Engineer-in-Chief has preserved these coins with extraordinary care,"
+said the detective; "henceforth we will preserve them." He closed the
+drawer, and, without opening the others, returned the key to Franco.
+
+Then he went out into the corridor and paused, undecided. The Receiver
+thought he intended to go down, and as the corridor was nearly dark, and
+the stairs were not visible, he, who was acquainted with the house,
+started towards the right in the direction of the stairs, saying: "This
+way." The room where the sabre lay was on the left.
+
+"Wait," said the adjunct. "Let us look in here, also." And turning, he
+pushed open the fatal door. Luisa, who had been the last in the
+procession, pressed forward, now that the supreme moment had arrived.
+Her heart, which had beat furiously while the adjunct hesitated, now
+became quiet as by a miracle, and she was cool, daring, and ready.
+
+"Who sleeps here?" the detective asked her.
+
+"No one. My uncle's parents used to occupy this room, but they have been
+dead these forty years, and no one has slept here since."
+
+The room contained two beds, a sofa, and a chest of drawers. This the
+detective signed to the gendarmes to open. They tried it, but it was
+locked. "I think I have the key," said Luisa with the utmost
+indifference. She went down, accompanied by a gendarme, and returned
+immediately with a little basket of keys which she offered to the
+detective.
+
+"I do not know the key," she said. "It is never used. It must be one of
+these."
+
+He tried them all, but in vain. Then the Receiver tried, and then
+Franco. The right one was not there.
+
+"Send to S. Mamette for the lock-smith," said Luisa, calmly. The
+Receiver looked at the detective as if to say: "It seems to me
+unnecessary," but the detective turned his back upon him and exclaimed
+to Luisa: "This key must be somewhere!"
+
+The chest of drawers, a piece of _rococo_ furniture, had metal handles
+to each drawer. One of the gendarmes, the strongest, tried to force the
+drawers open. He did not succeed either with the top one or with the
+second. Just at that moment Luisa remembered that she had seen the sabre
+in the third drawer, together with a roll of drawings. The gendarme
+seized the handles of the third. "This one is not locked," said he. In
+fact it opened easily. The detective took the light and bent over to
+examine it.
+
+Franco had seated himself on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the rafters of
+the ceiling. When his wife saw the drawer pulled open she sank down
+beside him, took his hand, and pressed it spasmodically.
+
+She heard some papers rustle, and the Receiver murmured, in a benign
+voice: "Drawings." Then the detective exclaimed: "Ah!" and the
+satellites all leaned forward to see. She had the strength to rise and
+inquire; "What is it?" The detective was holding a long pasteboard case,
+curved and slim, and bearing a label with an inscription. He had already
+read the inscription to himself; he now read it aloud with an accent of
+ineffable sarcasm and satisfaction. "The sabre of Lieutenant Pietro
+Ribera, killed at Malojaroslavetz in 1812." Franco started to his feet,
+astounded and incredulous, and at the same moment the adjunct opened the
+case. From where he stood Franco could not see it, and he glanced at his
+wife, who could. Her lips were white and he thought it was with fright,
+although this did not seem possible.
+
+But her lips were white with joy, for the case contained only an empty
+scabbard. Luisa suddenly drew back into the shadow and sank upon the
+sofa, struggling with a violent inward trembling, vexed with herself and
+ashamed of her weakness, which however, she soon conquered. Meanwhile
+the detective, who had removed the scabbard and examined it on all
+sides, asked Franco where the sabre was. Franco was about to answer that
+he did not know, which was perfectly true, but reflecting that this
+might seem like self-justification, he said--
+
+"In Russia."
+
+The sabre was not in Russia, but fast in the mud, at the bottom of the
+lake, where Uncle Piero had secretly flung it rather than give it up.
+
+"But why did they write sabre?" inquired the Receiver, wishing to show
+he also was zealous.
+
+"The writer is dead," said Franco.
+
+"Hand over that key at once!" the detective scolded angrily. And this
+time Luisa found it, and the two other drawers were opened. One was
+empty, the other contained some blankets and a little lavender.
+
+The search ended here. The adjunct went down to the drawing-room, and
+ordered Franco to make ready to follow him in fifteen minutes. "You had
+better arrest all of us then!" Luisa exclaimed.
+
+The man shrugged his shoulders, and repeated to Franco: "In fifteen
+minutes. You may go to your room, now, if you wish to." Franco dragged
+Luisa away entreating her to be silent, to resign herself for love of
+Maria. He seemed like another man, exhibiting neither grief nor anger,
+and there was in his voice a ring of serious sweetness, of manly calm.
+
+He put some linen into a bag, together with a volume of Dante and an
+_Almanach du Jardinier_, which were on the table, bent over Maria for a
+moment but did not kiss her, for she had gone to sleep, and he feared to
+wake her. He kissed Luisa, however, but as they were being observed by
+the gendarmes stationed at either door of the room, he quickly freed
+himself from her embrace, saying, in French, that they must not provide
+a spectacle for those gentlemen. Then he took up his bag, and went to
+place himself at the detective's orders.
+
+The police-adjunct had a boat waiting not fifty paces from Casa Ribera,
+towards Albogasio, at the landing called _del Canevaa_. Upon issuing
+from the portico spanned by his house, Franco heard a shutter being
+thrown open above his head, and saw the light from his bedroom flash
+against the white façade of the church. He turned towards the window,
+saying--
+
+"Send for the doctor to-morrow morning. Good-bye."
+
+Luisa did not answer.
+
+When the gendarmes reached the Canevaa with their prisoner, the adjunct
+ordered them to stop.
+
+"Signor Maironi," said he, "you have had your lesson. This time you may
+return to your home, and I advise you to learn to respect the
+Authorities."
+
+Amazement, joy, and indignation welled up in Franco's heart. He
+controlled himself, however, biting his lips, and started homewards at a
+leisurely pace. He had not yet turned the corner of the church when
+Luisa recognised his step, and called, "Franco!"
+
+He sprang forward, and she saw him. Then her shadow vanished from the
+window. He rushed into the house, flung himself up the stairs, crying,
+"Free! Free!" while his wife came flying down, exclaiming wildly, "How!
+How! How!" They sought each other with eager arms, clung together,
+pressing close, without further speech.
+
+But afterwards, in the loggia, they talked incessantly for two hours, of
+all they had heard, seen, and experienced, always coming back to the
+sabre, the papers, the coins, dwelling upon many trifling details, on
+the detective's Venetian accent, on the dark-haired gendarme, who seemed
+a good fellow, and the fair-haired gendarme, who must be a regular cur.
+From time to time they would cease speaking, enjoying in silence their
+sense of security, the sweetness of home, but presently they would begin
+again. Before going to bed they stepped out on the terrace. The night
+was dark and warm, the lake motionless. The sultriness, the gloom, the
+vague and monstrous shapes of the mountains, seemed to their imagination
+heavy with the mortal weight of Austria. The very air itself seemed full
+of it. Neither Franco nor Luisa was sleepy, but they must go to bed on
+account of the servant who was watching with Maria. They entered the
+room on tiptoe. The child was sleeping, her breathing almost normal.
+
+They also tried to sleep, but could not. They could not refrain from
+talking, especially Franco. He would ask softly: "Are you asleep?" and
+upon her answering, "No," the coins, the papers, the sabre, or the bully
+with his Venetian accent would be discussed once more. By this time
+there was nothing new to be said on these subjects, and, as Maria began
+to be restless, and to show signs of waking, towards dawn, Luisa
+answered, "Yes," the next time Franco inquired softly, "Are you asleep?"
+and after that he kept quiet, as if he really believed it.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The day after the search at Casa Ribera, Oria, Albogasio, and S. Mamette
+were full of whisperings. "Have you heard?--Oh, dear Lord!--Have you
+heard?--Oh, holy Madonna!" But the loudest whisperings were of course
+those that communicated the news to Barborin Pasotti. Her husband
+shouted into her face: "Maironi! Police! Gendarmes! Arrest!" The poor
+woman concluded an army had swept her friends away, and began to
+puff--"oh! oh!"--like an engine. Then she groaned and wept, and
+questioned Pasotti about the child. Pasotti, who was determined not to
+allow her to go down to Oria and exhibit her affection for the Maironis
+under these circumstances, replied with a gesture like the sweep of a
+broom. Gone! Gone! She also!--But the servant? The servant must surely
+be there still. The crafty man made another sweeping gesture in the air,
+and then Barborin grasped the fact that His Imperial and Royal Austrian
+Majesty had had the servant carried off as well.
+
+But the most malicious whisperings were uttered at a great distance from
+Valsolda, in a room in the Maironi Palace, at Brescia. Ten days after
+the search the Chevalier Greisberg di S. Giustina, a cousin of the
+Maironis, who had been attached to the government of Field-Marshal
+Radetzky in Verona until 1853, and had then accompanied his master to
+Milan, alighted at the door of Casa Maironi from the carriage of the
+Imperial and Royal Delegate of Brescia, whose guest he had been for some
+days. The Chevalier, a handsome man of about forty, perfumed, and
+smartly dressed, did not look particularly happy as he stood very erect
+in the centre of the reception room, examining the ancient stucco-work
+of the ceiling, and waiting for the Marchesa, who was of the same
+period. Nevertheless, when the door opposite him, pushed open by a
+servant's hand, admitted Madam's big person, marble countenance, and
+black wig, the Chevalier was at once transformed, and kissed the old
+lady's wrinkled hand with fervour. A Lombard gentlewoman devoted to
+Austria was a rare animal, and extremely precious to the Imperial and
+Royal government. Every loyal functionary owed her the most obsequious
+gallantry. The Marchesa received the homage of her cousin the Chevalier
+with her usual unruffled dignity, and having invited him to be seated,
+enquired after his family and thanked him for his call, all in the same
+guttural and sleepy tone. Finally, slightly out of breath from the
+fatigue of uttering so many words, she crossed her hands over her
+stomach, and let it be seen that she was now waiting for what her cousin
+might have to say.
+
+She expected he would speak about Engineer Ribera and the search. She
+had on previous occasions expressed to him her displeasure that Franco
+should be under the influence of his wife and Ribera, and her surprise
+that the government should retain in its service one who in 1848 had
+openly played the Liberal, and whose family--especially that artful
+young woman--professed the most impudent Liberalism. The Chevalier
+Greisberg had assured her that her wise observations should be given due
+consideration. Then the Marchesa had instigated the Commissary Zérboli
+against the poor Engineer-in-Chief, and it had been through Zérboli that
+she had heard of the search. Therefore, when Greisberg appeared she
+concluded he had come to speak of that. Now, she was quite willing to
+make the government serve her own private rancour, but, as a matter of
+principle, she never recognised a debt of gratitude toward any one. By
+thus subjecting a doubtful functionary to examination, the Austrian
+government had been working in its own interests. She had not asked for
+anything; it was not for her to ask, it was for the Chevalier to speak
+first. But the Chevalier, cunning, sly, and proud, did not understand
+his rôle in this way. The old woman wanted a favour, and in order to
+obtain it she must bow down and kiss the beneficent claws of government.
+
+He remained silent for some time, to collect his thoughts, and in the
+hope that the other would yield. Seeing that she remained mute and
+unbending, he himself became suddenly smiling and gracious, told her
+that he had come from Verona, and proposed that she guess what route he
+had taken. He had passed through such a sweet town, had seen such a
+charming villa, so splendid, a real paradise! The Marchesa was not good
+at guessing; she asked if he had been in Brianza. No, he had not come
+from Verona to Brescia by way of Brianza. He once more described the
+villa, and this time so minutely that the Marchesa could not help
+recognising her own estate of Monzambano. Then the Chevalier proposed
+that she guess why he had gone to see the villa. She guessed at once,
+guessed the whole plot of the comedy that was being acted for her
+benefit, but her dull face said nothing of this. The Delegate had once
+before sounded her to ascertain if she would be willing to let the villa
+to His Excellency the Marshal, but she--having been secretly threatened
+with fire and death by the Liberals of Brescia--had found some polite
+excuses. She now perceived in Greisberg's words the tacit offer of a
+bargain, and stood on her guard. She confessed to her cousin that she
+was unable to guess even this. Indeed she felt she was growing more and
+more stupid every day. The effect of years and grief! "I have had a
+great grief very lately," she said. "I am told that the Police have
+searched my grandson's house at Oria."
+
+Greisberg, feeling that this elderly hypocrite was slipping through his
+fingers, now pulled off his glove, and seized her with his talons.
+"Marchesa," said he, in a tone which admitted of no rejoinder, "you must
+not speak of grief! Through the Commissary of Porlezza and myself, you
+have furnished precious information to the government, of which service
+it is not unmindful. Not a hair of your grandson's head was touched, nor
+will be, if he is judicious. But, on the other hand, I regret that we
+may perhaps not be able to adopt severe measures against another person
+who has injured you seriously in private matters. In order to find a
+means of reaching this person the Commissary has even exceeded his duty.
+You must understand once for all, Marchesa, that this is not a question
+of grief, and that you are especially indebted to the government." The
+Marchesa had never before been spoken to in such strong language and
+with such formidable authority. Perhaps the continuous, undulating
+movement of neck and head visible above her stiffly-held body,
+corresponded with the angry beating of her heart, but it seemed the
+movement of some animal struggling to swallow an enormous mouthful. At
+any rate she did not unbend sufficiently to speak a word of
+acquiescence. Only, having regained her obese calm, she observed that
+she had never demanded that measures be adopted against any one; that
+she was glad the search had revealed nothing incriminating against
+Engineer Ribera; that, nevertheless, all sorts of things had been said
+in Casa Ribera, but that words were difficult to trace. The Chevalier
+replied more gently, that he could not say whether anything had been
+discovered, and that the last word would be spoken by the Marshal
+himself, who intended to give this matter his personal attention. This
+remark enabled him to return to the subject of the villa at Monzambano.
+He asked for it formally for His Excellency, who wished to go there
+within a week. The Marchesa thanked him for the great honour, which she
+said, her villa did not deserve; it seemed to her too dilapidated, it
+wanted repairing, and His Excellency must be informed of this. She
+wished to defer her decision, to await the payment of the miserable
+price of her condescension, but the Chevalier struck another blow with
+his talons, and declared she must answer at once, answer clearly, yes or
+no, and the old lady was forced to bow her head. "To accommodate His
+Excellency," she said. Greisberg at once became amiable again, and
+jested about the measures to be adopted against that _Signor Ingegnere_.
+There was no question of spilling blood, only a little ink need be
+spilled. There was no question of depriving any one of liberty, rather
+of conferring perfect liberty on somebody. The Marchesa made no sign.
+She sent for two lemonades, and drank hers slowly in little sips, not
+without a faint expression of satisfaction between the sips, as if this
+lemonade had a new and exquisite flavour. But the Chevalier wished for
+an explicit word from her concerning Ribera, a confession of her
+desire, and placing the glass he had hastily drained upon the tray, he
+said, "I will see to this myself, you know, and we shall succeed. Are
+you satisfied?"
+
+The Marchesa continued to sip the lemonade slowly, slowly, gazing into
+the glass.
+
+"Does that suit you?" her cousin asked, having waited in vain for an
+answer.
+
+"Yes, it is very good," the drowsy voice replied. "I drink it slowly on
+account of my teeth."
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The last whisperings were not human. Luisa and Franco were seated on the
+grass at Looch, near the cemetery. They were speaking of the mother's
+great and exquisite goodness, and comparing it to Uncle Piero's great
+and simple goodness, noting the similarity and the differences. They did
+not say which sort of goodness, taken as a whole, seemed to them
+superior, but from the opinions each expressed, their different
+inclinations could be divined. Franco preferred that goodness which is
+permeated with faith in the supernatural, while Luisa preferred the
+other form of goodness. He was grieved by this secret contradiction, but
+hesitated to reveal it, fearing to sound a too painful note. But it had
+brought a cloud to his brow, and presently he said, almost
+involuntarily: "How many misfortunes, how much bitterness your mother
+suffered, with such great resignation, such strength, such peace! Do you
+believe that natural goodness alone would be able to suffer thus?" "I
+do not know," Luisa replied. "I think poor Mamma must have lived in a
+better world before she was born into this, for her heart was always
+there." She did not say all she thought. She thought that if all the
+good souls on earth resembled her mother in religious meekness, this
+world would become the kingdom of the rascal and the tyrant. And as to
+ills, which do not come from man, but from the very conditions of human
+life itself, she felt greater admiration for such as strive against them
+with their own strength, than for such as invoke and obtain aid from
+that same Being by whom the blow was dealt. She would not confess these
+sentiments to her husband, but instead, expressed the hope that her
+uncle might never suffer deep affliction. Could it be possible that the
+Lord would wish such a man to suffer? "No, no, no!" Franco exclaimed; at
+another moment he would not perhaps have dared to admonish God in this
+manner. A breath of the _Boglia_ swept down the ravine of Muzài, and
+rustled the top branches of the walnut-trees. To Luisa that fluttering
+seemed connected with Franco's last words; it seemed to her that the
+wind and the great trees knew something of the future, and were
+whispering about it together.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE SECRET OF THE WIND AND THE WALNUT-TREES
+
+
+Maria's fever lasted only eight days; nevertheless, when she left her
+bed, her parents found her more changed in face and in mind than if the
+eight days had been eight months. Her eyes had grown darker, and had
+assumed a peculiar expression of calm and precocious maturity. She spoke
+more distinctly and rapidly, but to those who were not to her liking,
+she would not speak at all, would not even greet them. This was more
+displeasing to Franco than to Luisa. Franco wished her to be amiable,
+but Luisa feared to spoil her sincerity. For her mother Maria cherished
+an affection violent rather than demonstrative, a jealous, almost fierce
+affection. She was very fond of her father also, but it was evident that
+she felt he was unlike herself. Franco had passionate outbursts of
+affection for her, when he would catch her up unexpectedly, press her
+close, and cover her with kisses. At such moments she would throw her
+head back, plant one little hand upon her father's face, and look
+frowningly at him, as if something in him were strange and repugnant to
+her. Often Franco would scold her angrily, and Maria would cry and stare
+at him through her tears, motionless, and as if fascinated, and always
+wearing the expression of one who does not understand. He noticed the
+child's predilection for her mother, and this was pleasing to him, for
+it seemed a just preference, and he never doubted that later Maria would
+love him tenderly also. Luisa, loving her husband as she did, was much
+troubled that the child should exhibit greater affection for herself;
+however this sentiment of hers was less lively, less pure, than Franco's
+generous pleasure. It seemed to Luisa that, after all, in spite of his
+transports, Franco loved his daughter as a being distinct from himself,
+while she, who had no transports of external tenderness, loved the child
+as a vital part of herself. Moreover she cherished in her heart a future
+Maria probably very different from the one Franco cherished. For this
+reason also she could not regret her moral ascendency over her daughter.
+She foresaw the danger that Franco might favour an exaggerated
+development of the child's religious sentiment, and this, to her, was a
+very serious danger, for in Maria, full of curiosity, eager for stories,
+there were the germs of a very lively imagination, which would be most
+favourable to religious fancies, and a badly balanced moral sense might
+be the result. It was not a question of abolishing religious sentiment;
+this Luisa, out of respect for Franco, if for no other reason, would
+never have sought to do, but it was imperative that Maria, on reaching
+womanhood, should be able to find the pivot of her own existence in her
+own sure and vigorous moral sense, a moral sense not founded upon
+beliefs which, after all, were simply hypotheses and opinions, and
+which, sooner or later, might fail her. The preservation of faith in
+Justice and in Truth, setting aside all other faith, all hope, all fear,
+seemed to her the most sublime condition of the human conscience. She
+believed that because she went to Mass, and twice a year to the
+sacraments, she had renounced such perfection for herself, and she
+intended to renounce it for Maria also, but as one who, finding himself
+hampered by wife and children, must renounce Christian perfection, but
+who does so unwillingly, and in as slight a degree as possible.
+
+Fate might bestow riches upon Maria. Therefore they must carefully
+provide against her acceptance of a life of frivolity, compensated for
+by the giving of alms, the Mass in the morning, and the rosary at night.
+On several occasions Luisa had attempted to sound Franco upon the
+question of giving Maria's education a moral direction quite apart from
+the religious direction, but such attempts had never been accompanied by
+satisfactory results. Franco could understand an unbelief in religion,
+but it was quite incomprehensible to him that there were those who found
+religion insufficient as a rule of life. He had never for a moment
+believed that all should aspire to saintliness, or that those who love
+_tarocchi_, primero, hunting, fishing, nice little dinners and a bottle
+of fine wine, are not good Christians. And this moral direction in
+education as divided from the religious direction seemed to him a mere
+notion, because, to his thinking, all honest men who did not believe,
+were honest either by nature or from habit, and not from any moral or
+philosophical reasoning. So it was not possible for Luisa to come to an
+understanding with her husband on this delicate point. She must act
+alone and very cautiously, in order neither to offend nor to grieve him.
+When Franco pointed out to the child the stars and the moon, the flowers
+and the butterflies, as admirable works of God, using poetically
+religious language fit for a child of twelve, Luisa held her peace; but
+if, on the contrary, he chanced to say to Maria: "Mind, God does not
+wish you to do that!" Luisa would immediately add: "That is wicked! You
+must never do what is wicked!" In such cases some dissension must
+inevitably arise between the parents, for the moral judgment of one was
+not always in harmony with the moral judgment of the other. Once they
+were standing together at the window of the hall, while Maria played
+with a little girl of about her own age from Oria. A brother of the
+child passed, a tyrant of eight, and ordered his little sister to follow
+him. She refused and wept. But Maria, looking very grave, faced the
+tyrant with clenched fists. Franco restrained her by a sharp command;
+the little one turned and looked at him, and then burst into tears,
+while the tyrant dragged his victim away. Luisa left the window, saying
+in an undertone to her husband: "Excuse me, but that was not just." "Why
+was it not just?" said Franco, and he became heated and raised his
+voice, demanding whether his wife wished Maria to grow up pugilistic and
+violent. She answered gently and firmly, overlooking some sharp words of
+his, and maintaining that Maria's impulse had been good; that our first
+duty is to withstand tyranny and injustice; and that, though the child
+use his fists, the man would use more civilised weapons; but if the
+natural impulse of the soul be repressed in the child, there was danger
+of destroying the nascent sense of justice as well.
+
+Franco would not be convinced. According to him it was very doubtful
+whether Maria had harboured any such heroic sentiments. She had simply
+been angry because she was to be deprived of her playmate, that was all.
+Besides, was it not a woman's place to oppose gentle meekness to
+injustice and tyranny, to appease and correct the offender, rather than
+repulse the offence by force? Luisa flushed crimson, and replied that
+this rôle might suit some women, perhaps the best of women, but it would
+certainly not suit all, for not all were so meek and humble.
+
+"And you are of that number?"
+
+"I believe so."
+
+"A fine thing to boast of!"
+
+"Does it grieve you very much?"
+
+"Very much indeed."
+
+Luisa placed her hands on his shoulders. "Does it grieve you very much,"
+said she, "that I rebel as you yourself do against the presence of these
+masters in our house; that I desire as you yourself do, to help, even
+with my hands, in driving them out? Or would you prefer to see me
+attempt to correct Radetzky and appease the Croatians?"
+
+"That is a different thing."
+
+"In what way? No, it is the same thing."
+
+"It is a different thing!" Franco repeated, but he was unable to
+demonstrate this. He felt he was wrong according to superficial
+ratiocination, and right according to a profound truth which he was
+unable to grasp. He said no more but was thoughtful all day, and was
+evidently seeking for an answer. He thought about it in the night also,
+and finally, believing he had found an answer, called to his wife, who
+was asleep.
+
+"Luisa!" said he. "Luisa, that is a different thing."
+
+"What is the matter?" Luisa exclaimed, waking with a start.
+
+He had reflected that the offence of a foreign dominion was not personal
+like a private offence, and was always the result of a violation of a
+principle of universal justice. But while he was explaining this to his
+wife it struck him that in private offences also there was always the
+violation of a principle of universal justice, and he fancied he must
+have blundered.
+
+"Nothing," said he.
+
+His wife thought he was dreaming, and placing her head upon his
+shoulder, she went to sleep again. If any argument could convert Franco
+to his wife's ideas it was this sweet contact, this gentle breathing
+upon his breast, in which he had so often and so deliciously felt the
+blending of their two souls. But now it was not so. Through his brain
+the thought flashed suddenly like a quick and cold blade, that this
+latent antagonism between his wife's views and his own might one day
+burst forth in some painful form, and, terrified, he pressed her in his
+arms, as if to defend both himself and her against the phantoms of his
+own brain.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+After breakfast, on the sixth of November Franco took his great
+gardening-shears and proceeded as usual, to the extermination of all dry
+leaves and branches on the terrace and in the little garden. The great
+beauty and deep peace of the hour went to the heart. Not a leaf stirred;
+the air from the west was most pure and crystalline; on the east the
+hills between Osteno and Porlezza were fading against a background of
+light mist; the house was glorious with the sun and the tremulous
+reflections from the lake; but though the sun was still very hot, the
+chrysanthemums in the little garden, the olives and laurels along the
+coast--more plainly visible now among the reddening, falling leaves--a
+certain secret freshness in the air, scented with _olea fragrans_, the
+absence of all wind, the vaporous mountains of the Lake of Como, white
+with snow, all said, with one melancholy accord, that the sweet season
+was dying. When he had exterminated the withered brushwood Franco
+proposed to his wife that they should go to Casarico in their boat, and
+return the two first volumes of the _Mystères du Peuple_ which they had
+eagerly devoured in a few days, to their friend Gilardoni, and borrow
+the next volume from him. They decided to start after lunch, when Maria
+should have gone to bed. But before Maria had been put to bed Barborin
+Pasotti appeared, all out of breath, her bonnet and mantle askew. She
+had come up from the garden-gate, and now stopped on the threshold of
+the hall. It was the first time she had been to see them since the
+search. Upon catching sight of her friends she clasped her hands, and
+kept repeating in a low tone: "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" Then she
+flung herself upon Luisa and covered her with kisses.
+
+"My dear girl! My dear girl!" she exclaimed. She would have liked to
+treat Franco in the same way, but Franco was not favourable to this sort
+of emotion, and his expression was not encouraging, so the poor woman
+had to be satisfied with taking both his hands and shaking them
+heartily. "My dear Don Franco! My dear Don Franco!" Finally she gathered
+Maria into her arms, but the child planted her two little hands upon
+Barborin's chest, her face wearing an expression similar to her
+father's. "I am old, am I not? And ugly? You don't like me? Well, never
+mind, never mind!" And she fell to kissing the child's arms and
+shoulders humbly, not daring to brave the sour little face. Then she
+told her friends she had brought them a piece of good news, and her eyes
+sparkled at the pleasant mystery. The Marchesa had written to Pasotti,
+and one passage in the letter Barborin had committed to memory. "It was
+with the deepest regret (deepest regret, those were the very words) that
+I learned of the sad affair at Oria ... at Oria ... (wait a moment) the
+sad affair at Oria ... (ah!) and although my grandson is most
+undeserving (wait! ... have patience!) I trust that it may have no
+unpleasant consequences." The passage did not produce any great effect.
+Luisa frowned and said nothing. Franco glanced at his wife, and did not
+dare to utter the favourable comment he had on his lips, but not in his
+heart. Poor Barborin, who had taken advantage of her husband's absence
+at Lugano to run to her friends with this sugar-plum, was deeply
+mortified, and after gazing ruefully from Luisa to Franco, ended by
+pulling a real sugar-plum from her pocket, and offering it to Maria.
+Then, having made out that the Maironis wanted to go away in the boat,
+and longing to be allowed to stay with Maria a little while, she begged
+and entreated so hard that they finally started, leaving orders with
+Veronica to put the child to bed a little later.
+
+Maria did not seem any too well pleased with the company of her elderly
+friend. She remained silent, obstinately silent, and before long she
+opened her mouth and burst into tears. Poor Barborin did not know which
+Saint to appeal to, so she appealed to Veronica, but Veronica was
+discoursing with a customs-guard, and either did not or would not hear.
+Barborin showed her rings, her watch, even the big bonnet, _â la
+vice-reine Beauharnais_, but nothing would do, and Maria continued to
+weep. Then she bethought her of going to the piano, where she strummed
+eight or ten bars of an antediluvian jig over and over again. Then
+little Princess Maria became more amiable, and allowed her old
+court-pianist to lift her as carefully as if her little arms had been a
+butterfly's wings, and place her on her lap as softly as if there had
+been danger of the old legs crumbling to dust.
+
+When the jig had been repeated five or six times Maria began to look
+bored and tried to pull the elderly pianist's hand from the key-board,
+saying in an undertone: "Sing me a song." Obtaining no answer, she
+turned, looked Barborin straight in the face, and shouted at the top of
+her voice: "Sing me a song."
+
+"I don't understand," Barborin replied. "I am deaf."
+
+"Why are you deaf?"
+
+"I am deaf," the unfortunate woman answered, smiling.
+
+"But why are you deaf?"
+
+Barborin could not imagine what the child was saying.
+
+"I don't understand," said she.
+
+"Then you are stupid," Maria announced with a very serious face, and
+knitting her brows, she repeated in a whining voice: "I want a song!"
+
+A voice from the little garden said--
+
+"Here is the person for songs."
+
+Maria raised her head and her face became radiant. "Missipiṕ!" she
+cried, and slipping down from Barborin's lap, ran to meet Uncle Piero
+who was coming in. Signora Pasotti rose also, astonished and smiling,
+and stretched out her arms towards this old and unexpected friend.
+"Behold, behold, behold!" she exclaimed, and hastened to greet him.
+Maria was calling so loudly for "Missipiṕ, Missipiṕ!" and clinging so
+tight to Uncle Piero's legs, that, although he did not seem inclined to
+do so, he was obliged to sit down on the sofa, take the child on his
+knees, and repeat the old story to her.
+
+ Proud shade of the river----
+
+After four or five "Missipiṕs" Signora Pasotti went home, fearing her
+husband might return. Veronica wished to put the child to bed, but the
+little one rebelled, and Uncle Piero interfered, saying: "Oh, leave her
+here a little while longer," and he took her out to the terrace to see
+if Papa and Mamma were coming.
+
+No boat could be seen coming from Casarico. The little one ordered her
+uncle to sit down, and then she climbed upon his knee.
+
+"Why did you come?" said she. "There isn't any dinner for you, you
+know."
+
+"Then you must cook some for me. I came to stay with you."
+
+"Always?"
+
+"Always."
+
+"But really always, always, always?"
+
+"Really always."
+
+Maria became silent and thoughtful, but presently she asked--
+
+"What have you brought me?"
+
+Uncle Piero drew a rubber doll from his pocket. Had Maria known, had she
+been able to understand how he had gone out to buy that doll for her in
+great anguish of mind, still smarting from a terrible blow, she would
+have wept with pity.
+
+"This is an ugly present," said she, recalling others he had brought
+her. "And if you stay here will you never bring me any more presents?"
+
+"No more presents."
+
+"Go away, Uncle," said she.
+
+He smiled.
+
+And then Maria wanted her uncle to tell her if his uncle had brought him
+presents when he was a little boy. But, though the thing was
+inconceivable to Maria, this uncle of her uncle had never existed. Who
+had brought him presents, then? And had he always been a good little
+boy? Had he cried much? Her uncle began telling her many tales of his
+childhood, things that had happened sixty years before, when people wore
+wigs and pig-tails. He enjoyed talking to his little grand-niece of that
+far-away time, making her share for a moment the existence of his dead
+parents, and he spoke with sad gravity, as if the dear ones who had
+passed away had been present, and he were speaking more for them than
+for her. She fixed her wide-open eyes on his face, and gazed intently at
+him. Neither he nor she heeded the flight of time, neither he nor she
+thought of the boat that was coming.
+
+And the boat came. Luisa and Franco drew near, suspecting nothing, and
+believing the child to be asleep. Franco was the first to perceive Uncle
+Piero seated under the drooping branches of the passion-flower vine with
+Maria on his knee. He uttered a loud exclamation of surprise, and,
+followed by Luisa, hastened towards them, fearing something had
+happened. "You here?" he called as he ran. Luisa, who was very pale,
+said nothing. Uncle Piero raised his head, and looked at them. They felt
+at once that he had brought bad news, for they had never seen him so
+grave.
+
+"_Addio!_ God bless you!" said he.
+
+"What has happened?" Franco whispered. Uncle Piero motioned to them to
+withdraw from the terrace to the loggia, whither he followed them. Then
+the poor old man spread wide his arms as one crucified, and said in a
+sad but firm voice--
+
+"I am dismissed."
+
+Franco and Luisa stared at him for a moment, dazed. Then Franco burst
+out: "Oh, Uncle, Uncle!" and fell upon his neck. Seeing her father's
+action and the expression on her mother's face Maria fell to sobbing.
+Luisa tried to pacify her, but she herself, strong woman that she was,
+felt the tears rising in her throat.
+
+Seated on the sofa in the hall Uncle Piero told them that the Imperial
+and Royal Delegate of Como had sent for him to tell him that the search
+which had been carried out in his house at Oria had given painful and
+unexpected results, but what these results were he had positively
+refused to state. The Delegate had added that the authorities had at
+first intended to take legal proceedings against him, but that in
+consideration of his long and faithful services to the government, it
+had been decided to remove him from office instead. Uncle Piero had
+insisted upon knowing the nature of the accusations brought against him,
+but the Delegate had dismissed him without an answer.
+
+"And what is to be done now?" said Franco.
+
+"What is to be done----" Uncle Piero was silent for a moment, and then
+pronounced that sacramental phrase of unknown origin which he and his
+fellow _tarocchi_ players were in the habit of repeating when the game
+was hopelessly lost. "We are done brown, O Queen!"
+
+A long silence ensued, which was finally broken by Luisa, who cast
+herself upon her uncle's neck, murmuring: "Oh, Uncle, Uncle! I am afraid
+it is our fault." She was thinking of the grandmother, but Uncle Piero
+thought she was accusing Franco and herself of some imprudence.
+
+"Listen, my dear friends," said he good-naturedly, but in his tone there
+was a hidden spirit of reproof, "these discourses are useless. Now that
+the evil is done we must think of bread. You may count upon this house,
+upon some modest savings which bring me in about four _svanziche_ a day,
+and upon two more mouths to feed, mine and Cia's. Let us hope you will
+not have to feed mine long." Franco and Luisa protested. "Better so,
+better so!" Uncle Piero exclaimed, waving his arms as if in contempt of
+unreasonable sentimentality. "Live well, and die in good time. That is
+the best rule. I have performed the first part, now I must perform the
+second. Meanwhile send some water to my room, and open my bag. You will
+find ten meat croquettes, which Signora Carolina dell'Agria insisted
+upon giving me. You see we are not so badly off, after all!"
+
+Whereupon Uncle Piero rose and went out at the drawing-room door with a
+firm step, and even when his back was turned, displaying a head and body
+held erect, and an unruffled serenity like that of an ancient
+philosopher.
+
+Franco, with knitted brows and arms crossed upon his breast, was
+standing motionless on the edge of the terrace, and looking towards
+Cressogno. If at that moment he had had a bundle of Delegates,
+Commissaries, police-agents, and spies between his teeth, he would have
+ground them so hard that all these functionaries would have been reduced
+to pulp.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE TRUMP CARD APPEARS
+
+
+"The boat is ready," said Ismaele, coming in unceremoniously, his pipe
+in his left hand, a lantern in his right.
+
+"What time is it?" Franco asked.
+
+"Half-past eleven."
+
+"And the weather?"
+
+"It is snowing."
+
+"That is good!" Uncle Piero exclaimed ironically, stretching his legs
+towards the flames of the juniper bush that was crackling in the little
+fireplace.
+
+In the small parlour, arranged for winter, Luisa, on her knees, was
+tying a muffler round Maria's neck. Franco, holding his wife's cape,
+stood waiting while the old housekeeper, her bonnet on and her hands
+buried in her muff, was grumbling at her master. "What a man you are!
+What are you going to do all alone here at home?"
+
+"I don't need any one when I am asleep," the engineer answered. "Other
+people may be mad, but I am not. Put my milk and the lamp here."
+
+It was Christmas Eve and the mad idea these otherwise sane people had
+conceived, the determination which seemed so incomprehensible to Uncle
+Piero, was to go to the solemn Midnight-Mass at S. Mamette.
+
+"And that innocent victim also!" said he, glancing at the child.
+
+Franco flushed hotly, and declared that he wished to prepare precious
+memories for her. He believed this excursion at night, in the boat, on
+the dark lake, the snow, the crowded and brightly lighted church, the
+organ, the singing, the holy associations of Christmas, would prove to
+be such. He spoke with heat, perhaps not so much for the uncle as for
+some one who was silent.
+
+"Yes, yes, yes," said Uncle Piero, as if he had expected this rhetoric,
+this useless poetry.
+
+"I am going to have some punch, too, you know!" said the child. The
+uncle smiled. "That is not bad! That will indeed form a precious
+memory!" Franco frowned at beholding his frail structure of poetical and
+religious memories thus demolished.
+
+"And Gilardoni?" Luisa asked.
+
+"Here they are now," Ismaele said, going out with his lantern.
+
+Professor Gilardoni had invited the Maironis and Donna Ester Bianchi to
+come to his house for punch after Mass. He was now expected from
+Niscioree, whither he had gone to fetch the young lady, who had lived
+there alone with two maid-servants since her father's death, which had
+taken place in 1852. The worthy Professor had mourned secretly for
+Signora Teresa for a reasonable length of time, but during the
+convalescence of his heart, which kept him weak and languid, and in
+permanent danger of a relapse, he had not been careful enough of the
+merry little face, the lively eyes, and sparkling gaiety of the little
+Princess of Niscioree, as the Maironis called Donna Ester.
+
+At seven-and-twenty Donna Ester looked like a girl of twenty, save in
+her movements there was a certain languor, and in her eyes a certain
+delicious hidden knowledge. She had not intended to fish for this
+respectable lover, but now she knew he was caught, and she was pleased,
+believing him to be a man of great genius, and infinite wisdom. That he
+should ever dare speak to her of love, that she might marry all this
+sallow, wrinkled, dry knowledge, had never entered her head.
+Nevertheless she did not wish to quench this little fire, which was so
+discreet, which was an honour to her, and probably a source of happiness
+to him. If she sometimes laughed about him with Luisa she was never the
+first to laugh, and always hastened to repeat: "Poor Signor Gilardoni!
+Poor Professor!"
+
+She came in hastily, her fair head enveloped in a great black hood,
+looking like Spring out on the spree disguised as December. December was
+close behind her, his neck shrouded in a great scarf, above which rose
+the red and shining professorial nose, irritated by the snow. As it was
+already late they immediately took leave of Uncle Piero, who was left
+alone with his milk and his lamp before the dying embers of the
+juniper-bush.
+
+A slight shadow of disapproval still rested on his face. Franco was
+playing the poet too much. Nowadays life was hard at Casa Maironi.
+Breakfast consisted of a cup of milk and chicory-coffee, and they used a
+sort of reddish sugar that tasted of the chemist's shop. They indulged
+in meat only on Thursdays and Sundays. A bottle of Grimelli wine
+appeared on the table regularly every day for Uncle Piero, who rebelled
+against being the privileged one. Every day clouds gathered around this
+bottle and a little storm burst forth, which, however, always ended as
+Uncle Piero wished, in a short shower of the decoction into each of the
+five glasses. The servant had been dismissed, and only Veronica remained
+to do the heavy work, stir the _polenta_, and sometimes look after
+Maria. But in spite of these and other economies Luisa could not make
+both ends meet, though Cia had refused to accept any wages, and gifts of
+curds, of _mascherpa_, of goats'-cheeses, of chestnuts and walnuts were
+always pouring in upon them from the townspeople. She had obtained some
+copying from a notary at Porlezza, but it was hard work for miserable
+pay. Franco had also begun to copy diligently, but he accomplished less
+than his wife and, moreover, there was not work enough for two. He
+should have bestirred himself, have sought some private employment, but
+Uncle Piero saw no signs of this, and so----?
+
+And so this thinking about poetic expeditions seemed to him more out of
+place than ever. After having pondered a long time upon their sad
+plight, and upon the slender probability that Franco would ever be able
+to extricate them from it, he reflected that, for him, the first thing
+to do was to drink his milk, and the second, to go to bed. But another
+thought came to him. He opened the hall-door, and seeing the room was
+quite dark, went into the kitchen, lighted a lantern, and carried it to
+the loggia, where he opened one of the windows. Although it was snowing
+there was no wind, so he placed the lantern on the window-sill, that its
+light might help those poetic people to steer their homeward course over
+the dark lake.
+
+Then he went to bed.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Ismaele brought his freight safely to S. Mamette in the covered boat.
+The snow was still falling placidly in big flakes. The church was
+already quite full, and even the ladies were obliged to stand, behind
+the first row of benches. Ester volunteered to look after Maria, and
+lifted her to a seat on top of the bench in front of them, while the
+sacristan was busy lighting the candles on the high-altar. Cia was
+tormenting the Professor, whom she believed to be a pious man, with a
+thousand questions concerning the difference between the Roman and
+Ambrosian rites, and Maria was keeping Ester busy with still more
+puzzling questions.
+
+"Who are they lighting those candles for?"
+
+"For our Lord."
+
+"Is our Lord going to bed now?"
+
+"No, hush!"
+
+"And has the _bambino Gesu_--the child Jesus--gone to bed already?"
+
+"Yes, yes," Ester replied thoughtlessly, to put an end to these
+questions.
+
+"With the mule?"
+
+Once Uncle Piero had brought Maria an ugly, little wooden mule which she
+detested, and when she was obstinate and capricious her mother would put
+her to bed with the mule under her pillow, under her obstinate little
+head.
+
+"Be quiet, chatterbox!" said Ester.
+
+"I don't go to bed with the mule. I say _excuse me_!"
+
+"Hush! Listen to the organ."
+
+All the candles were now lighted, and the organist having mounted to his
+post, was teasing his old instrument as if to waken it, drawing from it
+what seemed to be angry grunts. When, on the ringing of a bell, the
+organ poured forth all its great voice, and the altar-boys and the
+priest appeared, Luisa stole her hand into her husband's, as if they had
+still been lovers.
+
+Those two hands pressing each other furtively were speaking of a fast
+approaching event, of a serious resolve which must be kept a secret,
+and which was not yet formed irrevocably. The little nervous hand said:
+"Have courage!" The manly hand said: "I will!" They must indeed make up
+their minds to it. Franco must go away, leave his wife, his child, and
+the old man, perhaps for some months, perhaps for some years. He must
+leave Valsolda, the dear little house, his flowers, perhaps for ever. He
+must emigrate to Piedmont, seek for work and gain, in the hope of being
+able to call his family to him in case that other great national hope
+should not be realised. He was glad his wife had chosen this solemn
+place and hour in which to encourage him in his sacrifice, and he did
+not drop the gentle hand, but held it as a lover might, never looking at
+Luisa, his face and person immovable. He spoke with his hand only, with
+his soul in palm and fingers, he spoke the most varied, passionate
+language, consisting of soft caresses, of embraces, of tenderness and
+ardour. From time to time she would endeavour to gently withdraw her
+hand, and then he would clasp it violently. His gaze was fixed on the
+altar, and he held his head erect as if absorbed in the music of the
+organ, in the voice of the priest, in the singing of the congregation.
+As a matter of fact he was not following the prayers, but he felt the
+Divine Presence, was experiencing an ecstasy, a fervour of love, of
+pain, of hope in God. Luisa had taken his hand in the belief that he was
+praying, that all his fears, all his doubts were stirring in his soul.
+She had indeed wished to inspire him with courage, convinced that this
+painful step was best for him. She only half understood the pressure
+that answered her; it seemed to her a passionate protest against this
+separation, and although this was most sweet to her, she could not
+approve of it, and so from time to time she strove to withdraw her hand.
+At the moment of the Elevation it was he who withdrew his, out of
+respect. Then he was obliged to take Maria in his arms, for she had
+fallen asleep, and slept on, her head on her father's shoulder,
+displaying half of a little, peaceful face. She, his darling, did not
+know that her father was going so far away, and his heart was filled
+with tender yearning towards that little, warm treasure, which breathed
+upon it, towards that tiny head, which had the perfume of a little wild
+bird. He imagined himself already gone, imagined that she was seeking
+for him, was crying, and then a desire to press her closer ran through
+his arms, a desire he quickly checked for fear of waking her.
+
+It had stopped snowing when they left the church.
+
+"Wind! Wind!" said Ismaele, coming towards them.
+
+"I shall walk! I shall walk!" groaned Cia, who had a great horror of the
+lake. Meanwhile the crowd issuing from the church pushed and dispersed
+the group, and carried them down the steps. The six travellers and the
+boatmen met again in the square of S. Mamette and here Donna Ester
+declared that, as she was not feeling very well, she must forego the
+punch, and that she would walk home with Cia.
+
+Franco, Luisa, and the Professor saw it would be useless to insist, and
+the two women started towards Oria escorted by Ismaele, who was to come
+back for the Maironis and the boat.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+A _moderateur_ lamp illumined Gilardoni's salon, a good fire was burning
+on the hearth, and Pinella had prepared everything for the punch over
+which Luisa presided, the host himself being much depressed in spirit by
+Donna Ester's desertion.
+
+"Look at Maria," said Franco softly.
+
+The little one had gone to sleep in the Professor's armchair near the
+window. Franco took the lamp and held it aloft in order to see her
+better. She seemed like some little creature descended from heaven,
+fallen there with the star-light, unconscious, her face suffused with a
+sweetness which was not of this world, with a solemnity full of mystery.
+"Darling!" said he, and drew his wife towards him with an encircling
+arm, his eyes still fixed on Maria. Gilardoni came up behind them, and
+murmured: "How lovely!" Then he went back to the fireplace sighing:
+"Happy people!"
+
+Franco, who was deeply moved, whispered in his wife's ear: "Shall we
+tell him?" She did not understand, and looked questioningly into his
+eyes. "That I am going away," said he, still in an undertone. Luisa
+started and answered, "Yes, yes!" She was greatly affected, for she had
+not expected this. In the church she had believed he was still
+undecided. Her astonishment did not escape Franco. He was troubled by it
+and felt his resolution shaken, but she at once perceived this, and
+repeated earnestly: "Yes, yes!" and gently pushed him towards Gilardoni.
+
+"Dear friend," said he, "I have something to tell you."
+
+The Professor, absorbed in contemplation of the fire, did not answer.
+Franco placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ah!" he exclaimed, rousing
+himself, "I beg your pardon! What it is?"
+
+"I wish to commend some one to your care."
+
+"To my care? Who is it?"
+
+"An old man, a woman, and a little child."
+
+The two men looked at each other in silence, one deeply moved, the other
+amazed.
+
+"Don't you understand?" Luisa whispered.
+
+No, he neither understood nor answered.
+
+"I commend my wife, my daughter, and the old uncle to your care," Franco
+replied.
+
+"Oh!" the Professor exclaimed, looking in astonishment from one to the
+other.
+
+"I am going away," said Franco, with a smile that went to Gilardoni's
+heart. "We have not told Uncle Piero yet, but I must go. In our position
+I cannot stay here doing nothing. I shall say I am going to Milan, and
+those who will may believe it, but I shall really be in Piedmont."
+
+Gilardoni clasped his hands in silent amazement. Luisa embraced Franco
+and kissed him, holding his head upon her breast, her eyes closed.
+
+The Professor imagined it was painful to her to bow to her husband's
+will in this matter.
+
+"Now listen to me," said he, addressing Franco. "If war had broken out I
+could understand your going, but as it is, I think you do wrong to cause
+your wife so much suffering for a question of money."
+
+Luisa who was still clinging with one arm to her husband's neck,
+motioned to Professor Gilardoni with the other hand, entreating him to
+be silent.
+
+"No, no, no!" she murmured, once more clasping her arms about Franco.
+"You are doing right! You are doing right!" As Gilardoni continued to
+insist, she drew away from her husband, and cried, her hands extended
+protestingly towards their host: "But, Professor, it is I who tell him
+he is doing right! I, his wife, tell him so! Dear Professor, don't you
+understand?"
+
+"After all, dear lady," Gilardoni burst out, "it is time you were
+informed----"
+
+Franco flung his arms towards him, crying impetuously: "Professor!"
+
+"You are doing wrong," the other replied. "You are doing wrong, very
+wrong!"
+
+"What is it, Franco?" Luisa demanded in astonishment. "Is there
+something I do not know?"
+
+"Only that I must go away, that I shall go away. That is all!"
+
+Franco's exclamation, "Professor!" had awakened Maria with a start.
+Seeing her mother's agitation she prepared to cry; presently she burst
+into violent sobbing, and wailed: "No Papa! Papa not go away! Not go
+away!"
+
+Franco took her in his arms, kissing and caressing her, while she kept
+repeating: "My Papa! My Papa!" in a pitiful, grieved voice that made
+their hearts ache. Her father yearned over her, and protested that he
+would always stay with her; but he wept at his own deceit, wept with the
+emotion this new tenderness, springing up at such a moment, caused him.
+
+Luisa was thinking of her husband's cry. Gilardoni saw she suspected a
+secret, and, hoping to distract her thoughts, asked her if Franco
+intended to start at once. Franco himself replied. Everything depended
+upon a letter from Turin. Perhaps it would be a week, at the latest a
+fortnight, before he started. Luisa was silent, and the subject was
+dropped. Then Franco talked of politics, of the probability that war
+would break out in the Spring. But again conversation soon languished.
+Gilardoni and Luisa seemed to be thinking of something else, to be
+listening to the beat of the waves against the garden wall. Finally
+Ismaele returned, drank his punch, and assured them that the lake was
+not very rough, and that they could start homewards.
+
+As soon as the Maironis were seated in the boat, and Maria had gone to
+sleep, Luisa asked her husband if there was something she did not know,
+and which Gilardoni must not tell.
+
+Franco did not answer.
+
+"Enough!" said she. Then her husband threw his arm around her neck and
+pressed her to him, protesting against words she had not uttered. "Oh,
+Luisa, Luisa!"
+
+Luisa suffered his embrace, but did not return it, and at last, in
+despair, her husband promised to tell her every thing, at once. "Do you
+think I am curious?" she whispered, in his arms. No, no. He would tell
+her at once, tell her everything; he would explain why he had not spoken
+before. She did not wish this; she preferred that he should speak at
+some other time, and of his own free will.
+
+The wind was in their favour and the light shining in the window of the
+loggia served Ismaele well as a guide. Franco's arm still encircled his
+wife's shoulders, and his gaze was fixed upon that shining point.
+Neither he nor she thought of the loving and prudent hand that had
+lighted it. But Ismaele thought of it, and reflected that neither
+Veronica nor Cia were capable of such an act of genius, and blessed the
+engineer's kind heart.
+
+On leaving the boat Maria woke up, and her parents seemed to have no
+thought save for her. When they were in bed Franco put out the light.
+
+"It concerns my grandmother," said he in a broken and agitated voice.
+"Poor boy!" Luisa murmured and took his hand affectionately. "I have
+never told you in order to avoid accusing my grandmother, and also
+because----" He paused, and then it was he who mingled with his words
+the most tender caresses, to which Luisa now no longer responded. "I
+feared your impressions, your sentiments, the ideas you might
+conceive----!" As his words began to express his doubts his voice grew
+more tender.
+
+Luisa felt the approach, not of a dispute, but of a far more lasting
+disagreement. Now, she no longer wished her husband to speak, and he,
+noticing her increasing coldness, did not continue. She rested her
+forehead against his shoulder, and said, almost in spite of herself:
+"Tell me!"
+
+Then Franco, his lips against her hair, related the story the Professor
+had told him on the night of their marriage. In repeating from memory
+the contents of his grandfather's letter and will, he greatly softened
+the injurious expressions used against his father and grandmother. In
+the middle of his recital Luisa, who had not expected such a revelation,
+raised her head from her husband's shoulder. He stopped. "Go on," said
+she.
+
+When he had finished she asked if there was any proof that his
+grandfather's will had been suppressed. Franco promptly answered that
+there was not. "Then," said she, "why did you speak of the ideas I
+might conceive?" Her thoughts had immediately flown to the probability
+of his grandmother's crime, to the possibility of a prosecution. But if
+prosecution were not possible?
+
+Franco did not answer, and she exclaimed, after a moment's reflection,
+"Ah! the copy of the will! Could that be used? Would that be valid?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you would not use it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not, Franco?"
+
+"There!" Franco exclaimed. "You see? I knew you would say so! No, I will
+not make use of it! No, no, never!"
+
+"But what reasons have you for not doing so?"
+
+"Good Lord! My reasons! My reasons can be felt. You should feel them
+without my having to explain them."
+
+"I do not feel them. Don't imagine I am thinking of the money. We will
+not touch the money. Give it to whomever you like; I feel the claims of
+justice. There are your grandfather's wishes to be respected; there is
+the crime your grandmother has committed. You who are so religious
+should perceive that Divine Justice has brought this document to light.
+Would you place yourself between this woman and Divine Justice?"
+
+"Let Divine Justice alone," Franco retorted, hotly. "What do we know of
+the ways of Divine Justice? There is also Divine Mercy. She is my
+father's mother, think of that! And have I not always despised this
+accursed money? What did I do when my grandmother threatened not to
+leave me a penny if I married you?"
+
+Unable to speak, he drew Luisa's head to his breast.
+
+"I despised the money for your sake," he went on in a stifled voice.
+"Would you have me try to regain it now by going to law?"
+
+"No indeed!" Luisa broke in, raising her head. "You may give the money
+to whomever you wish. I am talking of justice. Don't you also feel the
+demand of justice?"
+
+"_Dio mio!_" said he, with a deep sigh. "It would have been better if I
+had not spoken to-night."
+
+"Yes, perhaps. If you were bound never to alter your decision, it would
+perhaps have been wiser."
+
+Luisa's voice expressed sadness, not anger, as she uttered these words.
+
+"In any way, that document no longer exists," Franco remarked.
+
+Luisa started. "It no longer exists?" said she anxiously, in an
+undertone.
+
+"No. The Professor was to destroy it, by my orders."
+
+A long silence followed. Very slowly Luisa withdrew her head and rested
+it on her own pillow. Suddenly Franco exclaimed, aloud: "A law-suit
+indeed! With those documents! With those insults! To the mother of my
+father! And all for money!"
+
+"Don't keep repeating that," his wife exclaimed indignantly. "Why do you
+keep repeating that? Don't you know very well it is not true?"
+
+Both spoke excitedly. It was plain that during the preceding silence
+their thoughts had been hard at work on this point. The reproof
+irritated him, and he replied blindly--
+
+"I know nothing about it!"
+
+"Oh, Franco!" cried Luisa, much hurt. He already regretted the affront,
+and begged her to forgive him, accusing his hot temper, which made him
+say things he did not mean, and he entreated her to speak a kind word to
+him. "Yes, yes," Luisa answered with a sigh, but he was not satisfied,
+and wished her to embrace him and say, "I forgive you." The touch of the
+dear lips did not refresh him as usual. Some minutes passed, and then he
+strained his ear to hear if his wife had fallen asleep. He heard the
+wind, Maria's quiet breathing, the noise of the waves, the jarring of a
+window, but that was all. "Have you really forgiven me?" he whispered,
+and he heard her soft answer: "Yes, dear." Presently she, in her turn,
+listened, and besides the wind, the waves, the creaking of a shutter,
+the even, regular breathing of the child, she heard the even, regular
+breathing of her husband. Then she once more sighed deeply, sighed
+despairingly. Oh, God! How could Franco have acted thus? What wounded
+her heart most sorely was the fact that he did not seem to sense the
+injuries which her poor mother and Uncle Piero had suffered. But she
+would not allow herself to dwell on this thought, at least not until she
+had considered his other mistake, his mistaken idea of justice. And here
+she felt bitterly, but not without a certain satisfaction, that he was
+her inferior, that he was controlled by sentiments that were the outcome
+of his fancy, while her own sentiment was inspired by reason. Franco had
+in him so much of the child. He had, even now, been able to go to sleep,
+while she was sure of not closing her eyes all night long. She believed
+she was without imagination because she did not feel it move, because in
+her it was less easily inflamed. She would have laughed had she been
+told that imagination was more powerful in her than in her husband. But
+indeed such was the case. Only, in order to demonstrate this, both souls
+must be turned upside down, for Franco's imagination was visible on the
+surface of his soul, and all his reason was at the bottom, while in
+Luisa's soul imagination was at the bottom, and reason was plainly
+visible on the surface. In fact, she did not sleep, but all night long
+she thought, with that imagination that lay at the bottom of her soul,
+how religion favours weak sentimentality, how incapable it is, even
+while preaching the thirst for justice, of forming a correct sense of
+justice in those intellects which are devoted to it.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The Professor also, who was subject to serious infiltrations of
+imagination into the ratiocinative cells of his brain, as well as into
+the amorous cells of his heart, having put out the light, spent the
+greater part of the night in front of the fireplace, working with the
+tongs and with his imagination, taking up, examining and then dropping
+embers and projects, until only one glowing coal and one last idea
+remained. Then he took a match, and having held it in contact with the
+ember, lighted the lamp once more, seized the idea, which was also hot
+and luminous, and carried it off to bed with him.
+
+This was the idea. He would start secretly for Brescia, present himself
+before the Marchesa with the terrible document, and obtain a
+capitulation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE PROFESSOR PLAYS HIS TRUMP CARD
+
+
+Three days later, in Milan, at five o'clock in the morning, Professor
+Gilardoni, muffled up to the eyes, issued from the Albergo degli Angeli,
+passed in front of the cathedral, turned into the dark street called dei
+Rastrelli behind a line of horses led by postilions, and entered the
+booking office of the public coaches. The little courtyard where the
+post-office now stands, was already full of people, of horses, of
+lanterns. To the hermit of Valsolda all these voices of postilions and
+of guards, this stamping of horses and jingling of bells, seemed like a
+real pandemonium.
+
+The horses were being harnessed to two coaches, four to each. The
+Professor was going to Lodi because he had learned that the Marchesa was
+visiting a friend there, and the Lodi coach would start at half-past
+five.
+
+It was intensely cold, and the poor Professor wandered anxiously around
+the ungainly carriage, stamping his feet to warm them, until presently
+another traveller said jestingly to him: "Cool, is it not?" "Just a
+little fresh! Just a little fresh!" The horses were harnessed at last,
+an employé called the passengers by name, and the worthy Beniamino
+disappeared within the bowels of the huge vehicle, together with two
+priests, an old woman servant, an elderly gentleman with an enormous
+wart on his face, and a fashionably dressed young man. The doors were
+closed, an order was given, the bells jingled, the huge vehicle shook
+itself, the priests, the old woman, and the gentleman with the wart
+crossed themselves, the horses' sixteen hoofs rattled under the portal,
+the massive wheels rumbled through it, and then all this noise grew
+fainter as the coach turned to the right, towards Porta Romana.
+
+Now the wheels revolved almost noiselessly, and the travellers heard
+only the irregular beat of the sixteen hoofs on the stones. The
+Professor watched the passing of dark houses, the pale glow of
+infrequent street lamps, the flashing light from some small
+coffee-house, or a vanishing sentry-box.
+
+It seemed to him that the presence of these soldiers lent something
+threatening, something so formidable to the silence of the great city,
+that the very walls of the houses were black with hatred. When the coach
+entered the Corso di Porta Romana, so filled with fog that he could
+hardly see out of the window, he closed his eyes, and gave himself up to
+the pleasure of thinking of and conversing with the things and persons
+that filled his heart.
+
+It was no longer the passenger with the wart who sat opposite him, but
+Donna Ester, all enveloped in a great black cape, a broad-brimmed hat
+upon her head. She was looking at him fixedly, and her lovely eyes were
+saying: "Well done! You are acting nobly! Showing a great heart. I would
+not have believed it! I admire you! To me you are no longer old and
+ugly. Courage!" At this exhortation to have courage, he was seized with
+fear, for the image of the Marchesa rose before him, and the dull rumble
+of the wheels became the old lady's nasal voice, saying: "Won't you sit
+down? What can I do for you?"
+
+At this point the coach stopped and the Professor opened his eyes. Porta
+Romana. An official opened the door and asked for the passports and
+having collected them, carried them away. Returning again in about five
+minutes, he restored their passports to all the passengers save the
+fashionably dressed young man. To him he said sharply: "Come with me."
+The young man turned pale, but got out in silence and did not return. In
+a moment or two the door was closed, and a rough voice cried:
+"_Avanti!_" The gentleman with the wart placed his travelling-bag on the
+seat that was now vacant, but none of the other passengers gave any sign
+of having noticed what had happened. Only when the four horses had once
+more begun to trot did Gilardoni ask the priest, his neighbour, if he
+knew the young man's name, but the priest's only answer was a cross
+grunt, as he turned two terrified and suspicious eyes upon the
+Professor. Beniamino now looked towards the other priest, who
+immediately drew a rosary from his pocket and, having made the sign of
+the cross, began to pray. Once more the Professor closed his eyes, and
+the image of the unknown young man was lost for ever in the mist, like
+the few and phantom-like trees, the poplars and willows, slipping past
+on either side of the road.
+
+"How shall I begin?" thought Gilardoni. Ever since Christmas Eve he had
+done nothing but imagine and debate within himself how he should present
+himself before the Marchesa, how introduce the subject, how explain it,
+and what terms he should offer. This was the only point on which he was
+clear. If the Marchesa would make her grandson a liberal allowance, he
+would destroy the documents. He had not brought them with him, but he
+had copies of them. Their effect would surely be tremendous, but how
+should he begin? Not one of the many preambles he had thought of
+satisfied him. Even now with closed eyes and fancy hard at work, he was
+considering the question, starting from the only known factor: "Take a
+seat. What can I do for you?" But invariably his answer would appear to
+him either too obsequious or too daring, too remote from the subject or
+too close to it, and he would once more go back to the beginning. "What
+can I do for you?"
+
+The pale light of dawn, dreary, sad, and sleepy, invaded the coach. Now
+that the time for the interview was approaching, a thousand doubts, a
+thousand fresh uncertainties upset all the Professor's plans. The very
+base of his calculations suddenly collapsed. What if the Marchesa should
+not say either, "Take a seat," or "What can I do for you?" What if she
+should receive him in some other embarrassing manner? And what if she
+should not receive him at all! Merciful heavens! What then? The sudden
+ringing of the sixteen hoofs on a paved way set his heart to beating.
+However, it was not yet the streets of Lodi, but those of Melegnano.
+
+He reached Lodi at about nine o'clock, and got out at the Albergo del
+Sole, where they gave him a room without fire or sun. Not daring to
+brave either the fog in the street or the fumes in the kitchen, he
+decided to go to bed, and putting on his night-cap, which was acquainted
+with all his woes, he waited, a camphor cigarette between his lips, for
+the coming of noon and a happy thought.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+At one o'clock he ascended the steps of the Palazzo X. with the wise
+determination to carefully forget all the speeches he had prepared, and
+to trust to the inspiration of the moment. A footman in a white tie
+ushered him into a large, dark apartment, with a brick floor, walls hung
+with yellow silk, and a stuccoed ceiling, and having bowed respectfully,
+went away. A few antique, white and gilt armchairs covered with red
+damask stood in a semicircle before the fireplace, where three or four
+enormous logs were burning slowly, behind the brass fender. The air was
+laden with the mixed odours of ancient mould, ancient cakes, ancient
+stuffs, ancient leather, and decrepit ideas, the whole forming a subtle
+essence of old age enough to shrivel the very soul.
+
+The servant reappeared and announced, to Gilardoni's utter confusion,
+the imminent arrival of the Signora Marchesa. He waited and waited, and
+at last a great door, ornamented with gilding, swung open, a little
+moving bell tinkled, Friend trotted in, sniffing the floor to right and
+left, and was followed by a great bell-shaped mass of black silk, under
+a small cupola of white lace, while, between two blue ribbons, appeared
+the black wig, the marble brow, the lifeless eyes of the Marchesa
+herself.
+
+"What miracle! The Professor in Lodi!" said the drowsy voice, while the
+small dog sniffed at the Professor's boots. Gilardoni made a low bow,
+and the lady, who might have been the jar containing the essence of old
+age, seated herself on one of the chairs near the fire, and installed
+her lap-dog on another; after which she motioned to Gilardoni to be
+seated also. "I suppose," said she, "that you have some relative at the
+convent of the 'Dame Inglese'?"
+
+"No," the Professor replied, "I have not."
+
+Sometimes the Marchesa was facetious in her own way. "Then," said she,
+"you probably came for a supply of _mascherponi_."[M]
+
+"Not for that either, Signora Marchesa. I came on business."
+
+"Indeed. You are unfortunate in the weather. I believe it is raining
+now."
+
+At this unexpected digression the Professor came near losing his
+bearings. "Yes," said he, feeling that he was growing foolish, like the
+scholar whose examination is taking a bad turn. "It is drizzling."
+
+His voice, his expression, could not fail to reveal his inward
+embarrassment, to show the Marchesa that he had come to tell her
+something important. However, she carefully avoided helping him to
+unburden himself, and continued to talk of the weather, the cold, the
+dampness, a catarrh from which Friend was suffering, while the dog
+punctuated his mistress's recital with frequent sneezes.
+
+The drowsy voice had a calm, almost jocose inflection, a sort of bland
+benevolence, and the Professor was bathed in cold sweat at the bare
+thought of checking this mellifluous flow, and offering in exchange the
+bitter pill he had in his pocket. He might have taken advantage of a
+pause to pour forth his preamble, but he was not equal to it, and it was
+the Marchesa who seized the opportunity to close the interview.
+
+"I thank you very much for your visit," said she, "and now I am going to
+dismiss you, for you have your business to attend to, and, to tell the
+truth, I also have an engagement."
+
+Now or never he must take the leap.
+
+"As a matter of fact," Gilardoni began, greatly agitated, "I came to
+Lodi to speak with you, Signora Marchesa."
+
+"I should never have been able to guess that," said the lady frigidly.
+
+The Professor was carried forward by the impetus of his daring.
+
+"It is a most urgent matter," said he, "and I must beg----"
+
+"If it is a matter of business, you must apply to my agent in Brescia."
+
+"Pardon me, Signora Marchesa, it is really a most important affair. No
+one knows and no one must know that I have come to see you. I will tell
+you at once that it concerns your grandson."
+
+The Marchesa rose, and the dog that had been crouching in the armchair
+also sprang up, barking in Gilardoni's direction.
+
+"Do not speak to me of that person who no longer exists for me," the old
+lady said solemnly. "Come, Friend!"
+
+"No, Signora Marchesa," the Professor protested. "You cannot possibly
+imagine what I have to tell you."
+
+"I do not in the least care to know. I do not wish to hear anything.
+Good-day to you!"
+
+Whereupon the inflexible old lady moved towards the door.
+
+"Marchesa!" Beniamino called after her, while Friend, who had jumped
+from the chair, barked furiously around his legs. "It concerns your
+husband's will!"
+
+This time the Marchesa could not but stop. She did not, however, turn
+round.
+
+"This will cannot be pleasing to you," Gilardoni added rapidly. "But I
+have no intention of publishing it. I entreat you to listen to me,
+Marchesa."
+
+She turned round. Her impenetrable face betrayed a certain emotion in
+the quivering of the nostrils. Nor were the shoulders entirely at rest.
+
+"What tales have you to tell?" she retorted. "Do you think it fitting to
+thus inconsiderately mention my poor Franco to me? How dare you meddle
+with my family affairs?"
+
+"Excuse me," the Professor repeated, searching in his pocket. "If I do
+not meddle some one else may do so even less considerately. Kindly
+examine these documents. These----"
+
+"Keep your scribblings to yourself," the Marchesa interrupted, seeing
+him draw some papers from his pocket.
+
+"These are copies I have made----"
+
+"I tell you to keep them, to take them away!"
+
+The Marchesa rang the bell, and once more started to leave the room.
+
+Gilardoni, quivering with excitement, hearing the approaching steps of
+a servant, and seeing her about to open the door, threw his documents
+upon one of the armchairs, saying hastily, in an undertone: "I will
+leave them here. Let no one see them. I am staying at the Sole, and will
+return to-morrow. Examine the papers, and think over them carefully!"
+And before the servant arrived he had rushed out at the same door by
+which he had entered, had seized his heavy cape, and fled downstairs.
+
+The Marchesa dismissed the footman, and stood listening for a few
+moments. Then she retraced her steps, took up the papers, and went to
+her room, locking her door behind her. Having put on her spectacles she
+took her stand near the window, and began to read. Her brow was clouded
+and her hands trembled.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The Professor was preparing to go to bed in his icy room at the Sole
+when two police-agents came with a summons for him to appear at once at
+the police-station.
+
+He felt some secret misgivings, but did not lose his head, and went
+quietly away with the two men. At the station a little impudent
+Commissary asked him why he had come to Lodi, and upon being informed
+that he had come on private business shrugged his shoulders in
+contemptuous incredulity. What private business did Signor Gilardoni
+pretend to have in Lodi? With whom? The Professor mentioned the
+Marchesa. "There are no Maironis at Lodi," the Commissary exclaimed,
+and when his victim protested he speedily interrupted him. "_Basta!_
+That will do! That will do!" The police knew for a certainty that
+Professor Gilardoni, although he was an Imperial and Royal pensioner,
+was not a loyal Austrian; that he had friends at Lugano, and that he had
+come to Lodi for political ends.
+
+"You are better informed than I am," Gilardoni exclaimed, restraining
+his wrath with difficulty.
+
+"Silence!" the Commissary commanded. "You must not think the Imperial
+and Royal government is afraid of you. You are free to go, but you must
+leave Lodi within two hours."
+
+At this point Franco would have immediately perceived from whence the
+blow came, but the philosopher did not understand.
+
+"I came to Lodi on most urgent business, which is not yet finished,"
+said he. "On most important, private business. How can I leave in two
+hours?"
+
+"By carriage. If you are still in Lodi at the end of two hours I shall
+have you arrested."
+
+"My health does not permit me to travel at night in December," the
+victim urged.
+
+"Very well, then I will have you arrested at once!"
+
+The poor philosopher took up his hat in silence, and went out.
+
+An hour later he started for Milan in a closed calash, his feet
+embedded in straw, a rug over his legs, a great muffler round his neck,
+reflecting that this had been a most successful expedition, and
+swallowing momently to see if his throat were sore. He passed a horrible
+night, indeed, but the Marchesa herself did not rest on a bed of roses.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[M] _Mascherponi_: A sort of common cheese made in Lodi. [_Translator's
+note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+HOURS OF BITTERNESS
+
+
+On the last day of the year, while Franco was writing out the very
+minute directions concerning the care of the flowers and the
+kitchen-garden, which he intended to leave for his wife's guidance, and
+the uncle sat reading for the tenth time his favourite book, the
+_History of the Diocese of Como_, Luisa went out for a walk with Maria.
+The sun was shining brightly. There was no snow save on Bisgnago and
+Galbiga. Maria found a violet near the cemetery, and another down in the
+Calcinera. There it was really warm, and the air was pleasantly scented
+with laurel. Luisa sat down to think, with her back to the hill, and
+allowed Maria to amuse herself by climbing up the bank behind her, and
+sliding down again on the dry grass.
+
+She had not seen the Professor since Christmas Eve, and she longed to
+speak with him; not to hear the story of the Maironi will over again,
+but to get him to tell her about his interview with Franco, when he had
+shown it to him: to ascertain what Franco's first impression had been
+and what the Professor's opinion was. As the will had been destroyed,
+all this could only be of psychological importance, but Luisa's
+curiosity was not the curiosity of the idle observer. Her husband's
+conduct had deeply wounded her. Thinking of it over and over again, as
+she had done ever since Christmas Eve, she had arrived at the conclusion
+that his silence towards her had been an outrage against justice and
+affection. It was a bitter sorrow to her to feel her esteem for him
+diminishing, especially bitter now, on the eve of his departure, and at
+a time when he really deserved praise. She would have liked, at least,
+to know that when Gilardoni had shown him the documents there had been
+some inward struggle, that a more just sentiment had been aroused in his
+soul, if only for a moment. She rose, took Maria by the hand, and
+started towards Casarico.
+
+She found the Professor in the garden with Pinella, and told Maria to
+run and play with the boy, but Maria, always eager to listen to the
+conversation of her elders, would not hear of going. Then Luisa broached
+the subject without mentioning any names. She wished to speak to the
+Professor about certain papers, about those old letters. The Professor,
+who was crimson, protested that he did not understand. Fortunately,
+Pinella called Maria, enticing her with a picture-book, and she ran to
+him, conquered by her curiosity concerning the book. Then Luisa relieved
+the Professor of his scruples, by informing him that Franco himself had
+told her everything, and she confessed to him that she had disapproved
+of her husband's conduct, that it had been, and still was a source of
+great sorrow to her----
+
+"Why, why, why?" said the worthy Professor, interrupting her. Because
+Franco had not been willing to do anything. "I have done something! I
+have done something!" Gilardoni exclaimed, anxiously and excitedly. "But
+for the love of Heaven, don't tell your husband!" Luisa was amazed. What
+had the Professor done? And when, and how? And was not the will already
+destroyed?
+
+Then Gilardoni, as red as a glowing coal, his eyes full of anxiety, his
+recital often interrupted by such exclamations as, "For mercy's sake,
+don't tell!--You will be silent, eh?" revealed all his secrets to her,
+from the preserving of the will to his journey to Lodi. Luisa listened
+to the very end, and then, clasping her face tightly between her hands,
+uttered a horrified "Ah!"
+
+"Did I do wrong?" said the poor Professor, much alarmed. "Did I do
+wrong, Signora Luisina?"
+
+"Very wrong! Terribly wrong! Forgive me, but it looked as if you were
+proposing some transaction, some bargain, and the Marchesa is sure to
+believe we are in league with you! Oh, it is awful!"
+
+She wrung her clenched hands as if striving to press into shape, to
+remodel a more level professorial head for him. In utter amazement the
+poor Professor kept repeating: "Oh, Lord! Oh, dear me! Oh, what an ass
+I am!" without really comprehending the nature of his blunder. Luisa
+flung herself upon the parapet overhanging the lake, and stared into the
+water. Suddenly she started up, beating the back of her right hand upon
+the palm of her left, her face brightening. "Take me to your study,"
+said she. "Can I leave Maria here?" The Professor nodded, and,
+trembling, accompanied her to the study. Luisa took a sheet of paper and
+wrote rapidly: "Luisa Maironi Rigey begs to inform the Marchesa Maironi
+Scremin that Professor Beniamino Gilardoni is a most faithful friend of
+both her husband and herself, but that they nevertheless heartily
+disapprove of his inopportune use of a document which should have been
+disposed of in a different manner. Therefore, no communication from the
+Marchesa is either expected or desired."
+
+When she had finished she silently held out the letter to the Professor.
+"Oh no!" he exclaimed, as soon as he had read it; "For the love of
+Heaven don't send that letter! What if your husband should find it out?
+Think what a misfortune for me, for you yourself! And how can it
+possibly be kept from your husband?" Luisa did not answer, but gazed
+fixedly at him, not thinking of him, but of Franco; thinking that the
+Marchesa might look upon the letter as a snare, an attempt to intimidate
+her, she took it back and tore it in pieces, with a sigh. The Professor
+became radiant, and wished to kiss her hand, but she protested. She had
+not done it for his sake or for Franco's but for other reasons. The
+sacrifice of this outlet for her feelings exasperated her still more
+against Franco. "He is wrong! He is wrong!" she repeated, with
+bitterness in her heart, and neither she nor the Professor noticed that
+Maria was in the room. On seeing her mother leave the garden the little
+one no longer wished to remain with Pinella, so he had brought her to
+the door of the study, opening it noiselessly for her. The child, struck
+by her mother's expression, stopped and stared at her with a look of
+terror. She saw her tear the letter and heard her exclaim: "He is
+wrong!" and then she began to cry. Luisa hastened to her, folded her in
+her arms, and consoled her, and then they immediately took their
+departure. The Professor's parting words were: "For pity's sake, be
+silent!"
+
+"Why be silent?" Maria quickly demanded. Her mother did not heed her;
+her thoughts were elsewhere. Three or four times Maria repeated: "Why be
+silent?" until at last Luisa said: "Hush! That will do." Then she was
+quiet for a time, but presently she began again, simply to tease her
+mother, and lifting her little, laughing face repeated: "Why be silent?"
+This time she was well scolded, and once more became silent; but when
+they were passing below the cemetery, only a few steps from home, she
+again burst forth, with the same mischievous laugh. Then Luisa, who had
+been absorbed in the effort to compose her face into an expression of
+indifference, simply gave her a shake, but it sufficed to silence her.
+
+That day Maria was in very high spirits. At dinner, while jesting with
+her mother, she suddenly recalled the reprimands she had received when
+out walking, and looking covertly at Luisa, once more repeated her "Why
+be silent?" with the same timid and provoking little laugh. Her mother
+pretended not to hear, so she persevered. Then Luisa checked her with an
+"Enough!" so unusually stern that Maria's little mouth opened wider and
+wider, and the tears began to flow. Uncle Piero exclaimed: "Oh dear me!"
+and Franco frowned, showing that he disapproved of his wife's action. As
+Maria kept on crying, he vented his displeasure upon her, took her in
+his arms, and carried her off, screaming like an eagle. "Better still!"
+said Uncle Piero. "Fine disciplinarians, both of you!" "You let them
+alone," said Cia, for Luisa did not speak. "Parents must be obeyed."
+"That's it! Let us have your wisdom also!" Uncle Piero retorted, and Cia
+relapsed into sullen silence.
+
+Meanwhile Franco returned, having deposited Maria in one corner of the
+alcove-room, grumbling something about people who seemed bound to make
+children cry. And now Luisa also was vexed, and went to fetch Maria,
+whom she presently brought back in a lachrymose but mute state. The
+short meal ended badly, for Maria would not eat, and all the others were
+out of temper for one reason or another; all save Uncle Piero, who set
+about lecturing Maria, half seriously half playfully, until he succeeded
+in bringing a little sunshine back to her face. After dinner Franco went
+to look after some flower-pots, which he kept in the cellar below the
+little hanging garden, and took Maria with him. Seeing her once more in
+good spirits, he gently questioned her about what had happened. What did
+she mean by that "Why be silent?" "I don't know." "But why did mamma not
+wish you to say it?" "I don't know. I kept saying that, and mamma kept
+scolding me." "When?" "Out walking." "Where did you go?" "To the Signor
+Ladroni's." (It was Uncle Piero who had thus simplified the Professor's
+name.) "And did you begin saying that when you were at Signor Ladroni's
+house?" "No. Signor Ladroni said it to mamma." "What did he say?" "Why,
+papa, you don't understand anything! He said: 'For pity's sake be
+silent!'" Franco said no more. "Mamma tore a paper at Signor Ladroni's
+house," Maria added, believing her father would be all the better
+pleased the more she told him concerning that visit, but he ordered her
+to be quiet. On returning to the house Franco asked Luisa, with an
+expression that was far from amiable, why she had made the child cry.
+Luisa scrutinised him closely. It seemed to her he suspected something,
+and she asked indignantly if he expected her to seek to justify herself
+for such petty matters. "Oh no!" Franco answered coldly, and went into
+the garden to see if the dry leaves at the base of the orange-trees and
+the straw around the trunks were in order, for the night promised to be
+very cold. As he worked over the plants he reflected that had they
+possessed intelligence and words they would have shown themselves more
+affectionate, more grateful than usual, on account of his imminent
+departure, while Luisa had the heart to be harsh with him. He did not
+remember that he also had been harsh. Luisa, on the other hand, at once
+regretted her answer, but she could not hold him back, throw her arms
+about his neck, and end it all with a kiss or two; that other matter
+weighed too heavily on her heart. Franco finished swathing his orange
+trees and came into the house for his cape, intending to go to church at
+Albogasio. Luisa, who was in the kitchen peeling some chestnuts, heard
+him pass through the corridor, stood hesitating a moment, struggling
+with herself, and then rushed out, catching up with him just as he was
+starting downstairs.
+
+"Franco!" said she. Franco did not answer, but seemed to repulse her.
+Then she seized his arm and dragged him into the neighbouring alcove
+room.
+
+"What do you want?" said he, shaken, but still determined to appear
+vexed. Luisa, instead of answering, threw her arms about his neck, drew
+his unwilling head upon her breast, and said softly--
+
+"We must not quarrel these last days."
+
+He had expected words of excuse, and pushed his wife's arm aside,
+answering dryly--
+
+"I have not quarrelled. Perhaps you will tell me," he added, "what
+Professor Gilardoni confided to you that was such a great secret that he
+felt obliged to entreat you to be silent."
+
+Luisa looked at him, amazed and pained. "You doubted me?" said she. "You
+questioned the child? Did you indeed do that?"
+
+"Well," he cried, "and what if I did? Anyway, I am well aware you always
+think the worst of me. Listen now. I don't want to know anything." She
+interrupted him. "But I will tell you! I will tell you!" His conscience
+was pricking him a little on account of his questioning of the child,
+and now seeing Luisa ready to speak, he would not listen to her, and
+forbade her to explain. But his heart was full to overflowing with
+bitterness, for which he must find an outlet. He complained that since
+Christmas Eve she had not been the same to him. Why protest? He had seen
+it clearly. Indeed, something else had long been clear to him. What? Oh,
+something very natural! Perfectly natural! Was he, after all, worthy of
+her love? Certainly not. He was only a poor useless creature, and
+nothing more. Was it not natural that upon knowing him better she
+should love him less? For surely she did love him less than at one time!
+
+Luisa trembled, fearful that this might be true.
+
+"No, Franco, no!" she cried, but her very dread of not saying the words
+with proper conviction was sufficient to paralyze her voice. He had
+expected a violent denial, and murmured terrified: "My God!" Then it was
+her turn to be terrified, and she pressed him despairingly in her arms,
+sobbing: "No, no, no!" By means of some magnetic current they understood
+each other's every thought, and remained long united in a close embrace,
+speaking in a mute, spasmodic effort of their whole being, complaining
+one of the other, reproaching, passionately striving to draw together
+again, revelling in the sharp and bitter delight of being, for the
+moment, united by sheer force of will and of love, in spite of the
+secret disunion of their ideas, of their natures; and all this without a
+word, without a sound.
+
+Franco once more started to go to church. He would not invite Luisa to
+accompany him, hoping she would do so of her own free will, but she did
+not, fearing he might not wish it.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+On the morning of the seventh of January, shortly after ten o'clock,
+Uncle Piero sent for Franco.
+
+The uncle was still in bed. He was in the habit of rising late, because
+his room could not be heated, and for the sake of economy he did not
+wish the fire in the little salon lighted too early. However, the cold
+did not prevent his sitting up in bed and reading, half his chest and
+both arms outside the covers.
+
+"_Ciao!_ Good-morning!" said he, as Franco entered.
+
+From the tone of his greeting, from the expression of the fine face,
+serious in its kindliness, Franco understood that Uncle Piero was about
+to say something unusual.
+
+In fact, the uncle pointed to the chair beside his bed, and uttered the
+most solemn of his exordiums--
+
+"Sit you down!"
+
+Franco sat down.
+
+"So you are leaving to-morrow?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"Good!"
+
+It would seem that in uttering that "Good!" the uncle's heart came into
+his mouth, for the word filled his cheeks, and came out full and
+ringing.
+
+"So far," the old man continued, "you have never heard me--let us
+say--either approve or disapprove of your plan. Perhaps I did not feel
+quite sure you would carry it out. But now----"
+
+Franco stretched out both hands to him. "Now," Uncle Piero went on,
+pressing those hands in his own, "seeing you are firm in your resolve, I
+say to you: Your resolve is good. We are in need, go; work, work is a
+great thing! May God help you to begin well, and then help you to
+persevere, which is a far more difficult thing. There!"
+
+Franco would have kissed his hands, but he was quick to withdraw them.
+"Let them alone! Let them alone!" And he once more began to speak.
+
+"Now listen. It is quite possible we may never meet again." Franco
+protested. "Yes, yes, yes!" the old man exclaimed, withdrawing his soul
+from his eyes and voice. "Those are all fine things, things that must be
+said. But let them go!"
+
+The eyes once more resumed their kindly and serious light, and the voice
+its grave tone.
+
+"It is quite possible we shall never meet again. After all, I put it to
+you, what good am I now in this world? It would be far better for you if
+I took my departure. Perhaps your grandmother resents my having taken
+you in; perhaps, if I were gone, it would be easier for her to accept a
+reconciliation. Therefore, supposing we never meet again, I beg you to
+make some overtures to her as soon as I am dead, if things have not
+already been arranged."
+
+Franco rose and embraced his uncle with tears in his eyes.
+
+"I have made no will," Uncle Piero continued, "and I shall not make one.
+What little I have belongs to Luisa; no will is necessary. I commend Cia
+to your care. Do not let her want for a bed and a crust of bread. As to
+my funeral, three priests will suffice to sing my _requiem_ with true
+feeling; our own priest, Intrioni, and the Prefect of Caravina. There is
+no necessity of having five, who will sing it for love of the candles
+and the white wine. Leave the question of my clothes to Luisa, she will
+know what to do with them. You yourself will keep my repeater to remind
+you of me. I should like to leave Maria a keepsake, but what shall it
+be? I might give her a piece of my gold chain. If you have a little
+medallion or a crucifix you may attach it to my chain and hang it round
+her neck. And now, Amen!"
+
+Franco was in tears. It was a great shock to hear the uncle speak of his
+death thus calmly, as if it had been some matter of business which must
+be arranged judiciously and honestly; the uncle who, when conversing
+with his friends, seemed so deeply attached to life that he would often
+say: "If one could only avoid that inevitable breakdown!!"
+
+"Ah! Now tell me," said Uncle Piero, "what sort of work do you expect to
+find?"
+
+"T. writes that at first I am to go into a newspaper office in Turin.
+Perhaps I shall find something better later on. If I don't earn enough
+to live on in the office, and nothing else turns up, I shall come back.
+Therefore all this must be kept perfectly secret--at least, for a time."
+
+Uncle Piero was incredulous concerning the possibility of secrecy. "And
+how about the letters?" he inquired.
+
+As to letters, it had been arranged that Franco should address his to
+the postoffice at Lugano, and Ismaele would take those from the family
+to Lugano, and bring back his. And what should they tell their friends?
+They had already said that Franco was going to Milan, on the eighth, on
+business, and would be absent perhaps a month, perhaps longer.
+
+"It is not the most agreeable thing in the world to have to throw dust
+in people's eyes," the uncle said. "But however...! I am going to
+embrace you now, Franco, for I know you are leaving early to-morrow
+morning, and we shall hardly be alone together to-day. Good-bye, then.
+Once more, remember all my injunctions, and don't forget me. Oh, one
+thing more! You are going to Turin. As a government official I always
+did what I could to be of service to my country. I never conspired, and
+I would not conspire even now, but I have always loved my country. And
+so, salute the tricolour for me. Good-bye, my dear boy!"
+
+Then Uncle Piero opened his arms.
+
+"You shall come to Piedmont also, uncle," Franco said, as he rose from
+that embrace, greatly moved. "If I can only manage to earn money enough
+I shall send for you all."
+
+"Ah no, my dear boy! I am too old, I shall not make another move."
+
+"Very well, then. I myself will come next spring, with two hundred
+thousand of my friends."
+
+"That's it! Two hundred thousand pumpkins! A fine idea! Fine hopes!--Oh!
+here is Signorina Missipiṕ."
+
+Signorina Missipiṕ--thus the family called Maria in happy moments--came
+in, dignified and serious. "Good-morning, uncle. Will you say
+'Missipiṕ' for me?"
+
+Her father lifted her up and placed her on Uncle Piero's bed. Smiling
+the old man drew her towards him, and set her across his legs.
+
+"Come here, miss. Did you sleep well? And did the doll sleep well, and
+the mule also? The mule was not there? So much the better. Yes, yes! I
+am coming to 'Missipiṕ.' Am I not to have a kiss first? Only one? Then
+I shall have to say:
+
+ Proud shade of the river
+ Of Missipiṕ,
+ Don't play you are bashful,
+ But of kisses give three."
+
+Maria listened as if hearing the lines for the first time, then she
+burst out laughing, and began to jump and clap her hands, while her
+uncle laughed with her.
+
+"Papa," said she, suddenly becoming serious. "Why are you crying? Have
+you been naughty?"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+They expected many friends would call that day, many who had promised to
+come and say good-bye to Franco before his departure for Milan. Luisa
+performed the miracle of lighting the stove in Siberia, as Uncle Piero
+called the hall, and at one time Donna Ester, the two Pauls from Loggio,
+Paolin and Paolon, and Professor Gilardoni were all there together. Then
+presently Signora Peppina arrived, most unexpectedly, for she had never
+been to see them since the search. "Oh, my dear _Süra_ Luisa! Oh, my
+dear Don Franco! Is it true you are really going away?" Paolin began to
+shift uneasily on his chair, for he feared Signora Peppina had been sent
+by her husband to see who had and who had not rallied round the
+suspected man, in this house that was under the ban. He longed to go
+away at once with his Paolon, but Paolon was more dense. "How shall I
+manage now, with this idiot, who doesn't understand anything?" thought
+Paolin, and without looking at Paolon he said to him, in an undertone:
+"Let us go, _Paol_, let us go!" It did indeed take Paolon some time to
+get it through his head, but finally he arose and went out with Paolin,
+getting his lesson on the stairs.
+
+Franco had the same thought as Paolin, and greeted Signora Peppina
+coldly. The poor woman could have wept, for she dearly loved his wife,
+and held Franco himself in great esteem, but she understood his
+aversion, and in her heart excused it. Franco was relieved when Veronica
+came to call him.
+
+He was wanted in the kitchen garden. He went there and found Signor
+Giacomo Puttini and Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri, who had come to say
+good-bye, but having been informed by Paolin and Paolon of the presence
+of Signora Peppina, they did not wish her to see them. Even the soil of
+the kitchen-garden scorched their feet. While the little lean hero was
+puffing and parrying Franco's invitation to go up to the house, the
+little fat hero was rolling his head and his small eyes like a
+good-natured blackbird, looking from the hills to the lake, almost from
+a habit of suspicion. He caught sight of a boat coming from Porlezza.
+Who knows? Might it not be bringing the Imperial and Royal Commissary?
+Although the boat was still at some distance, he immediately began to
+cast about for an excuse for going away, and determined to take Puttini
+to call upon the Receiver, as they would be sure of not finding Signora
+Peppina at home.
+
+Having lavished many hasty and muttered compliments on Franco, the two
+old hares trotted off, with bowed heads, leaving Franco in the
+kitchen-garden. Meanwhile the boat Don Giuseppe had seen had come
+rapidly forward, and was now passing in front of the garden, at some
+distance from the shore. It contained a lady and a gentleman. The
+gentleman rose and saluted Franco in a loud voice: "How are you, Don
+Franco? Long life to you!" The lady waved her handkerchief. The
+Pasottis! Franco saluted with his hat.
+
+The Pasottis in Valsolda in January! Why had they come? And that
+greeting! Pasotti salute him thus? Pasotti, who had never been near them
+since the search? What did all this mean? Franco, greatly perplexed,
+went up to the house and told the news. All were amazed, and most of all
+Signora Peppina. "How? Do you really mean it? The Signor Controller of
+all men! And Signora Barborin also, poor little woman!" The event was
+excitedly discussed. Some thought one thing, some another. In about five
+minutes Pasotti came noisily in, dragging Signora Barborin behind him.
+She was laden with shawls and bundles and half dead with the cold. The
+poor creature could only keep repeating: "Two hours in the boat! Two
+hours in the boat!"
+
+"Whatever brought you to Valsolda in this weather, _Süra_ Pasotti?"
+Peppina screamed at her. "Oh, gracious! She don't understand anything,
+poor little woman!" And though Luisa and Ester shouted the same question
+in her ear, and though she opened her mouth wide, the poor deaf woman
+could not understand, and continued to answer at random: "Have I had my
+dinner? If I will dine here?" At last Pasotti came to the rescue, and
+told them that he and his wife had been called away by urgent business
+in October, and the last washing had been left undone. His wife had been
+worrying him for some time about that blessed washing, and finally he
+had made up his mind to satisfy her by coming. Then Donna Ester turned
+to Signora Pasotti, going through the pantomime of washing.
+
+Barborin glanced at her husband, who had his eyes fixed upon her, and
+answered: "Yes, yes. The washing! The washing!" That glance, the order
+she read in the Controller's eyes, made Luisa suspect a mystery
+underlying all this. This mystery and the inexplicable effusiveness of
+Pasotti suggested another suspicion to her. What if they had come on her
+account and Franco's? What if the Professor's trip to Lodi had something
+to do with bringing about this unexpected visit? She would have liked to
+consult the Professor and beg him to remain until the Pasottis had left,
+but then, how could she speak to him without Franco's noticing it?
+Meanwhile Donna Ester was saying good-bye, and Gilardoni was graciously
+permitted to escort her home.
+
+The Pasottis could not go up to Albogasio Superiore until the farmer,
+who had been notified at once, should have had time to prepare and heat
+at least one room for their reception. The Controller at once proposed a
+three-handed game of _tarocchi_ with the Engineer and Franco. Then
+Signora Peppina went away, and Barborin asked Luisa to allow her to
+withdraw for a few minutes, and begged her hostess to accompany her. As
+soon as he was alone with her friend in the alcove room, she glanced all
+about her with wide, frightened eyes, and then whispered: "We are not
+here on account of the washing, you know. Not on account of the
+washing!" Luisa questioned her silently with face and gestures, for had
+she spoken in a loud voice they would have heard her in the hall. This
+time Signora Pasotti understood, and replied that she did not know
+anything, that her husband had not told her anything, that he had
+ordered her to corroborate the story about the washing, but that really
+she was not in the least anxious about it. Then Luisa took a piece of
+paper and wrote: "What do you suspect?" Signora Pasotti read the words,
+and then began a most complicated pantomime: shakings of the head,
+rollings of the eyes, sighs, imploring glances towards the ceiling. It
+was as if a mighty struggle were going on within her between hope and
+fear. At last she uttered an "Ah?" seized the pen, and wrote below
+Luisa's question:
+
+"The Marchesa!"
+
+Then she dropped the pen and stood looking at her friend. "She is at
+Lodi," she said in an undertone. "The Controller has been to Lodi. So
+there you have it!" And she hastened back to the hall, faring to arouse
+her husband's suspicions.
+
+The game over, Pasotti went to one of the windows, saying something in a
+loud voice about the effect of the twilight, and called Franco to him.
+"You must come and see me this evening," he said softly. "I have
+something to say to you." Franco sought to excuse himself. He was
+starting the next morning for Milan, leaving his family for some time;
+he could hardly spend this last evening away from home. Pasotti answered
+that it was absolutely necessary. "It concerns your journey to-morrow!"
+said he.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"It concerns your journey to-morrow!" As soon as the Pasottis had left
+for Albogasio Superiore, Franco repeated the conversation to his wife.
+He had been much upset by it. So Pasotti knew! He would not have been so
+mysterious had he not been alluding to the journey to Turin, and Franco
+was greatly vexed to think that Pasotti was aware of this. But how had
+he found out? Perhaps the friend in Turin had been indiscreet. And now
+what did Pasotti want of him? Was another blow perhaps about to be
+struck by the police? But Pasotti was not the man to come and warn him.
+And all that hypocritical amiability? Perhaps they did not wish him to
+go to Turin, did not wish him to find an easier path, to free himself
+and his family from poverty, from commissaries and gendarmes. He thought
+and thought, and finally decided this must be the reason. In her heart
+Luisa greatly doubted it. She feared something else; but she also was
+persuaded Pasotti knew about Turin, and this upset all her suppositions.
+After all, the only way was to go and find out.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Franco went at eight o'clock and Pasotti received him with the most
+effusive cordiality, and apologised for his wife's absence, she having
+already gone to bed. Before opening the conversation he insisted that
+Franco should take a glass of S. Colombano, and a piece of _panettone_.
+With the wine and the cake Franco was obliged to swallow, much against
+his will, many declarations of friendship, and the most exalted eulogies
+upon his wife, his uncle, and himself. The glass and the plate being at
+last empty, the mellifluous rogue showed himself disposed to come to
+business.
+
+They were seated facing each other at a small table. Pasotti, leaning
+back comfortably in his chair, held a red and yellow silk handkerchief
+in his hands, with which he played constantly.
+
+"Well," said he, "as I told you, my dear Franco, the matter concerns
+your journey to-morrow. I heard it said to-day at your house that you
+are going away on business. Now it remains to be seen whether I am not
+bringing you still more important business than that which calls you to
+Milan."
+
+Franco remained silent, surprised by this unexpected preamble. Pasotti
+continued, his eyes fixed on the handkerchief which he never ceased
+handling.
+
+"Of course, my good friend Don Franco Maironi knows that if I touch upon
+intimate and delicate questions it is because I have a serious reason
+for doing so; because I feel it my duty, and because I am authorised to
+do so."
+
+The hands became still, the shining and cunning eyes were raised to
+Franco's distrustful and troubled eyes.
+
+"It concerns both your present and your future, my dear Franco."
+
+Having uttered these words, Pasotti resolutely laid aside the
+handkerchief. Resting his arms and his clasped hands on the little
+table, he went to the heart of the matter, keeping his eyes fixed upon
+Franco, who now, in his turn, leaning back in his chair, returned the
+gaze, his face pale, his attitude one of hostile defiance.
+
+"You must know that the old friendship I bear your family has long been
+urging me to do something to put an end to a most painful quarrel. Your
+good father, Don Alessandro!--What a heart of gold!--How fond he was of
+me!" (Franco was aware that his father had once threatened Pasotti with
+his cane, for meddling overmuch in his family affairs.) "Never mind!
+Having learned that your grandmother was at Lodi, I said to myself last
+Sunday: After all the trouble the Maironis have had, perhaps this is the
+right moment. Let us go and make the attempt. And I went."
+
+There was a pause. Franco was quivering. What a mediator he had had! And
+who had asked for mediation?
+
+"I must tell you," Pasotti went on, "that I feel satisfied. Your
+grandmother has her own opinions, and she has reached an age when
+opinions are not easily changed; you know her character; she is very
+firm, but after all, she is not heartless. She loves you, you know, and
+she suffers. There is a continuous struggle going on within her, between
+her sentiments and her principles; or, one might rather say, between her
+sentiments and her resentment. Poor Marchesa, it is painful to see how
+she suffers! But anyhow she is beginning to yield. Of course we must not
+expect too much. She is indeed yielding, but not sufficiently to break
+what sustains her--her principles I mean, especially her political
+principles."
+
+Franco's eyes, his twitching jaws, a quivering of his whole person said
+to Pasotti: "Woe to you if you touch upon that point!" Pasotti stopped.
+Perhaps he was thinking of the cane of the late Don Alessandro.
+
+"I understand your feelings," he continued. "Do you think I don't? I eat
+the government's bread, and must keep what I feel shut up in my heart,
+but, nevertheless, I am with you. I sigh for the moment when certain
+colours shall replace certain others. But your grandmother holds
+different opinions, and there is nothing for it but to take her as she
+is. If we want to arrive at an understanding we must take her as she is.
+You may seek to oppose her as I myself did, but----"
+
+"All this talk appears to me perfectly useless," Franco exclaimed,
+rising.
+
+"Wait!" Pasotti added. "The affair may not prove as disagreeable as you
+think! Sit down and listen."
+
+But Franco would not hear of resuming his seat.
+
+"Out with it, then!" said he, his voice ringing impatiently.
+
+"First of all your grandmother is prepared to recognise your
+marriage----"
+
+"How kind!" Franco put in.
+
+"Wait!----and to make you a suitable allowance: from what I heard I
+should think of from six to eight thousand _svanziche_ a year. Not bad,
+eh?"
+
+"Go on."
+
+"Be patient! There is nothing humiliating in all this. Had there been a
+single humiliating condition I should not have mentioned the matter to
+you. Your grandmother wishes you to have an occupation, and also desires
+that you give a certain guarantee not to take part in political doings.
+Now there is a decorous way of combining these two points, as you
+yourself will be obliged to recognise, although I tell you plainly that
+I had proposed a different course to your grandmother. My idea was that
+she should place you at the head of her affairs. You would have had
+enough to do to keep you from thinking of anything else. However, your
+grandmother's idea is good also. I know fine young fellows like
+yourself, who think as you do, and who are in the judicial service. It
+is a most independent and respectable calling. A word from you and you
+will find yourself an auditor of the court."
+
+"I?" Franco burst out. "I? No, my dear Pasotti! No! They don't send the
+police into my house--be quiet!--they don't brutally dismiss from
+service an honest man, whose only crime is that he is my wife's
+uncle,--be quiet, I tell you!--they don't seek every possible means of
+reducing my family and myself to the verge of starvation to-day, that
+they may offer us filthy bread to-morrow! No, my man, no! Do your worst!
+By God! I am not to be trapped by any one through hunger! Tell my
+grandmother so, you----you----you----"
+
+Pasotti's nature certainly had much that was feline; he was rapacious,
+cunning, prudent, a flatterer, quick to feign, but also subject to fits
+of rage. He had continued to interrupt Maironi's outpouring with
+protests which became ever more violent, and at this last invective,
+forseeing the approach of a deluge of accusations which were all the
+more exasperating because he could guess their character, he also
+started to his feet.
+
+"Stop!" said he. "What do you mean by all this?"
+
+"Good-night!" cried Franco, who had seized his hat. But Pasotti had no
+intention of letting him go thus. "One moment!" said he, bringing his
+fist down swiftly and repeatedly on the little table. "You people are
+deluding yourselves! You hope great things from that will; but it is not
+a will at all, it is simply a bit of waste paper, the ravings of a
+madman!"
+
+Franco, who had already reached the door, stopped short, stunned by the
+blow. "What will?" said he.
+
+"Come now!" Pasotti retorted, half coldly, half mockingly. "We
+understand each other perfectly!"
+
+A flash of rage once more set Franco's blood on fire. "We do not!" he
+cried. "Out with it! Speak! What do you know of any will?"
+
+"Ah! Now we are getting on famously!" Pasotti said with ironical
+sweetness.
+
+Franco could have strangled him.
+
+"Didn't I tell you I have been to Lodi? So of course I know!"
+
+Franco, quite beside himself, protested that he was entirely in the
+dark.
+
+"Of course," Pasotti continued, with greater irony than before. "It is
+for me to enlighten the gentleman! Then I will inform you that Professor
+Gilardoni, who is by no means the friend you believe him to be, went to
+Lodi at the end of December, and presented himself before the Marchesa
+with a legally worthless copy of a will which he pretends was made by
+your late grandfather. This will appoints you, Don Franco, residuary
+legatee, in terms attrociously insulting to both the wife and the son of
+the testator. So now you know. Indeed, Signor Gilardoni did not betray
+his trust, but stated that he had come on his own responsibility, and
+without your knowledge."
+
+Franco listened, as pale as death, feeling darkness creeping over his
+sight and his soul, mustering all his strength that he might not lose
+his head, but be able to give a fitting answer.
+
+"You are right," said he. "Grandmother is right also. It is Professor
+Gilardoni who has done wrong. He showed me that will three years ago, on
+the night of my marriage. I told him to burn it, and believed he had
+done so. If he did not, he deceived me. If he really went to Lodi on the
+charming errand you describe, he has committed an act of outrageous
+indelicacy and stupidity. You were quite justified in thinking ill of
+us. But mark this! I despise my grandmother's money as heartily as I
+despise the money of the government, and as this lady has the good
+fortune to be the mother of my father, I will never--never, I
+say--although she resort to the most base, the most perfidious means of
+ruining me--never make use of a document that dishonours her. I am too
+much her superior! Go and tell her this in my name, and tell her also to
+withdraw her offers, for I spurn them! Good-night!!"
+
+He left Pasotti in a state of utter amazement, and went his way,
+trembling with over-excitement and rage. He forgot his lantern, and went
+down the hill in the dark, striding along, neither knowing nor caring
+where he placed his feet, and from time to time uttering an ejaculation,
+pouring out that which was seething within him--rage against Gilardoni,
+and accusations against Luisa!
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Uncle Piero had gone to bed early, and Luisa was waiting for Franco in
+the little salon with Maria, whom she had kept up that her father might
+see something of her this last night. Poor little Signorina Missipiṕ
+had very soon grown weary, and had begun to open wide her little mouth,
+and assume a tearful expression, asking in a small and pitiful voice:
+"When is papa coming?" But she possessed a mamma who was unrivalled in
+consoling the afflicted. Now it was some time since Signorina Missipiṕ
+had owned a pair of whole little shoes: and little shoes, even in
+Valsolda, cost money. Not much money, it is true, but what is to be done
+when you have hardly any? However, this unique mamma was also unrivalled
+in shoeing those who were shoeless. The very day before, Luisa, in
+searching for a piece of rope in the attic, had found a boot which had
+belonged to her grandfather, buried beneath a heap of rubbish, of empty
+boxes and broken chairs. She had put it in water to soften, and had
+borrowed a shoemaker's knife, an awl, and shears. She now took the
+venerable boot, that frightened Maria, and placed it on the table. "Now
+we will recite its funeral oration," said she, with that liveliness she
+could assume at will, and of which even mortal anguish could not rob
+her, if she deemed it necessary to be lively. "But first you must ask
+your great-grandfather's permission to take his boot." She made Maria
+clasp her hands, and recite the following jingle, her eyes comically
+raised to the ceiling.
+
+ Great granddad of mine
+ Who to heav'n did climb,
+ This boot, to you useless
+ Pray give to this princess,
+ Who longs in vain
+ For slippers twain,
+ And throws you a kiss,
+ The pert little Miss,
+ Which she begs you to put
+ On the sole of your foot.
+
+Then followed a somewhat irreverent fancy, one of many such born in
+Luisa's brain--a strange story of the little angel who polishes the
+boots in heaven, and who one day let great-grandfather's boot fall to
+the earth while attempting to grab a bit of golden bread he had been
+forbidden to touch. Maria brightened visibly; she laughed and
+interrupted her mother with a hundred questions concerning the other
+boot that was still in heaven. What would her great-grandfather do with
+that? Her mother replied that he would apply it from behind to the
+Emperor of Austria, and push him out of heaven with it, if he chanced to
+meet him there.
+
+Just at that moment Franco entered.
+
+Luisa at once saw signs of storm on his brow and in his eyes.
+
+"Well?" she questioned. Franco answered shortly: "Put Maria to bed."
+
+Luisa observed that she had kept the child up waiting for him, that she
+might spend a little time with him. "I tell you to put her to bed!"
+Franco said, so harshly that Maria began to cry. Luisa flushed, but was
+silent. Lighting a candle she took the child in her arms and silently
+held her up that her father might give her a kiss. He did so coldly, and
+then Luisa carried her away. Franco did not follow her. The sight of the
+boot irritated him, and he threw it upon the floor. Then he sat down,
+planted his elbows on the table, and rested his head in his hands.
+
+The bitter thought that Luisa was Gilardoni's accomplice had immediately
+flashed into his mind while Pasotti was talking, and with it there came
+also the recollection of that "Why be silent?" of that "Enough!" and of
+the child's story. He felt as if he had a whirlwind within him, in which
+this idea was being continually caught up and whirled away, to reappear
+again farther down, ever nearer the heart.
+
+"Well?" Luisa once more asked, as she entered the room. Franco looked at
+her a moment in silence, scrutinising her closely. Then he rose and
+seized her hands. "Tell me if you know anything?" said he. She guessed
+his meaning, but that look and manner offended her. "What do you mean?"
+she exclaimed, her face aflame. "Why do you ask in that way?" "Ah! you
+do know!" cried Franco flinging away her hands, and raising his arms
+with a despairing gesture.
+
+She foresaw what was coming--his suspicion of her complicity with
+Gilardoni, her denial, and the mortal irremediable offence Franco would
+be offering her if, in his wrath, he refused to trust her word, and she
+clasped her hands in terror. "No, Franco! No, Franco!" she murmured
+softly, and threw her arms about his neck, striving to close his lips
+with kisses. But he misunderstood her, believed she was seeking
+forgiveness, and pushed her aside. "I know! Yes, I know!" she cried,
+once more casting herself passionately upon his breast. "But I found out
+afterwards, when it was already done, and I was as indignant as you are,
+even more indignant!" But Franco was too anxious to give vent to his
+feelings, too anxious to offend. "How can I know you are speaking the
+truth?" he exclaimed. She started back with a cry, and then once more
+coming a step nearer, she held out her arms to him. "No, no!" she
+entreated in agony, "Tell me you believe me! Tell me so now, for if you
+do not say so, you don't know, you can't realise what will happen!"
+
+"What is it I can't realise?"
+
+"You don't know me as I am, for though I may love you still, I can never
+again be a wife to you, and though I may suffer deeply, I shall never
+change, never again. Do you realise what that means, _never again_?"
+
+He drew her slender, trembling figure towards him, pressed her hands as
+if to crush them, and said, in a stifled voice: "I will believe you!
+Indeed I will believe you!" But Luisa, gazing at him through her tears,
+was not satisfied. "I _will_ believe you?" she said. "I _will_ believe
+you?"
+
+"I do believe you, I do believe you!"
+
+Indeed he did believe her; but where there is anger there is always
+pride as well. He did not wish to surrender entirely, and at once, and
+his tone was rather condescending than convinced. Both were silent,
+holding each other's hands, and then with a slow, almost imperceptible
+movement they began to draw apart. It was Luisa who at last gently drew
+away completely. She felt this silence must be broken; he could find no
+glowing words, and cold words she would not speak, so she began to tell
+him how she had heard of the unfortunate journey to Lodi from Gilardoni
+himself. Seated at the table opposite her husband, she spoke in a calm
+voice that was not precisely cold, but rather grieved. While she was
+relating the Professor's disclosures Franco again took fire, and often
+interrupted her. "And did you not say that to him?--And did you not say
+this to him?--Did you tell him he was a fool?--Did you not call him an
+ass?" At first Luisa ignored these exclamations, but finally she
+protested. She had already said that Gilardoni's blunder had filled her
+with indignation, but now it would almost seem as if her husband doubted
+this. Franco was reduced to unwilling silence.
+
+Her story finished, he once more stormed against that blockhead of a
+philosopher, and Luisa was moved to take his part. After all he was
+their friend; he had indeed made a terrible mistake, but with the best
+of intentions. Where were all Franco's maxims about charity, and
+forgiving injuries, if he was not willing to forgive one whose only wish
+had been to benefit him? And here thoughts came to her which she did not
+utter. She reflected that Franco was ready enough to forgive great
+things when there was glory and sometimes even folly in forgiving, while
+he would not now forgive a slight offence when there were the best of
+reasons for doing so. When she spoke of charity Franco became
+exasperated; he did not venture to say he felt he did not deserve a
+similar attack, but returned the blow somewhat roughly. "Ah! Indeed!" he
+exclaimed, with a reticence that was full of insinuations. "So you
+defend him! Oh, of course!"
+
+Luisa's shoulders twitched nervously, but she held her peace.
+
+"And why did you not speak!" Franco continued. "Why did you not tell me
+everything at once?"
+
+"Because when I reproached Gilardoni he entreated me not to tell.
+Besides, I thought--and I was perfectly correct--that the thing being
+done, it was useless to cause you such great annoyance. The last day of
+the year, when you were so angry, I wished to tell you, to relate all
+Gilardoni had confided to me. Do you remember? But you absolutely
+refused to listen. I did not insist, especially as Gilardoni had told
+your grandmother we knew nothing about the matter."
+
+"She did not believe him. Naturally!"
+
+"And what good would it have done if I had spoken? As it is, Pasotti
+must have seen plainly that you knew nothing."
+
+Franco did not answer. Then Luisa asked him to repeat the conversation
+to her, and she listened to his recital with breathless attention. She
+guessed, her intuition sharpened by hatred, that if Franco had accepted
+the proffered position, a further condition would have been imposed:
+separation from her uncle, from an official who had been dismissed from
+service for political reasons. "Certainly," she said, "she would have
+demanded this also. _Canaille!_" Her husband started, as if he also had
+been cut to the quick by that lash. "Steady," said he. "Be careful of
+your expressions! In the first place, that is only a supposition of
+yours, and then----"
+
+"Only a supposition? And how about the rest? How about the cowardly
+action she proposed to you?"
+
+Franco, who had answered Pasotti with such violence, now answered his
+wife weakly.
+
+"Yes, yes, yes! But after all----"
+
+It was her turn to be violent now. The idea that his grandmother should
+dare propose that they forsake the uncle drove her nearly out of her
+mind. "You will at least acknowledge this," she cried, "that she
+deserves no mercy? My God! And to think that will still exists!"
+
+"Oh!" Franco exclaimed. "Are we to begin over again?"
+
+"_Let us begin over again!_ Have you any right to demand that I shall
+neither think nor feel save in such a way as is pleasing to you? Did I
+obey you I should be cowardly, I should deserve to become a slave. And I
+will be neither cowardly nor a slave!"
+
+The rebel he had suspected, even felt at times lurking behind the loving
+woman, the creature possessed of an intellect intensely proud, and
+stronger than love, whom he had never succeeded in conquering
+completely, now stood before him, quivering in the consciousness of her
+rebellion.
+
+"Well, well!" said Franco, as if speaking to himself, "so you would be
+cowardly, would be a slave? Do you at least reflect that I am going away
+to-morrow?"
+
+"Do not go! Stay here! Carry out your grandfather's wishes. Remember
+what you told me concerning the origin of the Maironi wealth. Give it
+all back to the Ospitale Maggiore. See that justice is done!"
+
+"No," Franco retorted. "These are idle dreams. The end does not justify
+the means. The real end with you is to strike my grandmother. This talk
+of the Ospitale is simply a means of justifying the blow. No, I will
+never make use of that will. I declared as much to Pasotti, in such
+strong language that should I ever change, I should deserve to be spit
+upon. I shall certainly leave to-morrow."
+
+A long silence followed, then the dialogue was once more resumed, but
+the two voices were cold and sad as if now some dead thing lay in the
+heart of either.
+
+"Do you realise," said Franco, "that I should be dishonouring my own
+father?"
+
+"In what way?"
+
+"In the first place by the outrageous nature of the terms in which the
+document is couched, and then by implying my father's complicity in the
+suppression of the will. But then you don't understand these matters.
+And, after all, what do you care?"
+
+"But there is no need to speak of suppression. It is quite possible the
+will was never found."
+
+Another silence. Even the tallow candle that was burning on the table
+had a lugubrious look. Luisa rose, picked up the great-grandfather's
+boot, and prepared to begin her work. Franco went to the window and
+pressed his forehead against the glass. He remained there some time,
+absorbed in contemplation of the shadows of night. Presently he said
+softly, without turning his head:
+
+"Never, never has your soul been wholly mine."
+
+No answer.
+
+Then he faced about and asked his wife in a tone entirely free from
+anger, and with that ineffable gentleness which was his in moments of
+moral or physical depression, if, since the very beginning of their
+union, he had ever failed her in any way. An almost inaudible "No" was
+the answer.
+
+"Then perhaps you did not love me as I believed?"
+
+"No, no, no!"
+
+Franco was not sure he had understood correctly, and repeated:
+
+"You did not love me?"
+
+"Yes, yes! So dearly!"
+
+His spirits began to revive, and a shade of severity returned to his
+voice.
+
+"Then," said he, "why did you not give me your whole soul?"
+
+She was silent. She had been trying in vain to resume her work, but her
+hands trembled.
+
+And now this terrible question! Should she answer or not? By answering,
+by revealing for the first time things that lay buried at the bottom of
+her heart, she would only be widening the painful gap between them; but
+could she be dishonest? She was silent so long that at last Franco said:
+"You will not speak?" Then she mustered all her strength and spoke.
+
+"It is true, my soul has never been wholly yours." She trembled as she
+spoke the words, and Franco held his breath.
+
+"I have always felt myself different from you, separated from you,"
+Luisa continued, "in that sentiment which should govern all others. You
+hold the religious views my mother held. Religion was to my mother, as
+it is to you, a union of certain beliefs, ceremonies, and precepts,
+inspired and governed by the love of God. I have always shrunk from this
+conception of religion; no matter how hard I may have tried, I have
+never been able to feel this love of an invisible and incomprehensible
+Being; I have never been able to understand what good could come of
+forcing my reason to accept things I do not understand. Nevertheless I
+felt an ardent longing to direct my life towards what was good,
+according to a disinterested ideal. Moreover, by her words and example
+my mother had embued me with such a strong sense of my duty towards God
+and the Church, that my doubts caused me great pain, and I struggled
+hard against them. My mother was a saint. Every act of her life was in
+harmony with her faith. This also influenced me strongly. And then I
+knew that the greatest sorrow of her life had been my father's unbelief.
+I met you, loved you, married you, and I was strengthened in my resolve
+to become as you are in matters of religion, because I believed you were
+as my mother was. Then, little by little, I discovered you are not like
+my mother. Shall I go on?"
+
+"Yes, to the end!"
+
+"I discovered you were kindness itself, that you had the warmest, most
+generous heart in the world, but that your faith and your religious
+practices rendered these treasures almost useless. You did not strive!
+You were satisfied to love me, the child, Italy, your flowers, your
+music, the beauty of the lake and the mountains. In this you followed
+your heart. As to a higher ideal, it was sufficient for you to believe
+and to pray. Without this faith and without these prayers you would have
+given the fire that is in your soul to that which is surely true, which
+is surely just in this world, you would have felt the same need to be
+doing that I feel. You are well aware, are you not, what I could have
+wished you to be in certain things? For example, who feels patriotism
+more keenly than you do? Surely no one. Well, I could have wished to see
+you endeavour to serve your country seriously, and according to your
+strength. Now you are indeed going to Piedmont, but your principal
+reason for doing so is that we have hardly anything left to live upon."
+
+Franco, frowning angrily, made an impatient gesture of protest. "If you
+wish it I will stop," Luisa said humbly.
+
+"No, no. Go on! Let us have the whole of it! It will be better!"
+
+He spoke so excitedly, so angrily, that Luisa was silent, and it was
+only after a second, "Go on!" that she continued.
+
+"Without going to Piedmont there would have been enough to do here in
+Valsolda, in Val Porlezza, in Vall' Intelvi; what V. does on the Lake of
+Como, communicating with different people, keeping the right spirit
+alive, preparing all that must be prepared against the coming of war,
+if, indeed, it ever comes. I used to tell you so, but you would not be
+convinced, you saw so many difficulties in the way. This sluggishness
+fostered my repugnance to your conception of religion, and my tendency
+towards another conception. For I also felt myself intensely religious.
+The conception of religion which was gradually shaping itself clearly in
+my mind was, in substance, as follows: God really exists, and is
+powerful and wise as you believe, but He is perfectly indifferent to our
+adoration of Him, and prayers to Him. What He demands of us is what we
+may learn from the heart he has formed for each one of us, from the
+conscience He has given us, from the surroundings in which He has placed
+us. He wishes us to love all that is good, to hate all that is evil, to
+labour with all our strength, according to this love and this hatred,
+and to occupy ourselves exclusively with the things of this world, with
+things we can comprehend, that can be felt! Now you will understand what
+my idea really is of my duty, of our duty, in the face of all injustice,
+all tyranny!"
+
+The further she went in this definition, this exposure of her own views,
+the greater was the relief she experienced in so doing, in being
+perfectly sincere at last, in frankly taking her stand on her own firm
+ground, and gradually all indignation against her husband died down
+within her, and in her heart there arose a tender pity for him.
+
+"Indeed," she added, "if it had been only this trouble about your
+grandmother, do you think I would not rather have sacrificed my own
+opinion a thousand times, rather than grieve you? There was something
+else underlying that. Now you know all. Now I have laid my bare soul in
+your hands."
+
+She read dull pain and hostile coldness on her husband's brow. She rose
+and moved towards him very slowly, with clasped hands, gazing at him,
+seeking his eyes, which avoided hers, and then halted on the way,
+repulsed by some higher power, for he had neither spoken nor made a
+gesture.
+
+"Franco!" she entreated, "can you no longer love me?"
+
+He did not answer.
+
+"Franco! Franco!" she cried, stretching out her clasped hands. Then she
+started to move forward. He drew back with a rapid movement. Thus they
+stood in silence, face to face, for half a minute that seemed an
+eternity.
+
+Franco's lips were pressed tight together, and she could hear his quick
+breathing. It was he who broke the silence.
+
+"What you have said is exactly what you feel?"
+
+"Yes!"
+
+His hands were clutching the back of a chair. He shook it violently,
+saying bitterly: "Enough!" Luisa looked at him with inexpressible
+sadness, and murmured: "Enough?" He answered angrily, "Enough, enough,
+enough!" After a moment's silence he went on harshly: "I may be
+indolent, sluggish, selfish, anything you like, but I am not a boy to be
+soothed by a couple of caresses after all you have said to me. Enough, I
+tell you!"
+
+"Oh, Franco! I know I have hurt you, but it has cost me so much, having
+to hurt you! Can't you take me kindly?"
+
+"Ah, take you kindly, indeed! You wish to be free to inflict any wound,
+and then expect to be taken kindly! You are superior to every one else!
+You judge, you pass sentence, you alone understand what God wishes and
+what He does not wish? But this at least I will not have! Say whatever
+you like about me, but let those things you do not understand alone. You
+had better be working on your boot!"
+
+He was determined to see only pride in his wife, while his own anger was
+born almost wholly of pride, of outraged self-esteem; it was an impure
+anger which darkened his brain and his heart. Both husband and wife
+would have acknowledged the justice of any other accusation sooner than
+that of pride.
+
+She silently resumed her seat and tried to resume her work as well, but
+she handled the tools nervously without really knowing what she was
+doing. Franco went into the hall, banging the door behind him.
+
+It was very cold in the darkness of the hall which had been unoccupied
+since five o'clock, but Franco did not notice this. He threw himself
+upon the sofa, giving himself up entirely to his grief, to his anger, to
+an easy and violent mental defence of himself against his wife. As Luisa
+had rebelled against God and against himself--though indeed she had made
+a distinction--he now found it convenient to make common cause in his
+heart with that other mute and terrible One whom she had offended. At
+first astonishment, bitterness, rage, good reasons and bad, formed a
+whirling tempest in his brain. Then he found relief for his feelings in
+imagining Luisa's repentance, her prayers for forgiveness, and his own
+magnanimous answers.
+
+Suddenly he heard Maria screaming and crying. He rose to go and see what
+had happened, but he was without a light. He waited a moment thinking
+Luisa would go out, but he did not hear her move, and the child was
+screaming louder than ever. Very softly he went towards the parlour, and
+looked in through the glass door.
+
+Luisa had hidden her face in her arms, which were crossed on the table,
+and the light of the candle revealed only her beautiful dark hair.
+Franco felt his anger cooling, he opened the door, and called softly,
+his tone still gently severe: "Luisa, Maria is crying." Luisa raised her
+face, which was very pale, took the candle and went out without a word.
+Her husband followed her. They found the child sitting up in bed bathed
+in tears; a dream had frightened her. When she saw her father she
+stretched out her arms to him. "Not go away, papa, not go away!" she
+entreated, her voice big with tears. Franco pressed her in his arms,
+covered her with kisses, soothed her, and then put her back into her
+little bed. But she clung tightly to one of her father's hands, and
+could not be prevailed upon to let it go.
+
+Luisa took another candle from the table and tried to light it, but her
+hands shook so she did not succeed. "Are you not coming to bed?" Franco
+asked. "No," she said, trembling more violently than ever. Franco
+thought he divined a supposition, a fear in her, and was offended. "Oh,
+you can come!" he said angrily. Luisa lighted her candle and said, more
+calmly, that she must work on the little shoes. She went out, and only
+on the threshold did she murmur: "Good-night." "Good-night," Franco
+answered coldly. For a moment he thought he would undress, but he
+presently relinquished his intention because his wife was still up, and
+at work. He spread back the coverlet and lay down in his clothes, on the
+side of the bed next to the child, that he might hold Maria's little
+hand--she had not yet gone to sleep--and put out the light.
+
+What sweetness in the touch of that dear, tiny hand! Franco felt her the
+little child she was, his daughter, the innocent, loving baby, and then
+he imagined her a woman, her heart all his, united to him in every
+thought, every sentiment, and he fancied the little hand that pressed
+his was striving to compensate him for all that Luisa had made him
+suffer, and was saying: "Papa, you and I are united for ever!" Good God!
+he shuddered at the thought that Luisa might wish to bring her up in her
+own way of thinking, and that he, being far away, would be powerless to
+prevent this. He prayed to God, to the Virgin Mary, to the saintly
+grandmother Teresa, to his own mother, who, he was well aware, had been
+so pure and so pious. "Watch over my Maria, watch over her!" he
+murmured. He offered to sacrifice his whole being, his earthly
+happiness, his health, even life itself, that Maria might be saved from
+error.
+
+"Papa," said the child, "a kiss."
+
+He leaned out of bed, and, bending down, sought the dear little face in
+the dark, and told her to be quiet, to go to sleep. She was silent for a
+moment, and then called--
+
+"Papa!"
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"I haven't got the mule under my pillow, you know, papa."
+
+"No, no, dear, but now go to sleep."
+
+"Yes, papa, I am going to sleep."
+
+Once more she was silent for a moment and then said--
+
+"Is mamma in bed, papa?"
+
+"No, dear."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because she is making little shoes for you."
+
+"Shall I wear shoes in heaven also, like great grandfather?"
+
+"Hush! Go to sleep."
+
+"Tell me a story, papa."
+
+He tried, but he had neither Luisa's imagination nor her skill, and soon
+came to a stand-still. "Oh, papa!" said Maria, in a compassionate tone,
+"you don't know how to tell stories."
+
+This was humiliating. "Listen, listen!" he answered, and began reciting
+a ballad by Carrer, always going back to the beginning after the first
+four lines, which were all he knew of it, his expression becoming ever
+more mysterious, his voice ever fainter, until it was only an
+inarticulate murmur, and thus at last Signorina Missipiṕ, lulled by the
+rhythm of the lines, passed with them into the world of dreams. When he
+heard her sleeping peacefully it seemed to him he was so cruel to leave
+her, he felt himself such a traitor, that he wavered in his resolve. He
+at once controlled himself, however.
+
+The sweet dialogue with the child had greatly soothed him and raised his
+spirits. He began to be conscious of an imperative duty towards his wife
+which would henceforth be incumbent upon him. He must show himself a
+man, both in will and in deed, and this at the cost of any sacrifice. He
+must defend his faith against her by his works, by leaving home, by
+labour and suffering; and then--and then--if Almighty God should see
+fit to allow the cannon to roar for Italy, he must push ever to the
+front; and let the Austrian ball come, if it but teach her to weep and
+pray at last!
+
+He remembered that he had not said his evening prayers. Poor Franco, he
+had never been able to say them in bed without dropping off to sleep
+before they were half finished. Feeling comparatively calm, and
+reflecting that it might perhaps be some time before Luisa came to bed,
+he feared he should go to sleep, and what would she say if she found him
+sleeping? He rose very softly and said his prayers; then he lighted the
+candle and sat down at the writing-desk, intending to read, but
+presently he fell asleep in his chair.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+He was aroused by the beat of Veronica's wooden shoes on the stairs.
+Luisa was not yet come. Soon, however, she entered the room, and
+expressed no surprise at seeing Franco already up.
+
+"It is four o'clock," she said. "If you intend to start, you have only
+half an hour's time." He must leave home at half-past four, to be sure
+of reaching Menaggio in time for the first boat coming from Colico.
+Instead of going to Como and thence to Milan as had been officially
+announced, Franco was to leave the steamer at Argegno and go up to S.
+Fedele, coming down into Switzerland by Val Mara or by Orimento and
+Monte Generoso.
+
+Franco signed to his wife to be quiet, that she might not disturb Maria.
+Then with another silent gesture he called her to him.
+
+"I am going," he said. "Last night I was harsh with you. I beg you to
+forgive me. I should have answered you differently, even though I was in
+the right. You know my temperament. Forgive me! At least, do not let us
+part in anger."
+
+"For my part I feel none," Luisa answered gently, as one who finds it
+easy to condescend, because he feels himself superior.
+
+The final preparations were made in silence; breakfast was eaten in
+silence. Franco went to embrace the uncle to whom he had not said
+good-bye the night before; then he returned to the alcove-room alone,
+and kneeling beside the little bed, touched with his lips a tiny hand
+that was hanging over the edge. Upon returning to the parlour he found
+Luisa in shawl and hat, and asked if she were going to Porlezza also.
+Yes, she was going. Everything was ready. Luisa had the handbag, the
+valise was in the boat, and Ismaele was waiting on the stairs of the
+boathouse, one foot on the step, the other on the prow of the boat.
+
+Veronica accompanied the travellers with a light, and wished her master
+a pleasant journey, with a crestfallen expression, for she had an
+inkling of the quarrel.
+
+Two minutes later and the heavy boat, pushed forward by Ismaele's slow
+and steady "travelling strokes," was passing beneath the wall of the
+kitchen-garden. Franco put his head out of the little window. The
+rose-bushes, the caper-bushes, and the aloes hanging from the wall,
+passed slowly in the pale light of this starry but moonless night; then
+the orange-trees, the medlar, and the pine slipped by. Good-bye!
+Good-bye! They passed the cemetery, the _Zocca di Mainè_, the narrow
+lane where he had so often walked with Maria, the Tavorell. Franco no
+longer watched. The light that usually burned in the little cabin was
+not there to-night, and he could not see his wife, who was silent.
+
+"Are you going to Porlezza about those papers of the notary's, or simply
+to accompany me?" he said.
+
+"This too!" Luisa murmured sadly. "I tried to be strictly honest with
+you, and you took offence. You ask my forgiveness, and now you say such
+things as this to me. I see that one cannot be faithful to truth without
+great, great suffering. But patience! I have chosen that path now. You
+will know soon whether I really came on your account or not. Do not
+humble me by making me say so now."
+
+"_Do not humble me!_" Franco exclaimed. "I do not understand. We are
+indeed different in so many ways. My God, how different we are! You are
+always so completely mistress of yourself, you can always express your
+thoughts so exactly, they are always so clear, so cool."
+
+Luisa murmured: "Yes, we are different."
+
+Neither spoke again until they reached Cressogno. When they were near
+the Marchesa's villa Luisa began to talk, and tried to keep the
+conversation alive until they should have left the villa behind. She
+asked him to repeat to her the itinerary that had been arranged for his
+journey, and suggested that he take only his handbag with him, for the
+valise would be a burden from Argegno on. She had already spoken to
+Ismaele about it, and he had promised to carry it to Lugano and send it
+on to Turin from that place. Meanwhile they had passed his grandmother's
+villa.
+
+Now the sanctuary of Caravina came in sight. Twice during their
+courtship Franco and Luisa had met under those olive-trees, at the
+_festa_ of Caravina, on the eighth of September. And now the dear little
+church in its grove of olives, beneath the awful rocks of the peak of
+Cressogno, was left behind also. Farewell, little church. Farewell to
+the past!
+
+"Remember," Franco said, almost harshly, "that Maria is to say her
+prayers every morning and evening. It is an order I give you."
+
+"I should have made her do so without this order," Luisa answered. "I
+know Maria does not belong to me alone."
+
+Then they were silent all the way to Porlezza. Coming forth from the
+tranquil bay of Valsolda, seeing other valleys, other horizons, the lake
+just rippled by the first breath of dawn, the two travellers were drawn
+towards other thoughts, were led to think, without knowing why, of the
+uncertain future, which must bring great events, of which prophetic
+whisperings already circulated mysteriously through the heavy Austrian
+silence. Some one called out from the shore at Porlezza, and Ismaele
+began to row rapidly. It was the driver, Toni Pollin, who was shouting
+to them to make haste if they wished to catch the steamer at Menaggio.
+
+The last moments had come. Franco let down the window in the little
+door, and looked at the man as if he were most anxious not to lose a
+word.
+
+When they touched the shore he turned to his wife. "Are you going to get
+out also?" "If you wish it," she said. They alighted. A cabriolet stood
+ready on the shore. "By the way," said Luisa, "you will find some lunch
+in your bag." They embraced, exchanging a cold and rapid kiss in the
+presence of three or four curious bystanders "Try and make Maria forgive
+me for leaving her thus," said Franco, and they were his last words, for
+Toni Pollin was hurrying them: "Quick, quick!" The horse started off at
+a brisk trot, and the cabriolet rattled noisily, with a great snapping
+of the whip, through the dark and narrow street of Porlezza.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Franco was on board the _Falcon_ between Campo and Argegno when he
+thought of his lunch. He opened the bag, and his heart gave a bound as
+he perceived a letter bearing as an address the words "For You" in his
+wife's hand. He tore it open eagerly, and read as follows--
+
+"If you only knew what I am experiencing in my soul, how I am suffering,
+how sorely I am tempted to lay aside the little shoes--in the making of
+which I am far less skilful than you think--and to go to you, taking
+back all I have said, you would not be so harsh with me. I must have
+sinned deeply against truth, that the first steps I now take in
+following her are so difficult, so bitter.
+
+"You think me proud, and I believed myself very sensitive, but now I
+feel that your humiliating words alone could not have kept me from
+hastening to you. What holds me back is a Voice within me, a Voice
+stronger than I am, which commands me to sacrifice everything save my
+consciousness of truth.
+
+"Ah! I hope this sacrifice may bring its reward! I hope that one day
+there may be a perfect union between our two souls.
+
+"I am going into the garden to gather for you that brave little rose we
+admired together the other day, the little rose that has challenged and
+conquered January. Do you remember how many obstacles lay between us the
+first time I received a flower from your hand? I was not yet in love
+with you, but you already dreamt of winning me. Now it is I who hope to
+win you!"
+
+Franco came near letting the steamer pass Argegno without moving from
+his seat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+FOR BREAD, FOR ITALY, FOR GOD
+
+
+Eight months later, in September, 1855, Franco was occupying a miserable
+attic in Via Barbaroux, Turin. In February he had obtained the post of
+translator for the _Opinione_, with a monthly salary of eighty-five
+lire. Later he began to write the parliamentary reports, and his salary
+was raised to a hundred lire. Dina, the manager of the paper, was fond
+of him, and procured him extra work outside the office, thus adding
+twenty-five or thirty lire to his earnings. Franco lived on sixty lire a
+month. The rest went to Lugano to be carried thence to Oria by the
+faithful hands of Ismaele. To live a month on sixty lire took more
+courage than Franco himself had believed he possessed. The hours at the
+office, the translating--a laborious task for one full of scruples and
+literary timidity--weighed more heavily upon him than the privations;
+moreover he felt even sixty lire was too large a sum, and reproached
+himself for not being able to do with less.
+
+He had attached himself to six other refugees, some of whom were
+Lombards, others Venetians. They ate together, walked together,
+conversed together. With the exception of Franco and a young man from
+Udine, all the others were between thirty and forty years of age. All
+were extremely poor, and not one of them had ever consented to accept a
+penny from the Piedmontese Government as a subsidy. The young man from
+Udine came of a rich family, of Austrian tendencies, and received not a
+penny from home. He was a good flutist, gave four or five lessons a
+week, and played in the small orchestras of second-rate theatres. A
+notary from Padua was copyist in Boggio's office. A lawyer from Caprino,
+Bergamasco, who had seen service at Rome in 1849, was book-keeper at a
+large establishment in Via Nuovo, where umbrellas and walking-sticks
+were sold, and for this reason his friends had dubbed him "the knave of
+clubs." A fourth, a Milanese, had been through the campaign of 1848 as
+one of Carlo Alberto's scouts. His present occupation was to quarrel
+continually with "the knave of clubs," for reasons of provincial
+rivalry, to teach fencing in a couple of boarding schools, and in winter
+to play the piano behind a mysterious curtain in halls where polkas were
+danced at a penny each. The others lived on insufficient allowances from
+their families. All except Franco were unmarried, and all were gay. They
+called themselves, and were called by others, the "seven wise men," and
+in their wisdom they dominated Turin from the elevated positions of
+seven attics, scattered all over the city from Borgo San Dalmazzo to
+Piazza Milano.
+
+Franco's was the most wretched of these attics, the rent being only
+seven lire a month. No member of this band had any services whatsoever
+performed for them, save the notary from Padua, for whom the
+doorkeeper's sister carried water to his attic, and had he not been the
+calm philosopher he was, the merciless teasings of his friends would
+have made him regret Marga's devotion. They all cleaned their own boots.
+The most skilful with his hands was Franco, and it was his lot to sew on
+his friends' buttons when they did not wish to humble themselves by
+applying to the lawyer and his Marga, who, nevertheless, often had her
+hands full, "poor, overworked woman that I am!" The young man from Udine
+had a sweetheart, a little _tota_[N] from the first booth in Piazza
+Castello on the corner of Po, but he was jealous, and would not allow
+her to sew on buttons for any one. The friends took their revenge by
+calling her "the puppet," because she sold puppets and dolls. However,
+thanks to "the puppet," he was the only member of the band whose clothes
+were always in order, and whose cravat was always tied in a graceful
+knot. They took their meals at a restaurant in Vanchiglia, which they
+had christened "Stomach-ache Tavern," and where they had lunch and
+dinner for thirty lire a month.
+
+Their only extravagance was the _bicierîn_, a mixture of coffee, milk,
+and chocolate, costing only fifteen centimes. They drank this in the
+morning, the Venetians at the Café Alfieri, the others at Café Florio.
+All except Franco, however. He went without the _bicierîn_ and the
+_torcètt_, a cake costing a penny that went with it, in order that he
+might lay by enough for a little trip to Lugano, and a trifling present
+for Maria. In the winter they walked under the porticoes of Po, the
+"wise ones" in the vicinity of the University, while the more
+light-minded frequented the porticoes on the San Francesco side. After
+their walk they would go to a coffee-house, where the one whose turn it
+was would sip a cup of coffee, while the others read the newspapers and
+looted the sugar basin. Once a week, to satisfy the "knave of clubs,"
+they would betake themselves to a den in Via Bertola, where the purest
+and most exquisite Giambava wine was to be had.
+
+The flutist from Udine of course went to the theatres, and by his means
+some of the others went _gratis_ from time to time, but always to the
+play, and usually either to the Rossini or Gerbino theatres. For Franco
+to be obliged to pass the posters at the Regio and the other opera
+houses was a far greater trial than to be obliged to clean his own boots
+and lunch off two square inches of omelet that was so thin it would have
+served admirably to observe the spots on the sun through. He had had the
+good fortune to make the acquaintance of a certain C., a Venetian, who
+was secretary at the department of Public Works, and who presented him
+to the family of a most distinguished major in the sanitary corps, also
+Venetian, and who owned a piano and was in the habit of receiving a few
+friends of an evening, on which occasions he would regale them with a
+cup of most excellent coffee of a quality almost unique in the Turin of
+those days. When, for one reason or another, the "seven wise men" did
+not spend the evening together, Franco would go to this gentleman's
+house in Piazza Milano, to make music, to converse on art with the
+daughters, or to discuss politics with his hostess, a fierce Venetian
+patriot, a woman of great talents, and possessed of a strenuous soul,
+who had not only borne heroically all the hardships and the bitterness
+of exile, but had sustained the courage of her husband, whose first
+steps had been most painful and difficult; for those precious, honest
+old numskulls of the inflexible Piedmontese administration had actually
+obliged this already famous professor of the University of Padua to
+submit to an examination, before they would admit him into the army as
+surgeon.[O]
+
+The correspondence between Turin and Oria did not indeed reflect the
+true state of mind of Franco and Luisa; it ran on smoothly and
+affectionately enough, but with great caution and reserve on either
+side. Luisa had expected that Franco would answer her note, and resume
+the great discussion. As he never mentioned either the note or what had
+passed between them that last night, she risked an allusion. It was
+allowed to pass unheeded. As a matter of fact Franco had several times
+started to write with the intention of confuting his wife's opinions.
+Before beginning he always felt himself strong, and was convinced that
+with a little thought he could easily discover crushing arguments, and,
+indeed, arguments he believed to be such would rush to his pen, but when
+they were set down in writing, he would at once be forced to recognise
+their inadequacy. Though surprised and grieved he would make another
+attempt, but always with the same result. Nevertheless his wife was
+certainly in error; this he never for a moment doubted, and there must
+be a way of demonstrating it to her. He must study. But what, and how?
+He consulted a priest to whom he had been to confession soon after his
+arrival in Turin. This priest, a little misshapen old man, who was fiery
+and very learned, invited him to his house in Piazza Paisana, and began
+to help him enthusiastically, suggesting a number of books, some for his
+own perusal, and others to be sent to his wife. He was a learned
+Orientalist, and an enthusiastic Thomist, and had taken a great fancy to
+Franco, of whose genius and culture he had formed an opinion which was
+perhaps exaggeratedly favourable. At one time he was on the point of
+proposing to him the study of Hebrew, and indeed insisted upon his
+reading St. Thomas. He went so far as to sketch for Franco the outlines
+of a letter to his wife, with a list of the arguments he must expound.
+Franco had at once fallen in love with the enthusiastic little old man,
+who, moreover, had the pure expression of a saint. He began to study St.
+Thomas with great ardour, but did not persevere long. He felt he was
+embarking upon a sea without beginning and without end, across which he
+was unable to steer a straight course. The scholastic scheme of
+treatment, that sameness in the form of argument for and against, that
+icy Latin, dense with profound thought, and colourless on the surface,
+had successfully routed all his good intentions at the end of three
+days. Of the arguments contained in the sketch for the letter he
+understood only a small part. He got the priest to explain them to him,
+understood somewhat better, and prepared to open a campaign with them,
+but found himself as much encumbered by them as was David by the armour
+of Saul. They weighed upon him, he could not handle them, he felt they
+were not his own and never would be. No, he could not present himself
+before his wife with Professor G.'s priestly hat and tunic, a
+theological lance in his hand, and entrenched behind a shield of
+metaphysics. He recognised that he was not born to philosophise in any
+way; he was destitute of the very power of strictly logical reasoning,
+for indeed his glowing heart, rich in tenderness and indignation, would
+too often interfere, speaking for or against, according to its own
+passions. One evening at Casa C. he was playing the _andante_ of
+Beethoven's twenty-eighth sonata, when, with quivering nerves and
+flashing eyes, he said in a low tone: "Ah! This, this, this!" He was
+reflecting that no theologian, no doctor, could communicate the
+religious sentiment as Beethoven does. As he played on he put his whole
+soul into the music, and longed for Luisa's presence that he might play
+this divine _andante_ to her, that he might unite himself to her,
+praying thus in an ineffable spasm of the spirit. But he did not reflect
+that Luisa who, moreover, was far less sensitive to music than he was,
+would probably have attributed another meaning to the _andante_, that of
+the painful conflict between our affections and our convictions.
+
+He went to G., returned the works of St. Thomas and confessed his utter
+incapacity in such humble and feeling language, that after a few moments
+of frowning and uneasy silence, the old priest forgave him. "There,
+there, there!" said he, resignedly taking back the first volume of the
+_Somma_. "Commend yourself to our Lord, and let us hope He Himself will
+act." Thus ended Franco's theological studies.
+
+All this pondering of his wife's opinions and his own, and above all
+the Professor's advice: "Commend yourself to our Lord," were not
+fruitless. He began to see that on some points Luisa was not mistaken.
+When she had reproached him for not leading a life in conformity with
+his faith, he had been more offended by this than by anything else. Now
+a generous impulse carried him to the other extreme; he judged himself
+severely, exaggerated his faults of idleness, of anger, even of greed,
+and held himself responsible for Luisa's intellectual aberrations. He
+felt a desire to tell her this, to humble himself before her, to
+separate his own cause from the cause of God. When he obtained his
+position on the _Opinione_, and regulated his own expenses in such a
+manner as to be able to make an allowance to his family, his wife wrote
+that this allowance was entirely too large in proportion to his
+earnings, and that the thought of him, living in Turin on sixty lire a
+month, gave her own food a bitter taste. He answered--and this was not
+strictly true--that in the first place, he never went hungry, but that
+he would, indeed, be glad to fast, because he felt an intense desire to
+change his way of life, to expiate his past idleness, including the
+hours he had wasted on his flowers and music, to expiate all past
+softness, all past weaknesses, including the weakness for dainty dishes
+and fine wines. He added that he had asked God's forgiveness for this
+past life, and that he felt he must ask her forgiveness also. In fact
+the Paduan, with whom Franco had become very intimate, and to whom he
+read this passage in his letter as a sort of confirmation of previous
+confessions, exclaimed: "That bit sounds for all the world like the
+oration of Manasseh, king of Judæa!"
+
+Luisa wrote most affectionately, but with less effusion. Franco's
+silence on the painful subject displeased her, and she felt it would be
+unwise on her part to allude to it in the face of a silence so
+obstinate.
+
+His good intentions concerning labour and self-sacrifice moved her
+deeply; when she read that confession of great wickedness, followed by
+the prayer for pardon to God and to herself, she smiled and kissed the
+letter, feeling that this was an act of submission, and a humble
+acceptance of the censure which had at first only irritated him. Poor
+Franco! These were the impulses of his noble, generous nature! But would
+they last? She answered at once, and if her emotion was apparent in her
+answer, so also was her smile, which displeased Franco. At the end he
+found these words: "When I read your many self-accusations I thought,
+with remorse, of the accusations I brought against you, one sad night,
+and I felt that you also had been thinking of them as you wrote,
+although neither in this letter nor in any other are they alluded to. I
+deeply regret those accusations, my own Franco, but how I wish we could
+speak together as true friends, concerning those other questions of
+which I think so much here in my solitude!"
+
+Luisa's wish remained ungratified. In answering Franco did not even
+touch on this point; indeed his next letter was somewhat cool, so Luisa
+did not again revert to the subject. Only once, when speaking of Maria,
+did she write: "If you could only see how Maria recites her 'Our Father'
+every night and morning, and how well she behaves at Mass, on Sundays,
+you would be satisfied."
+
+He replied: "As to what you tell me concerning Maria's religious
+exercises, I am satisfied, and I thank you!"
+
+Both Luisa and Franco wrote almost every day, and sent their letters
+once a week. Ismaele went to the post at Lugano every Tuesday, taking
+the wife's letters and bringing back the husband's. In June Maria had
+the measles, and in August Uncle Piero lost the sight of his left eye,
+almost without warning, and for some time was greatly distressed. During
+these two periods the letters from Oria were more frequent, but in
+September the weekly correspondence was resumed. From the bundle of
+letters I take the last that passed between Franco and Luisa, on the eve
+of those events which overwhelmed them at the end of September.
+
+
+ LUISA TO FRANCO.
+
+ "_September 14, 1856._
+
+ "I do not think Pasotti will ever come to our house again. I am
+ sorry on poor Barborin's account, for I fear she will not be
+ able to come either, but I do not regret what I did.
+
+ "He has known perfectly well for some time that you are in
+ Turin. He even talked of it with the Receiver, so Maria Pon
+ told me. She was in the Romit chapel, and heard them talking on
+ their way down from Albogasio Superiore. When he came here he
+ would always pretend not to know, and would enquire for you
+ with his usual assumption of interest and friendship. To-day he
+ found me alone in the little garden and asked how much longer
+ you would be absent and whether you were in Milan at present. I
+ answered frankly that his question surprised me. He turned
+ pale. 'Why?' said he. 'Because you have been going about saying
+ that Franco is in an entirely different place.' He became
+ confused and protested angrily. 'You may protest as much as you
+ like!' I said. 'It is quite useless. You know that. At all
+ events Franco is very well off where he is. You may say as much
+ to whomever you please.' 'You wish to insult me!' he exclaimed.
+ I did not stop to think long, but retorted: 'That is quite
+ possible!' Then he rushed away without saluting me, and looking
+ as black as the ace of spades--that simile suits my present
+ mood! I am sure he will go to Cressogno this evening.
+
+ "Cüstant has sent us a present of a magnificent tench which he
+ caught this morning, much to the chagrin of Bianconi, who
+ fishes all day long, and never catches anything. He is furious
+ with the impudent tench because they snap their fingers--so to
+ speak--at His Imperial and Royal Majesty of Austria and his
+ Carlascia. 'Poor fellow!' says Signora Peppina. 'He is eating
+ his heart out!'
+
+ "However, he will get over it, he will get over it.
+
+ "_September 15._
+
+ "I related the Pasotti episode to Uncle Piero and he was very
+ much annoyed. 'Much good this will do you!' he said. Poor
+ Uncle! One might almost suspect him of being a utilitarian,
+ whereas he is really a philosopher. After all the strongest
+ argument he ever opposes to all my burning indignation against
+ the many ugly things in this world is: 'Worrying won't mend
+ it!'
+
+ "To-day the parish Mass was said at Albogasio Superiore. In
+ coming out of church with Maria I caught a despairing glance
+ from poor Barborin, who evidently had orders to avoid me.
+ However, Ester walked down with us and coming into the house
+ told me privately something I have been expecting to hear. She
+ began by begging me not to laugh, while all the time she was
+ laughing herself. I succeeded in gathering that the Professor,
+ by dint of great perseverance, has overcome her resistance,
+ although Ester still declares she does not know her own mind.
+
+ "'It is his nose!' she said this morning, laughing and hiding
+ her gay little face. Indeed that scandalous nose seems to me to
+ be prospering; it is redder than ever, and grows ever larger!
+
+ "_September 18._
+
+ "I have not written for three days, fearing I should not be
+ mistress of my pen, nor be able to confine my thoughts within
+ words which must not exceed certain bounds. Now I feel equal to
+ the task, and so I will set about it. But I must warn you,
+ Franco, that I am not sure of being able to control my feelings
+ all the way through.
+
+ "Well, then, your grandmother's agent came to me on the evening
+ of the fifteenth. As the half-yearly payment of your income is
+ due on the sixteenth, I concluded he had come to bring the five
+ hundred _svanziche_, and so I told him at once that I would go
+ and prepare the receipt for him. Then the most gracious Signor
+ Bellini informed me that my receipt would not be sufficient.
+ 'How can that be?' I said. 'It was sufficient on the sixteenth
+ of March.' 'I don't know,' he replied. 'I have my orders.' 'But
+ Franco is not here.' 'I know that.' 'Then what did you come
+ here for?' 'I came to tell you that if Don Franco wishes to
+ draw his money he must present himself at the Signora
+ Marchesa's agency in Brescia.' 'And what if he cannot go to
+ Brescia?' Here Signor Bellini made a gesture that meant, 'That
+ is your affair.' I replied that it was all right, had coffee
+ brought for him, and told him I was anxious to purchase the
+ book-shelves in your old study at Cressogno from the Signora
+ Marchesa. Bellini turned yellow, and sneaked away like our old
+ dog Pato at Casa Rigey when he had been stealing.
+
+ "Most certainly the worthy Pasotti has had a finger in this
+ dirty business.
+
+ "The Prefect of Caravina was here yesterday and told us that
+ Pasotti went to Cressogno on the evening of the fourteenth. He
+ was very late, and reached your grandmother's house while they
+ were saying the rosary, so he had to mumble the prayers with
+ the others, which greatly amused the prefect, for it is his
+ opinion that Pasotti goes to Mass simply because he is an
+ Imperial and Royal pensioner, but that his only prayer is 'the
+ rats' Pater,' whatever that may be. He added that after the
+ others had gone out Pasotti remained in confabulation with your
+ grandmother, and that Bellini was also present. Bellini had
+ arrived that very day from Brescia. He probably brought the
+ money for you.
+
+ "We have enough left to live upon until the money comes from
+ you in October. That is all I wish to say.
+
+ "Maria sends you the cyclamen you will find enclosed. I must
+ also tell you the following incident. You can fancy she notices
+ the state of mind I am in. She often hears me discussing the
+ subject with Uncle Piero. The uncle is always the uncle! In his
+ whole life he has set down as rascals only such contractors as
+ offered him bribes, and another uncle his exact opposite, who,
+ after making use of his nephew for many years, died without
+ leaving him so much as a dried fig. He would never recognise
+ any other rascals, nor will he do so even now. Well, when I am
+ talking with him, Maria always wants to listen. I send her
+ away, but I sometimes fail to notice that she has returned very
+ softly. This morning she began saying her prayers. Oh, Franco!
+ your daughter is indeed very religious in your own way! The
+ last prayer she repeats is a _requiem_ for poor Grandmamma
+ Teresa. 'Mamma,' said she when she had finished, 'I want to
+ recite a _requiem_ for the grandmother in Cressogno also.'
+ Never mind my answer. My words were bitter; perhaps I did
+ wrong; I am even ready to confess I did wrong. Maria looked at
+ me, and said: 'Is the grandmother at Cressogno really wicked?'
+ 'Yes.' 'But why does Uncle Piero say she is not really wicked?'
+ 'Because Uncle Piero is so very good.' 'Then you are not so
+ very good?' My dear little innocent! I devoured her with
+ kisses, I could not help it! As soon as she was free to speak
+ she began again: 'You will not go to Paradise, you know, if you
+ are not so very good.' Paradise is her one idea. Poor Franco,
+ not to have her with you, you who would be so satisfied with
+ her! You are indeed making a great sacrifice! If it will give
+ you any pleasure I will tell you that the only possibility for
+ me to love God is through this child, for in her God becomes
+ visible and intelligible to me.
+
+ "Good-bye, Franco. I embrace you.
+
+ "LUISA.
+
+ "P. S. I must tell you that I have dismissed Veronica for the
+ first of October. This I did in the first place for reasons of
+ economy, and secondly because I have discovered that she is
+ flirting with a customs-guard. Oh! I almost forgot something
+ else! Half an hour ago Ester came to tell me she has decided to
+ say 'yes,' but she wishes to wait a day longer before seeing
+ the Professor. She has evidently succeeded in swallowing the
+ nose, but has not yet digested it."
+
+ FRANCO TO LUISA.
+
+ "TURIN, _September 14, 1855_.
+
+ "The 'knave of clubs' is threatened with dismissal by his
+ employer on account of the truly miserable state of his
+ clothes. The 'knave' is indeed given to extravagance, and has
+ not yet learned--_duris in rebus_--to handle a clothes brush,
+ but however that may be, the other 'wise men' have decided not
+ to lunch for a week in order that he may re-clothe himself. Now
+ observe the baseness of the human heart! The 'knave,'
+ overflowing with expressions of gratitude, calmly prepared to
+ go to his own lunch! This, however, we would not stand. So
+ to-day, instead of repairing to Stomach-ache Tavern, we spent
+ half an hour on the banks of the Po, near the Valentino,
+ watching the water flow past. The wise man from Udine had
+ brought his flute with him, because music should not be wanting
+ at an ideal lunch, at which the most Irimalchionian ideas of
+ food and beverages are handed round. He also had with him a
+ letter from his family, containing magnificent proposals for
+ his return to the fold. They even offer him a riding-horse. He
+ says he has written them that they will soon see him come
+ dashing up on one of King Victor Emmanuel's horses. Then the
+ Paduan, who is a wag, said to him with a great assumption of
+ seriousness, "Ah, my hero! So you are beginning to blow your
+ own trumpet as well as play the flute!" The flutist was wild,
+ but presently he calmed down, and played us a nice little tune.
+ The strange part of it all is that none of us felt hungry.
+ However, when the meeting was adjourned, we decided that the
+ 'knave's' clothing should be simplified, and that he could get
+ along without the _justicoat_, known in modern parlance as the
+ waistcoat.
+
+ "Ah! We would all gladly do without dinner as well as lunch if
+ we could only cross the Ticino with the King in April, 1856! We
+ talked of this on our way back to the city after the ideal
+ lunch. The Paduan observed that the water is too cold in April
+ and that we had better wait until the end of June. We began to
+ talk about how great Italy will be without the Germans. I
+ assure you we were all enthusiastic, in spite of the emptiness
+ of our stomachs. All except the Paduan of course, but of him I
+ must tell you that if he is reduced almost to the verge of
+ starvation, it is because he will not tolerate the Austrians,
+ and that although he is knocking at the door of forty, he will
+ fight better than some of these young fellows who are now
+ devouring an Austrian for lunch, and two for dinner! He says we
+ shall once more become a cat and dog kingdom. 'Mark this, for
+ example,' he added. 'When the Germans shall have departed, each
+ of us will return to his own home, and woe to you if you come
+ and worry me in Padua!' I can almost fancy I am listening to
+ Uncle Piero, when, at Oria, we used to discuss the greatness
+ and the splendid future of Italy. 'Yes, yes, yes!' he would
+ say, 'Yes, yes, yes! The lake will turn into milk and honey,
+ and the Galbiga will become a Parmesan cheese!'
+
+ "We shall see! We shall see!
+
+
+ "_September 21._
+
+ "Your letter has awakened in me a tumult of feelings which
+ cannot be described in writing.
+
+ "Of course my grandmother's action and the indirect malevolence
+ of Pasotti grieve me deeply, but your too violent indignation
+ is far more painful to me. When some one holding my
+ power-of-attorney presents himself at Brescia, payment cannot
+ be refused. It is true that you, a woman, are not expected to
+ know these things. I can also forgive your anger, for in the
+ beginning I myself was not unmoved. Then I asked myself: Why
+ are you indignant? Why are you surprised? Were you not already
+ acquainted with that evil spirit, and have you not already
+ suffered greater insult from it?
+
+ "I am most deeply grieved that you did not succeed in hiding
+ your feelings from Maria; I am deeply moved to learn that you
+ repented of this; and deeply thankful that you love the Lord in
+ the child, and that you have confessed as much to me. Indeed I
+ feel I should not be so overjoyed at this, for the heavens and
+ the earth are always inviting us to love God; He is visible in
+ every ray of light, and His voice may be heard in every truth.
+ But, at least, you are beginning to hear this voice! I have
+ never touched upon this subject in my letters because I feel I
+ am not capable of speaking worthily and efficaciously of it to
+ you. And now I shall let God Himself speak to you through the
+ child, and once more resume my silence. But remember, I am
+ waiting in suspense; I am hoping and praying.
+
+ "How can I express to you what I feel for Maria? Who could
+ describe this emotion, this immense tenderness, this consuming
+ desire to clasp her for a moment, only for one moment, to my
+ heart? Do you believe I shall be able to wait until November?
+ No, no, no! I will write, I will copy, I will do the work of
+ others, but I must come to Lugano sooner! Cover her with kisses
+ for me, and meanwhile, tell her that Papa carries his Maria in
+ his heart always, and that he sends her his blessing. Ask her
+ what she wishes me to bring her and let me know, without
+ thinking too much about my poverty.
+
+ "With my whole soul I embrace you, my Luisa.
+
+ "FRANCO."
+
+ LUISA TO FRANCO. "_September 24, 1855._
+
+ "At last! Ever since you left I have been longing for you to
+ touch upon this question. How did I explain myself that night,
+ in my painful emotion? How did you understand me, in your
+ equally painful emotion? For months and months I have felt the
+ necessity of speaking of this to you, and I have never done so
+ because I lacked courage.
+
+ "You will remember you accused me of pride that night. I
+ implore you to believe that I am not proud. I cannot even
+ understand such an accusation.
+
+ "Your letter gives me the idea that you think I have returned
+ to a belief in God. But did I ever tell you that I do not
+ believe in God? I cannot have told you so, for the whole
+ history of my opinions is engraved upon my mind, and the
+ fright, the distressing thought that I might perhaps no longer
+ be able to believe in God, came to me after you left. I know
+ the day, the very hour. At S. Mamette I had heard them talking
+ of a great dinner your grandmother had given at Brescia, while
+ I could not even procure the food and wine necessary for the
+ diet the doctor--fearing the loss of the right eye--had
+ prescribed for our beloved Uncle. I struggled against these
+ awful shadows, Franco, and I conquered. It is true the victory
+ is due, in a great measure, to Maria. I mean that if all these
+ black clouds hide the existence of Supreme Justice from me, a
+ ray of light from it reaches me through Maria; and this ray of
+ light makes me believe, makes me hope in the Orb. For it would
+ be too horrible if the universe were not governed by justice!
+
+ "That night then, I can only have told you that I understood
+ religion in a different way from you; that prayers and acts of
+ Christian faith did not seem to me essential to the religious
+ idea, but rather love and actions for those who suffer, rather
+ indignation and actions against those who cause suffering!
+
+ "And you wish to resume your silence? No, you must not. You
+ feel weak, you say. Do you feel you yourself are weak, or your
+ _Credo_? Let us reason, let us discuss. Confess that one reason
+ why you who believe, love your beliefs, is because they are
+ comfortably restful to the intellect. You stretch yourselves at
+ your ease in them as in a hammock, suspended in the air by
+ innumerable threads spun by men and fastened by men to many
+ hooks. You are comfortable, and if any one examines or lays his
+ hand upon one only of these threads, you are troubled, and
+ afraid it will snap, because very probably its neighbour will
+ snap also, and after that one, another; and so, to your great
+ fright and pain, your fragile bed will come tumbling down from
+ the sky to the earth. I know this fright and this pain, I know
+ that the satisfaction of walking on solid ground must be
+ purchased at this cost, and therefore I am not deterred by a
+ pity that would be false from discussing with you. But I may
+ be mistaken, and perhaps it may be you who will lift me up, up
+ to your resting place of fragile threads and air. Maria is not
+ equal to this task. If Maria makes me believe in God, it does
+ not follow that she can make me believe in the Church as well.
+ And you yourself believe in the Church above all things.
+ Therefore try to convince me, and I also will listen in
+ suspense, and though I do not pray, at least I can hope,
+ because now my longing for a perfect union with you is stronger
+ than ever before. Now, together with my old affection, I feel a
+ new admiration for you, a new gratitude towards you.
+
+ "Will you take offence at this outpouring of mine? Remember
+ that you must have found a letter from me in your handbag,
+ eight months ago, and that I have waited eight months for an
+ answer!
+
+ "The Professor and Ester now meet at our house as fiancés.
+ They, at least, are happy. She goes to church and he does not,
+ and neither of them thinks any more about it than they do about
+ the difference in the colour of their hair. And I believe nine
+ hundred and ninety-nine couples in a thousand do the same."
+
+ "I embrace you. Write me a long, long letter.
+
+ "LUISA."
+
+This letter did not leave Lugano until September 26th, and Franco
+received it on the 27th. On the 29th, at eight o'clock in the morning,
+he received the following telegram, also from Lugano:
+
+ "Child dangerously ill. Come at once.
+
+ "UNCLE."
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[N] _Tota_ is Piedmontese for young girl, often used in the sense of
+_grisette_. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[O] It must be remembered that Padua and its university were at that
+time dominated by the Austrians, and that patriotism drove this "already
+famous professor" to give up his position and migrate to free Piedmont.
+[_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+SIGNORA LUISA, COME HOME!
+
+
+In the early afternoon of the twenty-seventh of September Luisa was
+returning from Porlezza with some documents to copy for the notary. In
+those days the rocks between S. Michele and Porlezza were perfectly
+bare, and destitute of the narrow pathway which now runs across them.
+Luisa had had herself ferried that short distance, and had then walked
+along the lane that, like all those of my little world, both ancient and
+modern, would admit of no other method of travel; that pretty deceitful
+lane, that seeks in every way to avoid leading whither the traveller
+wishes to go. At Cressogno it passes above Villa Maironi, which,
+however, is not visible from the path.
+
+"What if I should meet her?" Luisa thought, her blood boiling. But she
+met no one. On the slope between Cressogno and Campo, the sun beat
+fiercely. When she reached the cool, high valley known as Campo, she sat
+down in the shade of the colossal chestnut-tree that is still alive, the
+last of three or four venerable patriarchs, and looked towards the
+houses of her native Castello, clustered in a circle round a lofty peak
+among those shady crags. She thought of her dead mother, and was glad
+she, at least, was at rest. Presently she heard some one exclaim: "Oh,
+blessed Madonna!" It was Signora Peppina, who was also on her way from
+Cressogno, and who was in despair because neither at S. Mamette, Loggio,
+nor Cressogno had she been able to find any eggs. "Carlo will beat me
+this time! He'll kill me outright, my dear!" She would have liked to go
+on to Puria, but she was half dead with fatigue. What roads! How many
+stones! "When I think of my Milan, my dear!" She sat down on the grass
+beside Luisa, saying many affectionate things to her, and wanted her to
+guess with whom she had been speaking about her, only a few minutes
+before. "With the Signora Marchesa! Certainly! Yes indeed! Oh, my
+dear...." It looked as if Signora Peppina had great things to tell, but
+did not dare do so, and as their presence in her throat was causing her
+discomfort, she was bound to make Luisa draw them out. "What a
+business!" she would exclaim from time to time. "What a business! What
+language! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" But Luisa held her peace. At last the
+other yielded to the terrible tickling in her throat, and poured forth
+her story. She had gone to the Marchesa's cook to borrow some eggs, and
+the Signora Marchesa, hearing her voice, had insisted upon seeing her,
+and had kept her there chattering. In her heart she had felt what she
+believed to be a heavenly inspiration, which prompted her to speak of
+that unhappy family. Perhaps this was the right moment! She must speak
+about Maria, "that precious darling, that sweet little mouse, that dear
+little creature!" But alas! The inspiration had come from the devil and
+not from Heaven! She had begun to speak, had been going to say how
+lovely Maria was, how sweet, and how wonderfully precocious, when that
+ugly old woman interrupted her, looking as black as a thunder-cloud.
+"Say no more about her, let her alone, Signora Bianconi. I am aware she
+is very badly behaved, and indeed one cannot expect her to be
+otherwise!" Then Peppina had tried sounding another note, and had
+touched upon Uncle Piero's misfortune in having lost his eye. "The Lord
+chastises the dishonest, Signora Bianconi." Here Peppina glanced at
+Luisa and regretted her chattering. She began caressing her, reproaching
+herself for having spoken, and entreated her to be calm. Luisa assured
+her that she was perfectly calm, that nothing coming from that source
+could surprise her. But Peppina insisted upon giving her a kiss, and
+then went her way, murmuring a string of "Oh, dear me's!" and haunted by
+a vague suspicion that she had made a mess of it!
+
+Luisa rose and turned to look towards Cressogno, clenching her fists.
+"If I only had a horse-whip!" she thought "If I could only lash her!"
+The idea of a meeting, the old idea that had made her quiver with
+passion four years ago, on the night of her mother's death, had flashed
+across her mind shortly before, as she passed Cressogno, and had once
+more taken violent possession of her, and now made her start suddenly
+downwards. She checked her steps at once, however, and returning slowly,
+went towards S. Mamette, stopping every now and then to think, her brow
+clouded, her lips tightly compressed, seeking to untangle a knot in the
+thread of a scheme she was weaving in her secret heart.
+
+At Casarico she sought out the Professor to offer him an opportunity of
+meeting Ester at her house the next day at two o'clock. As she was
+leaving she asked him if the Maironi documents were still in his
+possession. The Professor, greatly astonished at this question, replied
+that they were, expecting an explanation, but Luisa went away without
+further words. She was anxious to get home, for she could not rely
+either upon Cia or Uncle Piero to look after Maria, and she had little
+confidence in the girl to whom she had given notice. She found Maria
+alone on the church-place, and scolded Veronica. Then she went to her
+room and began a letter to Franco.
+
+She had been writing about five minutes when she heard a gentle tap on
+the window of the adjoining room. That window looked out upon a short
+flight of steps, leading from the square by the church to some stables,
+and thence to a short cut to Albogasio Superiore. Luisa went into the
+little room, and saw behind the iron grating the red and distracted
+countenance of Barborin Pasotti, who motioned to her to be quiet, and
+asked if she had visitors. Upon being reassured, Barborin glanced
+swiftly up and down, and hastily descending the steps entered the house
+in great trepidation.
+
+Poor woman, she was on forbidden ground, and before her loomed the
+spectre of the wrathful Pasotti. Pasotti was in Lugano. "Oh, Lord, yes!
+In Lugano." Having imparted this information to Luisa the unhappy woman
+began to roll her eyes and squirm. Pasotti had gone to Lugano on account
+of the great dinner that was to take place on the morrow--to purchase
+provisions. How? Had Luisa not heard about the dinner? Did she not know
+who was coming? Why! The Signora Marchesa! The Signora Marchesa Maironi!
+Luisa started.
+
+Barborin, misunderstanding the expression of her eyes, thought she read
+a reproach there, and began to cry, her face buried in her hands,
+shaking those two poor black curls, and saying through her fingers that
+she was so distressed about it, so distressed! She would rather have
+lived on bread and water for a year than invite the Marchesa to dinner.
+This dinner was indeed a cross to her, for it took a deal of thought,
+and then there was the trouble of preparing everything, to say nothing
+of Pasotti's awful scoldings, but the worst part of it all was the idea
+of displeasing Luisa. If, at least, it had been a cross she could lay
+at the feet of our Lord, but she could not do that, for it contained too
+much wrath. She had come on purpose to tell her Luisa how distressed she
+was on account of this dinner.
+
+"Forgive me, Luisa!" she said in her hoarse voice, that seemed to come
+out of an ancient and tightly closed spinet. "I really could not prevent
+it, indeed I could not, indeed I could not!"
+
+They were seated side by side on the sofa. Barborin drew a great
+handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to her face with one hand,
+while with the other she sought Luisa's hand, without turning her head.
+But Luisa rose, and going to the writing-desk, scrawled upon a piece of
+paper: "When is the Marchesa coming? What road will she take?" Barborin
+answered that the dinner was to be at half-past three; that at about
+three the Marchesa would leave her gondola at the landing-stage of the
+Calcinera, where Pasotti was to meet her with four men and the famous
+litter that had belonged to an archbishop of Milan a century ago.
+
+Luisa listened to every detail in silence and with the greatest
+attention. Before leaving, Signora Pasotti said she longed to kiss that
+love of a Maria, but was afraid the child might not know how to keep the
+secret. At this point the good creature plunged her left arm into her
+pocket up to the elbow, and drew out a small tin boat, which she begged
+Luisa to give to her little daughter in the name of another battered
+old craft, whose identity must not be made known. Then she rushed down
+stairs and disappeared.
+
+Luisa returned to her letter to Franco, but having thought a long time,
+pen in hand, she finally put the letter away again without having added
+a word, and drawing the notary's documents towards her, began to copy.
+Her resolution was formed. Fate itself was offering her this meeting
+with the old wretch. She had neither a doubt nor a scruple. The passion
+which had sprung up within her so long ago, which she had caressed and
+fostered, had now gathered that strength which, when it reaches its
+full, transforms the thought into the deed at one blow, and in such a
+manner that all responsibility seems removed from the agent, while in
+reality, it is simply carried back to the first inward movement of
+yielding to temptation.
+
+Yes, on the morrow, either at the landing-stage, on the Calcinera path,
+or on the church-place of the Annunciata, she would stand scornfully
+before the Marchesa, openly declaring war, and advising her to have a
+care, for now all legitimate weapons of defence were to be used against
+her. Yes, she would tell her so, and then she would act, act alone and
+unaided, since Franco would take no steps. If Franco had made promises
+she had not. A little later she wrote a note to the lawyer V. begging
+him to come to her as soon as possible. She wished to learn from him how
+to use the documents in Gilardoni's possession. Then she resumed her
+copying for the notary at Porlezza.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The next day Professor Beniamino arrived at Oria an hour earlier than
+the time fixed by Luisa. After Ester's "yes," the man had become
+transfigured. He seemed much younger than before. The sallowness of his
+skin, now irradiated by a rosy inner light, had entirely disappeared,
+and was only perceptible on his bald head, where Luisa daily expected to
+see the hair begin to grow. He neither walked nor breathed as before.
+But to-day he arrived with a clouded brow.
+
+It was reported at S. Mamette that the physician of Pellio had been
+arrested and taken to Como, and that letters and memoranda had been
+found in his possession which incriminated others, among whom was Don
+Franco Maironi.
+
+"I do not fear for Franco," said Luisa. "As to the rest, my good
+Professor, we will set the physician of Pellio, who is a big fellow and
+weighs pounds and pounds, down in the score the Emperor of Austria will
+have to pay. And now, Professor, I want you to promise me something."
+
+"What do you wish me to promise?"
+
+"I need those famous documents."
+
+"They are at your service."
+
+"Pray note that it is I and not Franco who ask for them."
+
+"Yes, yes. Whatever you do is well done. I will bring you the documents
+to-morrow."
+
+"That is right."
+
+Luisa knitted as she talked, her needles clicking continually, but her
+seeming calm and good spirits did not entirely conceal her inward
+excitement, which had begun on the previous day, had become more intense
+during a sleepless night, and was now steadily increasing as the moment
+for setting out drew nearer. Even in the playful tone of her voice an
+unusual chord seemed to be vibrating. About her hair, which was always
+most carefully dressed, there was a something of disorder, like the
+touch of a light breath brushing gently across her brow.
+
+Ester arrived at a quarter to two, and explained that she had come a
+little earlier because she had heard it thunder. Thunder? Luisa hastened
+to the terrace to examine the sky. It certainly did not look very
+threatening. Above the point of Cressogno and over Galbiga the sky was
+perfectly serene as far as the hills of the Lake of Como. Towards Carona
+it was indeed rather dark, but not so very dark, after all. What if the
+Marchesa should not come on account of the weather? She seized the
+little telescope that was kept in the loggia. There was nothing to be
+seen. Of course; it was still too early. In order to reach the Calcinera
+at three, the Marchesa, with that heavy gondola of hers, must start at
+about half-past two. Luisa went back to the hall, where she found
+Ester, the Professor, and Maria. She would have preferred to have Maria
+remain in the loggia with Uncle Piero, but Signorina Missipiṕ always
+clung fast to her mother when there were visitors, becoming all eyes and
+ears. Luisa decided that when she was ready to start she would send
+Maria away, meanwhile she would keep her with her. As to the happy
+couple, they were seated apart, and were conversing almost in whispers.
+
+Luisa, who now found it difficult to keep quiet, once more returned to
+the terrace, and looked through the telescope. Her heart gave a bound!
+The gondola was just coming in sight at the Tentịn.
+
+It was a quarter-past two o'clock.
+
+Some one coming from Albogasio had stopped in the church-place to speak
+to some one coming down the steps at the side of Casa Ribera. They were
+saying: "Signor Pasotti has just gone down with the litter. There was a
+troop of children following."
+
+Now the sky was overcast, even above the point of Cressogno and the
+Galbiga. Only the hills of the Lake of Como were still in the sunshine.
+The terrible wind which accompanies a thunderstorm, and which in
+Valsolda is called the _Caronasco_, was threatening seriously now. Above
+Corona the colour of the clouds was gradually becoming one with the
+colour of the hills. The great cloud over Zocca d'i Ment had become
+dark blue, and the Boglia was also beginning to knit its brows. The
+lake was calm and leaden.
+
+Luisa had decided to start when the gondola should have arrived opposite
+S. Mamette. She now returned to the hall.
+
+Maria had obeyed her mother's orders, and had not moved from the chair
+where Luisa had left her, but noticing that the Professor was speaking
+with animation and at great length to Ester, she had asked:
+
+"Are you telling her a story?"
+
+At this point Luisa entered.
+
+"Yes, dear," said Ester, laughing. "He is telling me a story."
+
+"Oh, tell it to me also! To me also!"
+
+A muffled peal of thunder resounded. "Go, Maria dear," said Ester. "Go
+to your room and pray the Lord not to send a terrible thunderstorm or
+hail."
+
+"Oh, yes, yes! I will pray to the Lord!"
+
+The little one went out, and entered the alcove-room, serious and
+dignified, as if in that moment the safety of the whole Valsolda
+depended upon her prayer. Prayer to her was always a solemn matter; it
+was a point of contact with mystery which always made her assume a grave
+and attentive air, as did also certain tales of enchantment and magic.
+She mounted a chair and said the few prayers she knew, and then assumed
+the attitude she had seen the most pious women of town assume in church,
+and began moving her lips as they did, repeating a wordless prayer.
+Seeing her thus one acquainted with the terrible secret of the next hour
+would have felt that the guardian angel of little children was standing
+beside her at that moment, and admonishing her to pray for something
+besides the vineyards and olive-groves of Valsolda, for something nearer
+to her, something the angel did not name, and she neither knew nor could
+put into words. The onlooker would have felt also that in these, her
+inarticulate whisperings, there was an element of occult tenderness, and
+tragedy, the docile surrender of a sweet soul to the admonitions of its
+guardian angel, to the mysterious will of God.
+
+At half-past two the great lowering clouds above Carona belched forth
+another peal of thunder, to which the other great clouds above Boglia
+and the Zocca d'i Ment immediately responded. Luisa ran out to the
+terrace. The gondola was opposite S. Mamette, and was making straight
+for the Calcinera. She could see quite plainly that the boatmen were
+pulling hard. As Luisa laid aside the telescope the first gust of wind
+swept through the loggia, banging doors and windows. Terrified by a
+feeling that she would be too late, she hastily closed both doors and
+windows, passed swiftly through the hall, seized an umbrella and went
+out, without telling any one she was going, and without closing the
+house-door behind her. She started towards Albogasio Inferiore. Just
+beyond the cemetery, on the spot they call Mainè, she met Ismaele.
+
+"Where are you going in such weather, Signora Luisa?"
+
+She answered that she was going to Albogasio, and passed on. When she
+had gone about a hundred paces she remembered that she had not let
+Veronica know she was going out, that she had not told her to close the
+windows in the bedrooms, and look after Maria. She might send word by
+Ismaele. But he had already disappeared round the corner of the
+cemetery. In her heart she felt an impulse to go back, but there was not
+time. The rumbling of the thunder was continuous; great, infrequent
+drops were striking here and there on the maize; gusts of wind swept at
+intervals through the mulberry-trees, forerunners of the whirlwind of
+the _Caronasco_. Luisa opened her umbrella and hastened forward.
+
+A furious downpour overtook her in the dark lanes of Albogasio. But she
+never thought of taking refuge in a doorway, and pushed on undaunted.
+She met a troop of children who were running away from the rain, after
+waiting in vain on the church-place of the Annunciata for the passing of
+the Marchesa in the litter. While she was crossing the short space
+between the town-hall of Albogasio and the church, the wind turned her
+umbrella inside out. She began to run, and reached the strip of ground
+behind the church that overlooks the path leading down to the
+Calcinera. There, protected by the church from the driving rain, she
+righted her umbrella as best she could, and looked over the parapet.
+
+The Annunciata rests upon the summit of a cliff, sparsely covered with
+brambles and wild fig-trees, which rises from the foot of the Boglia and
+juts out over the lake, shutting in the narrow path to Calcinera on the
+west. The strip of ground where Luisa stood runs along that part of the
+cliff's brow. From here she could have followed the course of the boat
+from the waters of Cressogno as far as the landing-stage, but now that
+the rain was pouring down in sheets, a white mist hid all things from
+view. However, unless the Marchesa returned to Cressogno, she must
+certainly pass that way, no matter where she landed, for there, at the
+foot of the cliff, where it juts out with the coast, the narrow stairway
+starts upwards, leading from the Calcinera to the church-place, and this
+is the only way of reaching Albogasio Superiore either from the
+landing-stage below, or from S. Mamette, Casarico, or Cadate.
+
+Presently the violence of the downpour lessened, the dark phantoms of
+the mountains began to stand out against the white background. Luisa
+gazed down at the lake. There was no gondola on the lake, and no litter
+on the path; nothing was to be seen. This troubled her. Was it possible
+that the gondola had returned to Cressogno? The mist cleared rapidly,
+and Cadate became discernible, while at the door of the boathouse of
+the "Palazz" the prow of the gondola appeared, shimmering white in the
+thin, grey mist. Ah, the Marchesa had taken refuge at the "Palazz," and
+Pasotti with his bearers had done the same. The thunderstorm was now
+practically over and the litter would soon appear.
+
+But instead, ten long minutes elapsed. Luisa kept her eyes fixed on the
+point where the path from Cadate turns into the Calcinera. No movement
+of thought was going on within her. Her whole soul was watching and
+waiting, that was all. People passed her on the left going up to
+Albogasio or coming down, but each time she inclined her umbrella so
+that she was hidden from view, so that they might not recognise her,
+thus avoiding greetings and conversations.
+
+At last a group of people appeared at the bend of the path. Luisa could
+distinguish the litter, and behind the litter Pasotti and Don Giuseppe,
+and the Marchesa's boatmen bringing up the rear. Still she did not move,
+but followed the litter with her eyes as it slowly advanced. Presently
+she closed her umbrella, for the rain had almost ceased. Five or six
+children from Albogasio reappeared. She ordered them off sharply. They
+hesitated to obey, but a sudden downpour of rain, unaccompanied by wind
+or thunder, put them to flight. The litter had now reached the foot of
+the steps. Luisa moved forward.
+
+Her eyes glittered coldly, and she held herself very erect. Absorbed in
+one thought, she heeded not at all the pelting rain, which beat upon
+her head and shoulders, which surrounded her with a misty veil and loud
+noise. Perhaps she was glad of this outburst of passion in the elements,
+which was in keeping with the passion within her. She went slowly down,
+clasping the handle of her closed umbrella very tightly, as if it had
+been the handle of a weapon. There is a somewhat sharp bend in the
+stairway, and the bottom is not visible until this bend is reached. Upon
+arriving there she saw the litter had stopped. The two boatmen were
+taking the places of two of the bearers.
+
+Luisa went down as far as the spot where a great walnut-tree spreads its
+branches above the stairs. Here she stopped just as the Marchesa's
+bearers began coming upwards. Everything was as Luisa wished. Pasotti
+and Don Giuseppe, bringing up the rear with open umbrellas, could not
+see her. The bearers, on reaching the spot where she stood, would be
+obliged to stop to let her pass.
+
+As they drew nearer she recognised the two who carried the front of the
+litter; one was Ismaele's brother, the other a cousin of Veronica's.
+When they were within a yard or two of her she ordered them, by an
+imperious gesture, to stop. They obeyed at once, and set the litter
+down, the two other bearers doing the same without knowing why. Pasotti
+raised his umbrella, and seeing Luisa, made a movement of astonishment,
+frowning blackly. Seizing Don Giuseppe, he drew him aside that she
+might pass, never dreaming that the meeting was intentional.
+
+But Luisa did not move. "You did not think of meeting me, did you,
+Signor Pasotti?" she said in a loud voice. The Marchesa stuck her head
+out, caught sight of her, and withdrew it again, saying, with new
+strength in her usually lifeless voice:
+
+"Go on!"
+
+At that moment loud cries rang out from the top of the church-place
+above them. "_Sciora_ Luisa! _Sciora_ Luisa!" Luisa did not hear.
+Pasotti had called angrily to the bearers: "Go on!" and they had resumed
+the poles.
+
+"Go on if you like," said she, resolved to walk along beside the litter.
+"I have only a few words to say."
+
+If Pasotti and the old Marchesa had anticipated tears and supplications
+this fierce glance and ringing voice must now have led them to expect
+something quite different.
+
+"Words at present?" said Pasotti, coming forward almost threateningly.
+
+"_Sciora_ Luisa! _Sciora_ Luisa!" a voice cried close at hand in a tone
+of anguish, while with the cries was mingled the noise of hastening
+steps. But Luisa did not appear to hear anything. "Yes, at present!" she
+said, addressing Pasotti with indescribable haughtiness. "I am generous
+enough to wish to warn this lady that----"
+
+"_Sciora_ Luisa!"
+
+This time she was forced to pause and look round. Three or four women
+were upon her, distraught, dishevelled, sobbing: "Come home at once!
+Come home at once!" These faces, these tears, these voices, detached her
+from her passion, from her purpose, at one blow.
+
+She rushed in among the women, exclaiming: "What is the matter?" and
+they could only repeat, their eyes starting from their heads: "Come
+home, come home at once!"
+
+"But what has happened, you stupid things?"
+
+"The child, the child!"
+
+"Maria? Maria? What is it, what is it?" she shrieked like a mad woman.
+Amidst their sobbing she caught the word _lake_, and uttering a great
+cry, she dashed them out of her path like a wild beast, and rushed up
+the stairs. The women could not keep up with her, but on the
+church-place there were others waiting in spite of the rain, and they
+were also crying and sobbing.
+
+Luisa felt herself growing faint, and fell to the ground on reaching the
+last step.
+
+The women ran to her, many hands seized her and lifted her up. She
+shrieked: "Good God! Is she dead?" Some one answered: "No, no!" "The
+doctor?" she gasped. "The doctor?" Many voices answered that he was
+already there.
+
+Once more she appeared to regain all her energy, and sprang eagerly
+forward. Eight or ten people hastened after her, but only two could keep
+up with her. She flew! At the cemetery she met Ismaele and another man,
+and cried out as soon as she caught sight of them:
+
+"Is she still alive? Is she alive?" Ismaele's companion turned and ran
+back to tell them that the mother was coming, but Ismaele was weeping,
+and could only answer: "Good God! _Sciora_ Luisa!" as he tried to detain
+her. Luisa pushed him wildly aside and rushed on, followed by the
+boatman who had now quite lost his head and was calling out to her as
+she ran: "Perhaps it is nothing! Perhaps it is nothing, after all!" But
+the pelting, ceaseless, even downpour, seemed to be contradicting his
+words with its wail.
+
+Gasping for breath, she reached the square by the church of Oria, and
+had the strength to call out: "Maria! My Maria!" The window of the
+alcove-room was open. She heard Cia crying and Ester chiding her.
+Several people, among them Professor Gilardoni, came out to meet her.
+The Professor, as pale as a ghost, was weeping silently with clasped
+hands. The others whispered: "Courage, there is still hope!" In her
+exhaustion she came near falling. The Professor encircled her waist with
+one arm and drew her up the stairs, which were crowded with people, as
+was also the corridor of the first floor.
+
+As Luisa passed, the Professor almost carrying her, voices laden with
+words of comfort murmured: "Courage! Courage! Who can tell? Who can
+tell?" At the door of the alcove-room she freed herself from the
+Professor's arm, and went in alone.
+
+They had been obliged to light a lamp, because it was already dark in
+the alcove, owing to the rain. Poor, sweet little Maria lay naked upon
+the bed, her eyes half open, and her lips slightly parted. Her face was
+still tinged with pink, but her lips were discoloured and her body was
+deathly pale. The doctor, with Ester's help, was trying to induce
+artificial breathing, alternately raising the tiny arms above the head
+and stretching them along the sides, and compressing the abdomen.
+
+"Doctor! Doctor!" Luisa sobbed.
+
+"We're doing all we can," the doctor answered gravely. She flung herself
+face downwards upon her baby's little icy feet, and covered them with
+wild kisses. Ester began to tremble. "No, no!" the doctor exclaimed.
+"Courage! Courage!" "Help!" shrieked Luisa. The doctor checked her by a
+gesture, and motioned to Ester to pause in her work. He bent over
+Maria's little face, placed his mouth upon hers and having breathed
+deeply several times, raised his head again. "But she is still rosy, she
+is still rosy!" Luisa gasped softly. The doctor sighed gently, struck a
+match and held it close to Maria's lips.
+
+Three or four women who were praying on their knees, rose and approached
+the bed, holding their breath in suspense. The door leading into the
+hall was open, and other faces appeared there, all silent and intent.
+Luisa, kneeling beside the bed, kept her eyes fixed on the flame. A
+voice murmured:
+
+"It quivers!"
+
+Ester, standing very erect behind Luisa, shook her head. The doctor put
+out the match. "Hot flannels," he ordered. Luisa rushed from the room,
+and the doctor once more resumed the movements of the arms. When Luisa
+returned with the hot flannels they began to rub the child's chest and
+bowels, he on one side, she on the other. Presently, noting Luisa's
+pallor, and the distortion of her features, he motioned to a girl to
+take her place. "You must give up," said he, for Luisa had made a
+protesting gesture. "Even I am tired. You cannot go on." Luisa shook her
+head without speaking and continued her work with convulsive energy. The
+doctor silently shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows, and gave
+his place to the girl, ordering Ester to bring more flannel with which
+to cover the child's legs. Ester went out and herself heated the
+flannel, for Veronica, on hearing what had happened, had disappeared and
+was nowhere to be found. In the corridor and on the stairs people were
+discussing the how and where of the event, and as Ester passed all
+inquired: "What news? What news?" Ester made a despairing gesture and
+went on without answering. Then the talk once more flowed on in an
+undertone.
+
+No one knew how long the child had been in the water. While the
+thunderstorm had been raging a certain Toni Gall had happened to be in
+the stables behind Casa Ribera. Reflecting that if the engineer's boat
+was not tied fast enough it would be dashed to pieces against the walls
+of the boathouse, he bounded down the steps, and seeing the door open,
+went in. The boat was being frightfully knocked about, and was drenched
+with the splashing of the waves that broke against the walls. It was
+tossing and writhing among its chains, and had set itself crosswise,
+with the stern knocking against the wall. Opposite the door that opens
+from the road, there runs a gallery from which two flights of steps lead
+down to the water, the first on the side of the prow, the second on the
+side of the stern. Toni Gall went down the second flight to tighten the
+stern chain. There, between the boat and the lowest step, where the
+water is from sixty to seventy centimetres deep, he saw Maria's little
+body. She was floating face downwards, with her back above the water. As
+he drew her out he saw a little tin boat lying on the bottom. He carried
+the child to the house, crying out with his terrible voice, bringing the
+whole town to the spot, and fortunately the doctor also, who happened to
+be in Oria, and then he helped Ester undress the poor little creature,
+who gave no sign of life.
+
+With whom had she been before going down to the lake? Not with Veronica,
+for before Luisa went out Veronica had been seen going into the
+storeroom where the flowerpots were kept, with her customs-guard. Nor
+had she been with Ester and the Professor. Ester had sent her to pray in
+the alcove-room, and had not seen her again. Cia had been sewing and
+Uncle Piero had been writing when they heard Toni Gall's shouts. Maria
+must have gone straight from the alcove-room to the boathouse to sail
+her boat, and as ill-luck would have it, she had found both the house
+door and the door of the boathouse open. It was Toni Gall's opinion that
+she had been in the water several minutes, for she was floating at some
+distance from the spot where the little tin boat lay. Standing in the
+hall where Cia, the engineer, the Professor, and others from the village
+were assembled, he was describing his frightful discovery for the
+hundredth time. All save Uncle Piero were sobbing. Seated on the sofa
+where Ester and the Professor had sat, he seemed turned to stone. He
+shed no tears and spoke never a word. Toni Gall's chattering was
+evidently annoying to him, but he held his peace. His noble countenance
+was rather solemn and grave than distressed. It was as if the shade of
+ancient Destiny had arisen before his eyes. He did not even ask for
+news; it was evident he was without hope. And it was also evident that
+his sorrow was very different from all this nervous, noisy, fleeting
+sorrow that surrounded him. His was the mute, calm grief of the wise and
+the strong.
+
+From the open door of the alcove-room came voices now commanding, now
+questioning, but for an hour and a half no one could have asserted that
+they had heard Luisa's voice. From time to time half-frightened, almost
+happy exclamations were heard. Some one in there had thought they
+perceived a movement, a breath, the glow of life. Then all who were
+outside would press forward. Uncle Piero would turn his face towards the
+door, and only at such moments would his expression become slightly
+troubled. Alas! Each time he saw the others turn slowly away, in
+heartbroken silence. It was past five o'clock now, and as it continued
+to rain the light had begun to fade.
+
+Finally, at half-past five, Luisa's voice was heard. She gave a loud and
+terrible cry, which froze the blood in the veins of all. The doctor's
+voice answered in accents of eager protest. It was whispered that he had
+made a gesture which said plainly: "It is hopeless now, let us desist,"
+but at her cry he had once more renewed his efforts.
+
+The monotonous lament that the fine rain sent in through all the open
+windows made the stillness of the house seem more sepulchral than ever.
+The hall and the corridor were growing dark, and the pale candle-light
+from the alcove-room seemed brilliant by contrast. People began to go
+away silently and on tiptoe, one shadow after another, and presently
+steps and hushed voices and the beat of heavy boots were heard on the
+pavement of the street below. Cia went softly towards her master, and
+asked him in a whisper if he would not eat something. He silenced her
+by an imperious gesture.
+
+After seven o'clock, when all outsiders had left save Toni Gall,
+Ismaele, the Professor, Ester, and three or four women who were in the
+alcove-room, long, low groans, which seemed hardly human, broke the
+silence. The doctor came into the hall. It was now quite dark, and he
+knocked against a chair. "Is the engineer here?" he asked aloud. "Yes,
+sir," Toni Gall replied, and went for a candle. The engineer neither
+spoke nor moved.
+
+Toni Gall soon returned with a candle and Dr. Aliprandi--whom I am happy
+to recall here as a frank and upright man, possessed of a fine intellect
+and a noble heart--approached the sofa where Uncle Piero sat.
+
+"Engineer Ribera," said he with tears in his eyes, "it is time for you
+to do something now."
+
+"For me to do something?" said Uncle Piero, raising his eyes.
+
+"Yes. We must at least try to get her away. You must come and speak a
+word. You are like a father to her. At such moments as these it is a
+father's place to speak."
+
+"Let my master alone," Cia grumbled. "He can't do these things. It would
+just be making him miserable to no purpose."
+
+Now pitying voices and kisses mingled with the groans.
+
+The engineer pressed his clenched fists upon the sofa, and remained
+motionless for a moment, with bowed head. Then he rose, not without
+difficulty, and said to the doctor:
+
+"Must I go alone?"
+
+"Do you wish me to be present?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very well. Our efforts may be of no avail. I should not wish to force
+her, but we must, at least, make an attempt."
+
+The doctor dismissed the women who were still in the alcove-room; then,
+standing in the doorway, he turned to the engineer and motioned to him
+to come in.
+
+"Donna Luisa," said he gently, "here is your uncle, who is coming to
+beseech you----"
+
+The old man staggered as he came forward, although his face was
+composed. He advanced a few steps and then stopped. Luisa was seated
+upon the bed with her dead baby in her arms, holding her tight, kissing
+her face and neck, and uttering long, heart-rending groans as she
+pressed her lips to the little body.
+
+"Yes, yes, yes," she was saying, with almost a smile of tenderness in
+her voice. "It is your uncle, dear, your uncle, who is coming to see his
+little treasure, his little Maria, his little Missipiṕ, who loves him
+so much! Yes, yes, yes!"
+
+"Luisa," said Uncle Piero, "you must control yourself. Everything that
+could be done has been done. Now come with me--don't remain here any
+longer--come with me."
+
+"Uncle, Uncle!" cried Luisa, in a voice full of tenderness but without
+looking towards him, while she pressed the little dead body to her
+breast and rocked backwards and forwards. "Come here! Come here to your
+Maria! Come! Come to us, for you are our uncle, our dear uncle! No,
+dear, no, dear! Our uncle will not forsake us."
+
+Uncle Piero shuddered. His grief overwhelmed him for a moment, and
+wrenched a sob from him.
+
+"Let her rest!" he murmured in a stifled voice. She did not appear to
+hear him, and continued: "We will go to our uncle, dear, you and I. Do
+you want to go to him, Maria? Yes, yes! Let us go!" She slid from the
+bed to the floor and went to Uncle Piero. Clutching her sweet, dead
+burden to her breast with one arm, she threw the other about the old
+man's neck, and whispered: "A kiss, a kiss, for your little Missipiṕ.
+One kiss, only one!"
+
+Uncle Piero bent down and kissed the little face, already sadly ravaged
+by death, wetting it with two great tears.
+
+"Look, look, Uncle!" she said. "Doctor, bring the candle! Yes, yes!
+Don't be cruel, doctor. Look, Uncle! See what a little treasure she is,
+doctor!"
+
+Aliprandi hesitated, and tried to resist her appeals, but in this mad
+grief there was something sacred, something that must be respected. He
+obeyed, and raising the candle, held it close to the tiny corpse, that
+was intensely pitiful with its half-open eyes and dilated pupils, this
+little corpse that had once been Maria, sweet little Missipiṕ, the old
+man's delight, the smile and the love of the house.
+
+"Look at this tiny breast, Uncle. See how we have abused it, poor
+treasure, how we have hurt it with all our rubbing. It was your mamma,
+Maria darling! Your horrid mamma, and that wicked doctor there."
+
+"Enough!" said the doctor resolutely, setting the candle on the
+writing-desk. "Talk to your child if you will, but not to this one. Talk
+to the one in Heaven."
+
+The effect of his words was terrible. All tenderness vanished from
+Luisa's face. She drew back, frowning fiercely, and pressing her dead
+child closer to her breast. "No!" she cried aloud. "No, not in Heaven!
+She is mine! She is mine! God is wicked! I will not give her to Him!"
+
+She drew ever farther back, back into the alcove, where, standing
+between the great bed and the little one, she once more began uttering
+those low groans which did not seem human. Aliprandi sent the trembling
+old man out of the room. "It will pass! It will pass!" he said. "We must
+have patience. I will stay with her now." Ismaele came into the hall and
+drew the Professor aside.
+
+"Has Signor Don Franco been informed?" he asked.
+
+They consulted the uncle and it was decided that a telegram in Uncle
+Piero's name, and announcing serious illness, should be sent from Lugano
+the next morning, for it was now too late. There was some one else in
+the hall. Poor Barborin Pasotti, who had hastened thither while her
+husband was absent escorting the Marchesa back to Cressogno. She was
+sobbing, and in despair because she had given Maria the little boat. She
+wished to go to Luisa, but the doctor, hearing loud crying, came out and
+begged her to be calm and silent. Barborin went to cry in the loggia.
+The Curate, Don Brazzova, and the Prefect of the Caravina, who had been
+dining at Casa Pasotti, had accompanied Barborin. Later the Curate of
+Castello, Intrioni, arrived, weeping like a child. He was determined to
+go to Luisa in spite of the doctor's protests, and knelt in the centre
+of the room, entreating her to give her baby to the Lord. "Listen,
+Signora Luisa, listen. If you will not give her to God, give her to her
+grandmother Teresa, to your own dear mother who will be so happy to have
+her with her in Heaven."
+
+Luisa was touched, not by his words, but by his grief, and answered
+gently: "Can you not understand that I do not believe in your Heaven? My
+Heaven is here!"
+
+Aliprandi made a gesture of entreaty to the Curate, who went out,
+sobbing.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The doctor left Oria towards midnight with the Professor. The whole
+house was quiet, nor was any voice to be heard in the alcove-room.
+Aliprandi had spent the last two hours in the hall with the Professor
+and Ester, and not a single cry, not a groan, nor any movement had he
+heard. He had gone twice to look in. Luisa was sitting on the edge of
+her bed, her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands,
+contemplating the little bed which Aliprandi could not see. This state
+of immobility caused him more anxiety than the state of intense
+excitement that had preceded it. As Ester was going to remain all night
+he advised her to try and rouse her friend, to make her talk and weep.
+
+Some women from the village were to watch with Ester, and Ismaele would
+be there until five o'clock, when he must start for Lugano. Uncle Piero
+had gone to bed.
+
+Aliprandi and the Professor stopped on the square by the church to look
+at the lighted window of the alcove-room, and to listen. Silence.
+"Accursed lake!" the physician exclaimed, taking his companion's arm and
+once more starting forward. He was certainly thinking of the sweet
+little creature the lake had killed when he uttered the words, but in
+his heart there was also a great fear that other troubles might be
+approaching, that the treacherous waters had not yet done their worst;
+and he was overwhelmed with pity for the poor father, who, as yet, knew
+nothing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+SHADOWS AND DAWN
+
+
+On receiving the telegram Franco at once hastened to the office of the
+_Opinione_, in Via della Rocca. Perceiving his agitation, Dina said:
+"Ah! then you already know?" Franco's blood ran cold, but on hearing
+about the telegram Dina exhibited great surprise. No, no, of that he
+knew nothing. Information had reached him from the Prime Minister that
+the Austrian police had been searching houses and making arrests in
+Vall' Intelvi, and that among the papers of a certain doctor there was
+one in which the name of Don Franco Maironi was mentioned, with
+particulars of a compromising nature. Dina added that at a moment of
+such great anguish for a father, he would refrain from going into an
+explanation of Count Cavour's interest in him; suffice it to say that he
+himself had mentioned Franco to the Count, who had expressed his regret
+that a Lombard gentleman, bearing such a distinguished name, should be
+obliged to live in such straitened and obscure circumstances in Turin.
+Dina believed it was his intention to offer him a position in the
+Foreign Office. Now, of course, Franco must go. But the little girl
+would recover and he must return as soon as possible. Meanwhile he would
+stop at Lugano, would he not? He must, at least, await news there, and
+unless it became absolutely necessary, he must not venture into
+Lombardy. After this affair at Vall' Intelvi it would be extremely
+imprudent. As Franco remained silent, the director once more broached
+the subject before bidding him good-bye. "Be prudent! Don't let them
+take you!" But Franco would not answer.
+
+Ever since the receipt of the telegram Franco had walked the streets of
+Turin like one in a dream, deaf to the noise of his own footsteps,
+unconscious of what he saw, of what he heard, going mechanically
+wherever it was necessary for him to go at this juncture, wherever a
+certain servile and lower faculty of the soul might lead him, that
+faculty composed of reason and of instinct, which is capable of guiding
+us through a labyrinth of city streets, while the mind, concentrated
+upon some problem, some passion, takes no heed of our movements. He sold
+his watch and chain to a watchmaker of Doragrossa for one hundred and
+thirty-five lire, purchased a doll for Maria, stopped at Café Alfieri
+and Café Florio to leave word for his friends, and was at the station by
+eleven o'clock, although the train for Novara which he was to take did
+not start until half-past eleven. At a quarter-past the Paduan and the
+young man from Udine appeared. They endeavoured to encourage him with
+all sorts of rosy suppositions and unconvincing arguments, but he
+answered never a word and only longed intensely for the moment of
+departure, longed to be alone, to be hastening towards Oria, for he was
+determined to go to Oria, no matter how great the danger might be. He
+entered a third-class carriage, and when the locomotive whistled and the
+train began to move, he heaved a great sigh of relief, and gave himself
+up entirely to thoughts of Maria. But there were too many people about
+him, they were too many, too rough, and too noisy. At Chivasso, feeling
+he could no longer bear their chattering and laughter, he changed into
+an empty second-class carriage, where he began to talk aloud, his eyes
+fixed on the opposite seat.
+
+Good God! why had they not added another word to the telegram? Just one
+word more! At least the name of the illness.
+
+A terrible name flashed across his brain: Croup! He gasped with horror,
+and threw out his arms against this phantom, his muscles suddenly
+stiffening, then, letting his arms sink once more, he heaved a sigh so
+deep that it seemed to expel the very soul, even life itself, from his
+breast. It must indeed be a sudden illness, or Luisa would have written.
+Another name flashed across his mind. Brain-fever! He himself had been
+at the point of death with brain-fever when a child. Oh God! oh God! It
+must be that! God Himself had sent this thought to him. He was shaken
+by tearless sobbing. Maria, his treasure, his love, his joy! Yes,
+indeed it must be that. He could see her gasping, flushed, watched over
+by her mother and the doctor. In a moment he pictured to himself long
+hours spent by her bedside, long hours of anguish, then he pictured the
+birth of hope, heard the first whisper of that sweet voice:
+
+"Papa! my papa!"
+
+He started to his feet, clasping and wringing his hands in a mute
+impulse of prayer. Presently he sank back into his seat again,
+exhausted, and turned unseeing eyes upon the flying landscape, vaguely
+conscious of some connection between the misty Alps looming motionless
+there against the northern horizon and the thought that dominated him,
+looming motionless and torpid within his soul. From time to time the
+jolting of the train would rouse him from his stupor, suggesting the
+idea of a painful race, stimulating his heart to rush, to beat thus
+also. Sometimes he would close his eyes, the better to picture his
+arrival at home. Images would at once rise from his heart to his
+eyelids, but they were always changing, continually moving, and he could
+not hold them for more than a second. Now it was Luisa hastening towards
+him on the stairs; now the uncle holding out his arms to him from the
+door of the hall; now Dr. Aliprandi who was opening the door of the
+alcove-room to him, and saying: "She is better, she is better!" Now in
+the darkened room, filled with shadows, it was Maria herself who gazed
+at him with glassy, feverish eyes.
+
+When he reached Vercelli, he felt as if he were a thousand miles from
+Turin, and once more awoke to a sense of reality. How should he get from
+Lugano to Oria? What route should he take? Should he go openly by the
+lake, showing himself at the Custom-House? And what if they would not
+allow him to proceed because his passport had not been stamped on
+leaving Italy as the law demanded? Or, worse still, what if a warrant of
+arrest be out against him on account of those papers taken from the
+doctor at Pellio? He had better keep to the hills. They might arrest him
+later, but with his knowledge of the neighbourhood, acquired on his many
+hunting expeditions in 1848, he was almost sure of reaching home. This
+wearisome task of planning and arranging absorbed his attention for some
+time, and kept him occupied until he had passed Arona, on the Lake
+Maggiore steamer. He had arranged to reach Lugano in the middle of the
+night. Would there be some one there to meet him? If there were no one
+there, perhaps he might hear something at the Fontana pharmacy, where
+the Valsolda people were in the habit of congregating. If God would only
+permit reassuring news to reach him at Lugano he would postpone decision
+as to his journey to Oria until the morrow. He therefore determined to
+make no plans before reaching Lugano, and he prayed fervently that the
+Almighty would allow this good news to reach him. The sky was overcast;
+the mountains had already assumed their sad autumnal tints; a thin mist
+hung over the lake; the bells of Meina were ringing; on the steamer
+there were but few passengers, and Franco's prayer died in his heart,
+stifled by a crushing sadness, while his eyes unconsciously followed a
+flock of white gulls, that were winging their flight towards the distant
+waters of Laveno, towards that hidden country where his soul was.
+
+It was past seven when he reached Magadino. He climbed Monte Ceneri on
+foot, following the path that leads to the road-mender's house, took a
+carriage at Bironico and reached Lugano shortly after midnight. He
+alighted in the Piazza, near Café Terreni. The coffee-house was closed,
+the square was deserted and dark, and silence reigned; even the lake,
+which could be seen gently rising and falling in the gloom, was silent.
+Franco paused a moment on the shore, hoping that some one had come to
+meet him, and would presently appear. He could not see Valsolda, hidden
+behind Monte Brè, but that same water mirrored Oria, and slept in the
+boathouse at home. A wave of peace eased his heart somewhat; he felt he
+was among things familiar to him. Every human voice was hushed, but the
+great, dark hills spoke to him, Monte Caprino and the Zocca d'i Ment
+more than all, for they overlooked Oria. They spoke gently to him,
+suggesting comfort-bringing thoughts. Nineteen hours had passed since
+the telegram was sent. All danger might now be over.
+
+As no one appeared he went to the Fontana pharmacy, and rang the bell.
+For many years he had known that most worthy, cordial, and honest man,
+Signor Carlo Fontana, who has now passed away with the world of long
+ago. Signor Carlo came to the window, and was greatly surprised to see
+Don Franco. He had no news from Oria. He had spent the last two days at
+Tesserete, and had returned only a few hours before, so could tell him
+nothing. His assistant had started for Bellinzona that evening. Franco
+thanked him and walked away in the direction of Villa Ciani, for he was
+now determined to go to Oria at once.
+
+Two routes were open to him. He could either climb the Swiss slope of
+the Boglia from Pregassona, strike the heights of Bolla; cross the Pian
+Biscagno and the great beech wood, coming out at the venerable
+beech-tree of the Madonnina on the brow of the hill which slopes down
+into Lombardy, and then drop down on to Albogasio Superiore and Oria; or
+he could take the easy Gandria road, leading towards the lake, and then
+follow that treacherous and dangerous path which starts from Gandria,
+the last Swiss village, cuts along the face of the almost perpendicular
+cliff, crosses the frontier some hundred metres above the lake, runs on
+to the Origa farm, drops into the ravine of Val Malghera, rising once
+more to the Rooch farm, where it joins the paved way which passes above
+Niscicoree and finally leads down to Oria. The first route was much
+longer and far more difficult, but it afforded a better chance of
+eluding the vigilance of the guards at the frontier. On leaving the
+Fontana pharmacy Franco had been fully determined to go that way, but
+when, on reaching Cassarago, where the roads to Pregassona and to
+Gandria meet, he saw how near the point of Castagnola was, and reflected
+that it would take him less than half an hour to go from Castagnola to
+Gandria, and that another hour and a half would take him from Gandria to
+Oria, the idea of climbing the Boglia, of walking seven or eight hours,
+became intolerable to him. Besides, if he went by the Boglia he would
+arrive in the daytime, and this, of course, would jeopardise his safety.
+He turned his face resolutely towards Castagnola and Gandria. The sky
+was now completely overcast with heavy clouds. Beneath the great
+chestnut trees that line the road to Castagnola, he could not see where
+to set his feet, but how much worse it would have been in the great
+beech forest of the Boglia if Franco had chosen that route. It was just
+as dark in Castagnola, and worse in the labyrinth of narrow lanes at
+Gandria. After wandering backwards and forwards among these lanes for
+some time, always mistaking his way, Franco at last found himself on the
+path leading to the frontier, and stopped to rest. Before starting
+forward again in the impenetrable darkness, before braving the dangers
+of a difficult path, and of a meeting with the Austrian guards, and then
+facing another terrifying step, that of entering his house, of putting
+the first question, of listening to the first answer, he raised his
+heart to God, and concentrated all the powers of his mind upon a
+determination to be strong and calm.
+
+Once more he started forward. Now he must give his whole attention to
+the path, in order not to fall or lose his way. The little fields of
+Gandria soon come to an end. Then wild tracts follow, that jut out over
+the lake, and are covered with a thick growth of low bushes; then come
+ravines with crumbling sides, that go tumbling straight downwards, and
+are half hidden by the bushes. In such places as these Franco was
+obliged to feel his way blindly, to cling first to one branch, then to
+another, plunging his face in among the leaves, that, at least, smelt of
+Valsolda, and dragging himself from bush to bush. He must explore the
+ground with his foot, trembling lest it give way beneath him, and
+seeking for traces of the path. The bundle he carried was small, but
+nevertheless it embarrassed him. The rustling of the foliage as he
+brushed past, irritated him; it seemed as if it must be heard a long way
+off, on the hills and on the lake, in the solemn hush of the night. Then
+he would stop and listen. He could hear only the distant thundering of
+the falls at Rescia, the hooting of owls in the woods over yonder,
+across the lake, and from time to time, far below, a sharp stroke on the
+water, for which he could not account. It took him quite an hour to
+reach the frontier. There, between the Valle del Confine and the Val
+Malghera, the forest had been recently cut down, and the rocky slope was
+bare. This enhanced both the danger of falling, and that of discovery.
+He crossed this tract very slowly, often pausing, sometimes crawling on
+hands and knees. Before reaching Oria he heard the faint dip of oars far
+below. He knew the customs-guards' boat sometimes passed the shore of
+Val Malghera at night. Surely these were the guards. Beneath the
+chestnut trees of Origa he breathed freely once more. There he was
+hidden, and could walk noiselessly on the grass. He descended the
+western slope of Val Malghera and climbed up the other side without
+encountering any obstacles. On approaching Rooch his heart beat
+furiously. Rooch is a sort of outpost of Oria. There the little path
+ends that he had so often followed with Luisa on mild winter afternoons,
+gathering violets and laurel leaves, and talking of the future. He
+remembered that the last time, they had had a discussion concerning the
+most desirable husband for Maria, and the qualities he must possess.
+Franco had hoped he would be a country gentleman, but Luisa had been in
+favour of a civil engineer.
+
+Rooch is a little farmhouse perched above a few small fields which lie
+terraced against the hillside, and form a small, light clearing among
+the surrounding woods. The stable, a room above it, a small portico in
+front of the stable, a cistern under the portico--that is all. The
+little portico is just above the narrow paved way that passes some two
+or three metres below. It is only a few steps from the comb of the
+ravine of Val Malghera, to Rooch. Having reached the comb, Franco heard
+low voices in the farmhouse.
+
+He paused and drawing aside, stretched himself, face downwards, upon the
+grass, beyond the path, and near a cluster of low chestnut trees. The
+voices became silent, but he heard a man's steps coming rapidly towards
+him; he lay quite still, holding his breath. The man stopped almost at
+his side, waited a moment, and then slowly retraced his steps, saying in
+a loud voice, with a foreign accent: "There is no one here, it must have
+been a fox."
+
+The guards! A long silence followed, during which Franco did not dare to
+move. The guards once more began to talk, and he decided to crawl
+noiselessly backwards, to drop down into Val Malghera and pass behind
+and above the house. Slowly, very slowly he pulled off his boots. He was
+about to move when he heard two or three guards leave the farmhouse,
+talking as they came towards him. He heard one of them say: "Is no one
+going to stay here?" and another answered: "It is not necessary."
+
+Four guards brushed past him without noticing him. They certainly had
+no suspicions, for they were talking unconcernedly. One was saying that
+a person may remain ten minutes under water without drowning; but
+another maintained that five minutes is long enough to cause death. The
+fourth passed him in silence, but hardly had he done so when he stopped.
+Franco shuddered upon hearing him strike a match. He lit his pipe,
+puffed at it two or three times, and then called out to his companions
+in a loud voice, for they had already gone some way down the slope of
+Val Malghera.
+
+"How old was she?"
+
+One of the others answered, louder still:
+
+"Three years and one month."
+
+Then the fourth guard puffed twice more and started forward. Three years
+and one month! Maria's age! Franco, lying on his face, raised himself
+upon his elbows, clutching convulsively at the grass. The noise of the
+steps died away down below in Val Malghera.
+
+"My God! My God!" he cried. Rising to his knees he repeated the terrible
+words in his heart, slowly, as if stupefied. "_She was!_" He wrung his
+hands, moaning once more: "My God! My God!"
+
+After this he was hardly conscious of his movements. He went down to
+Oria with the vague sensation of having grown suddenly deaf, and his arm
+which clasped the doll trembled violently. Reaching the Madonna del
+Romit he crossed the town, and instead of going down by the Pomodoro
+stairway he followed the path that joins the short cut to Albogasio
+Superiore, and descended those same stairs that Barborin Pasotti had
+descended the day before the catastrophe. On the wall of the church he
+noticed a pale light which was reflected from the alcove-room. He
+neither paused beneath the window, nor called out, but stepped under the
+porch and tried the door.
+
+It was open.
+
+From the coolness of the night he passed into a heavy, close atmosphere,
+laden with the unfamiliar odour of burnt vinegar and incense. With
+difficulty he dragged himself up the stairs. Before him, on the landing,
+half-way up, light fell from above. On reaching the spot he saw that the
+light came from the alcove-room. He went on and presently stood in the
+corridor. The door of the room was wide open; there must be many candles
+burning in there. Mingled with the odour of incense he recognised the
+perfume of flowers, and began to tremble so violently that he could not
+go on. No sound reached him from the room. Suddenly he heard Luisa's
+voice, speaking tenderly, quietly: "Do you want me to go where you are
+going to-morrow, Maria? Do you want your mamma under the ground with
+you?" "Luisa! Luisa!" sobbed Franco, and they found themselves in each
+others' arms, on the threshold of their nuptial chamber, where the
+memory of their love was still alive, but where its sweet fruit lay
+dead.
+
+"Come, dear. Come in," said she, and drew him forward. In the centre of
+the room, between four lighted candles, stood the little open coffin, in
+which lay poor Maria, under a mound of flowers, broken and wilted like
+herself. There were roses, heliotrope, jasmine, begonia, geraniums,
+verbena, flowering sprays of _olea fragrans_, and other blossomless
+sprays, all dark and shiny, from the carob tree she had loved so well,
+because it had been dear to papa. Flowers and leaves lay across her face
+as well.
+
+Franco fell upon his knees sobbing: "My God! My God!" while Luisa chose
+two tiny rosebuds, placed them in Maria's little hand, and kissed her
+brow.
+
+"You can kiss her hair," said she, "but not her face. The doctor does
+not wish it."
+
+"But you have just done so!"
+
+"Oh, it is a different thing for me."
+
+But instead he pressed his lips to her icy lips, that showed among the
+geraniums and the carob leaves, touching them gently, as in a tender,
+but not despairing farewell to the outward wrapping now cast aside and
+empty, which had once belonged to his beloved baby, who had gone to
+dwell elsewhere.
+
+"Maria! My darling Maria!" he whispered between his sobs. "What was the
+matter?"
+
+He had not realised the connection between the guards' talk about
+drowning and the rest of their conversation.
+
+"You have not heard?" said his wife calmly, and without surprise. They
+had told her how the telegram had been worded, but she was also aware
+that Ismaele was to have met Franco in Lugano. She did not know,
+however, that as Franco had not arrived by the coach from Ceneri,
+Ismaele had gone to bed.
+
+"Poor Franco!" said she, kissing his hair almost maternally. "There was
+no illness."
+
+He started to his feet, terrified, and exclaiming: "What do you mean?
+There was no illness?"
+
+Leu, the person whom Franco had heard breathing heavily in her sleep,
+now came in with the intention of fumigating the room, but seeing Franco
+she stopped in amazement. "Come in," said Luisa. "You may place the
+brazier outside the door; sprinkle whatever is necessary upon it, and
+then return to the kitchen and sleep, my good Leu." The woman obeyed.
+
+"There was no illness?" Franco repeated.
+
+"Come," his wife answered. "I will tell you everything."
+
+She made him sit down on the _dormeuse_ at the foot of their bed. He
+wished her to sit beside him, but she made a gesture of refusal, and of
+entreaty that he should not insist, that he should be quiet and wait;
+then, sinking down on the floor beside her baby, she began the painful
+story in a low, even voice, that sounded almost indifferent to the
+tragedy it was relating, a voice that resembled poor, deaf Barborin's,
+seeming to come from a far-away world. She began with her meeting with
+Peppina Bianconi at Campo, and--always in the same calm tone--told him
+all the thoughts, all the sentiments that had brought her to confront
+his grandmother, told him everything, down to the moment when she had
+realised that Maria was indeed dead. When she had finished she rose to
+her knees, and kissing her dead child, whispered to her: "Now your papa
+thinks that I killed you, but it is not true, dear, indeed, it is not
+true!"
+
+He rose, quivering with nameless emotion, and bending over her, raised
+her--neither yielding nor resisting--from the floor. Touching her
+resolutely but tenderly, he placed her on the _dormeuse_ beside him. He
+encircled her shoulders with his arm, pressing her to him, speaking with
+his lips on her hair, wetting it with the hot tears, which from time to
+time choked his voice. "My poor Luisa! No, indeed you did not kill her!
+How could you suspect me of thinking such a thing? I bless you instead
+for all that you have done for her ever since she came into the world;
+I, who have done nothing, bless you who have done so much. Never say
+such a thing again! Never, dear. Our Maria----"
+
+A violent sob checked his words, but the man immediately exerted his
+strong will, controlled himself and continued:
+
+"Don't you know what our Maria is saying now? She is saying: 'My darling
+mamma, my darling papa, now you are all alone, you have only each
+other, you are more closely united than ever; give me to God that He may
+give me back to you; that I may become your little guardian angel, and
+lead you to Him at last, that we may dwell together in all eternity,' Do
+you hear her saying these words, Luisa?"
+
+She trembled in his arms, shaken by spasmodic quiverings; her face bent
+low, resisted Franco when he would have raised it. At last she took his
+hand and kissed it. Then he also kissed her on the hair, and murmured:
+"Answer me."
+
+"You are good!" Luisa replied, in a faint and despairing voice. "You
+wish to spare me, but you do not believe what you say. You must feel
+that I caused her death, that if I had adopted your sentiments, your
+ideas, I should not have left the house, and if I had not left the house
+this would not have happened, and Maria would still be alive."
+
+"Don't think of that, my dear, don't! You might have believed Maria was
+with Veronica; you might have remained in the room with the fiancés, and
+the accident would have happened just the same. Don't think of this any
+more, Luisa. Rather listen to what Maria is saying."
+
+"Poor Franco! Poor, poor fellow!" said Luisa, with such bitterness of
+terrible hidden meanings, that his blood ran cold. He shuddered and was
+silent, unable to grasp her meaning, and at the same time dreading an
+explanation. Slowly they withdrew from each other's arms, Luisa being
+the first to move. She again took her husband's hand and wished to
+carry it to her lips, but Franco drew her hand tenderly towards him and
+made a last attempt.
+
+"Why will you not answer me?"
+
+"I should hurt you too much," she murmured.
+
+He began to realise the irreparable ruin of her soul, and was silent. He
+did not withdraw his hand, but felt his strength deserting him, felt
+darkness and icy cold creeping over him, as if Maria, whom he had evoked
+in vain, had died a second time. Anguish, fatigue, the heavy atmosphere,
+the mingled odours of the room, affected him so strongly that he was
+obliged to go out, or he would have fainted.
+
+He went to the loggia. The windows were open and the sweet, fresh air
+restored him. Out there in the dark he wept for his little daughter
+unrestrainedly, without even that restraint which light imposes. He
+knelt by one of the windows, crossed his arms on his breast and wept,
+his face raised towards heaven, tears and words flowing together,
+disjointed words of anguish and of faith, calling out to God for help,
+to God, to God who had dealt him the blow. With streaming eyes he cried
+out, begging that his tears might continue to flow, confessing that he
+knew full well why the child had died. Had he not prayed again and again
+that God would preserve her from the danger of losing her faith through
+her mother's influence? Ah! that last night! That last night when Maria
+had said to him: "Darling papa, a kiss!" and so many other tender
+things, and would not let go his hand, how he had prayed! The memory of
+it was a terror, a joy, a spasm to him. "Lord, Lord!" said he, gazing
+heavenward. "Thou wert silent, but my voice reached Thee. Thou hast
+answered my prayer in Thine own mysterious way. Thou hast taken my
+treasure to Thyself, she is safe, she is happy, she awaits me. Thou wilt
+reunite us." The fast-falling tears that accompanied his last words had
+no bitter taste, but presently, while thinking once more of that last
+night, he was bitterly sorry he had left Maria without telling her that
+he had deceived her. "Maria, my own Maria!" he entreated, weeping,
+"forgive me!" Good God! it seemed impossible that all this could be
+true; it seemed impossible that if he went into the alcove-room he
+should not find her there asleep in her little bed, her head drooping
+towards her shoulder and her tiny hands resting, palms upward, upon the
+sheet. Indeed she was still there, but----! Oh! how awful it all was!
+Surely his tears would never end.
+
+Leu came in bringing a light and a cup of coffee. The Signora had sent
+her. He felt a thrill of tender gratitude towards his wife. Good God!
+Poor Luisa! How hopeless was her grief! And what an awful semblance of
+punishment for her in the blow which had fallen upon her at that very
+moment, that very moment! She herself had realised that he must think
+this, and he did indeed think it, but had denied his thought in order
+to spare her, and this she had also realised. And was this awful
+semblance of punishment destined not to bear any fruit whatsoever? She
+seemed to shrink from God more than ever now, and who could tell how far
+she might wander! Poor, poor Luisa! It was not Maria he should pray for,
+Maria did not need his prayers. He must pray for Luisa, pray night and
+day, trusting also in the prayers of the precious little soul now hidden
+in God.
+
+He talked with Leu, feeling more calm now, and had her tell him all she
+had seen, all she had heard of this terrible event. "The Lord wanted
+your little child for Himself," said Leu at last. "If you could only
+have seen her in church, with her little folded hands and her serious
+little face! She looked just like an angel. Indeed she did." Then she
+asked Franco if she should leave the light. No, he preferred to be in
+the dark. At what time was the funeral to take place? At eight o'clock,
+Leu thought. When Leu once began talking it was always hard for her to
+leave off, and perhaps now she was afraid of staying in the kitchen all
+alone. "Her papa!" she added, before going out. "Her dear papa! It isn't
+more than a week ago that I came here with some chestnuts for the
+Signora, and that blessed little creature, who spoke so well, for all
+the world like a lawyer, said to me: 'Do you know, Leu, my papa is
+coming to Lugano very soon, and I am going to see him.' Oh, dear! What a
+dreadful thing!"
+
+His tears flowed afresh. Ah, God had taken the child to save her from
+the errors of the world. God had punished Luisa for her errors, but was
+not this awful punishment intended for him also? Was he not guilty also?
+Ah, yes! Very, very guilty! A clear vision of his past life rose before
+him, his life, barren of all useful labour, full of vanities,
+corresponding ill with the beliefs he professed, a life which rendered
+him responsible for Luisa's unbelief. The world accounted him virtuous
+for certain qualities he possessed through no merit of his own, for they
+were inborn in him, and he felt that for this very reason God's judgment
+of him must be doubly severe; for God had endowed him richly, and he had
+gathered no fruit. Once more he fell upon his knees and humbly accepted
+his punishment, in the desolate contrition of his heart, in his burning
+desire to expiate, to purify himself, to become worthy of re-union with
+Maria at last.
+
+A long, long time he prayed and wept. At last he went out to the
+terrace. Above Galbiga and the hills of the Lake of Como the sky was
+growing light; day was breaking. From neighbouring Boglia a cold north
+wind was blowing. From far and near, from the lake shore, from the lofty
+bosom of the valley, bells rang out. The thought that Maria and
+Grandmother Teresa were together and happy, rose suddenly, clear and
+sweet in Franco's heart. It seemed to him the Lord was saying to him: "I
+afflict thee, but I love thee. Wait, be steadfast, and thou shalt
+know." The bells chimed far and near, from the lake shore and from the
+lofty bosom of the valley. The sky grew ever brighter above Galbiga and
+towards the Lake of Como, along the steep, black profile of the Picco di
+Cressogno; and the sweep of smooth water down there in the East, between
+the great shadows of the mountains, was like a shining pearl. The sprays
+of the passion-flower vine, touched by the north wind, waved silently
+above Franco's head, in quivering anticipation of the light, of the
+immense glory that was rising out of the east, colouring clouds and
+clear sky with itself, and welcomed by the bells.
+
+To live, to live, to work, suffer, adore, and ascend! That was what the
+light demanded! He must carry the living away in his arms, carry the
+dead away in his heart, return to Turin, work for Italy, die for her!
+The dawning day demanded this. Italy! Italy! Beloved Mother! Franco
+clasped his hands in a transport of desire.
+
+Luisa heard the bells also. She wished that she might not have heard
+them, wished that day might never dawn, bringing with it the hour in
+which Maria must be consigned to the grave. On her knees beside her
+baby's little body she promised her that every day of her life she would
+come and talk to her, bring her flowers, and bear her company; morning
+and evening she would come. Then she sank down and gave herself up to
+those dark thoughts which she had not wished to confess to her husband,
+and which had grown and matured in her during the last twenty-four
+hours, as a malignant infection of remote origin which has lain dormant
+in the system, being caught up at last in the current of the blood,
+suddenly bursts forth with overwhelming violence.
+
+All her religious views, her faith in the existence of God, her
+scepticism concerning the immortality of the soul were tending towards
+subversion. She was convinced that she was in no way responsible for
+Maria's death. If indeed there did exist an Intelligence, a Will, a
+Power which was master of men and of things, then the monstrous guilt
+was of this Intelligence, which had coldly pre-ordained Barborin
+Passotti's visit and gift; had withdrawn Maria from those who should
+have watched over her in her mother's absence; had lured her,
+defenceless, towards destruction; had killed her. That same Power had
+checked her, the mother, when she had been about to perform an act of
+justice. Fool that she was, ever to have believed in Divine Justice!
+There was no such thing as Divine Justice! Instead there was the altar
+allied to the throne; the Austrian God, a party to all injustice, all
+tyranny, author of suffering, and of evil, slayer of the innocent and
+protector of the wicked. Ah! if such a God did indeed exist, it were
+better that Maria be there in that body, better that no part of her
+should live on to fall into the toils of this fiendish Omnipotence!
+
+But it was possible to doubt the existence of this horrible God. And if
+He did not exist we might desire that a part of a human being should
+continue to live beyond the grave, live not miraculously, but naturally.
+That was perhaps easier to conceive than the existence of an invisible
+tyrant, of a Creator who was cruel to the beings of His own creation.
+The rule of nature without God was certainly preferable; better a blind
+master, who was not our enemy, not deliberately cruel. But henceforth,
+at least, no thought must be wasted in any way, either in this life or
+in the next--if, indeed, the next exist--upon that vain phantom,
+Justice!
+
+The faint light of dawn mingled with her thoughts as it had mingled with
+Franco's thoughts, solemn and consoling to him, hateful to her. He, the
+Christian, meditated an insurrection of wrath and of arms against
+brothers in Christ, for love of a dot upon the surface of one of
+Heaven's orbs; she meditated an immense rebellion, the liberation of the
+Universe. Her thought might be the greater, her intellect might appear
+the stronger, but he whom the human generations learn to know even
+better as they advance in civilisation and science; He who allows each
+generation to honour Him according to its strength, and who gradually
+transforms and raises the ideals of the nations, making use even of
+inferior and fleeting ideals, when He deems it opportune, in His
+government of the world; He who, being Peace and Life, has allowed
+Himself to be called the God of armies, had impressed the sign of His
+judgment upon the face of the woman and upon the face of the man. While
+dawn burned into the glory of sunrise, Franco's brow became ever more
+brightly illumined by a light from within, and through his tears his
+eyes shone with the vigour of life; but Luisa's brow grew ever darker,
+and from the depths, the shadows mounted to her dull eyes.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+As the sun rose a boat came in sight off the point of Caravina. It
+brought the lawyer, V., who had come from Varenna in obedience to
+Luisa's call.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+PHANTOMS
+
+
+On the evening of that same day a numerous company assembled in the
+Marchesa's red drawing-room. Pasotti had brought his unlucky wife by
+main force, and he had brought Signor Giacomo Puttini also, although
+that gentleman had held out for some time against the most gracious
+Controller's despotic caprices. The curate of Puria and Paolin had also
+put in an appearance, both being anxious to observe the effects of the
+tragedy on the old lady's marble countenance. Paolin of course dragged
+the worthy Paolon in his wake, he being still in a state of limp and
+sheepish resistance. The curate of Cima, who was devoted to the
+Marchesa, came also, as did the prefect of Caravina, whose heart really
+belonged to Franco and Luisa, but who, as parish-priest of Cressogno,
+was bound to treat their enemy with a certain amount of consideration.
+
+She received them all with her usual impassive expression, with her
+usual calm greeting. Signora Barborin, who had been cautioned by her
+master against alluding to the event at Oria, was made to sit on the
+sofa beside her hostess, who graciously accepted the homage of the
+others, put the usual questions to Paolin and Paolon concerning their
+respective consorts, and having satisfied herself that both Paolina and
+Paolona were enjoying the best of health, she folded her hands over her
+stomach and relapsed into dignified silence, her courtiers forming a
+semicircle around her. Pasotti, noting the absence of Friend, inquired
+for him with obsequious solicitude. "And Friend? Dear little Friend?"
+Although, had he had him in his clutches--_solus cum solo_--the nasty,
+little snarling beast which worried his trousers and his wife's skirts,
+he would have joyfully wrung his neck. Friend had been ill for two days.
+The entire company was greatly affected by this news, and loudly
+deplored the misfortune, secretly hoping the while that the accursed
+little monster might not recover. Barborin, not hearing a word, but
+seeing so many mouths at work, so many faces assuming a look of
+affliction, naturally supposed they were speaking of Oria, and turning
+to her neighbour Paolon, questioned him with her eyes, opening her mouth
+and pointing towards Oria. Paolon shook his head. "They are talking
+about the little dog," said he. The deaf woman did not understand, but
+she said: "Ah!" on general principles, and assumed an expression of
+affliction like the rest.
+
+Friend ate too much, and his food was too rich, and he was now suffering
+from a disgusting skin disease. Paolin and the curate of Puria gave
+much careful advice. The prefect of Caravina had elsewhere expressed the
+charitable opinion that the creature ought to be pitched into the lake
+with his mistress tied to his neck. While the others were discussing the
+favourite with such lively interest, the prefect was thinking of Luisa
+as he had seen her that morning, her features distorted, opposing mad
+resistance first to the closing of the coffin, and then to its removal.
+He was thinking how, in the cemetery, she with her own hands had cast
+the earth upon her child, telling her to be patient, that she herself
+would soon come and lie down beside her, and that that would be their
+Paradise.
+
+In spite of the animated and eager conversation concerning the mangy
+Friend, the phantoms of the dead child and the distracted mother were
+hovering in the room. Presently there came a moment of silence when no
+one could think of anything more to say about the dog, and then the two
+unhappy phantoms were heard by all, demanding that they speak of them,
+and all could see them distinctly in the eyes of one who loved them, in
+the eyes of poor, deaf Barborin. Her husband at once sought a diversion,
+and propounded a problem in _tarocchi_ to Signor Giacomo. The other
+_tarocchi_ enthusiasts immediately took up the question, the voices of
+the phantoms could no longer be heard, and every one breathed more
+freely.
+
+It was nine o'clock. Usually at that hour the footman would come in
+with two lighted candles, and prepare the little _tarocchi_ table in one
+corner of the room, between the great fireplace and the balcony on the
+West. Then the Marchesa would rise and say, with her habitual, drowsy
+calm:
+
+"If you are ready----"
+
+The two or three guests would invariably answer: "Quite ready," and then
+the three-handed or four-handed game would begin.
+
+The old footman--who was devotedly attached to Don Franco--hesitated
+that night about bringing the candles. He did not believe it possible
+that his mistress and her guests would have the courage to play. At five
+minutes past nine, as the footman had not yet appeared, each one began
+privately commenting upon the delay. Before entering the house Paolin
+had maintained that there would be no playing, while the prefect had
+maintained the contrary. He now cast a triumphant glance at his
+adversary, as did also Paolon, who, from a spirit of solidarity with the
+other Paul, was pleased that he should be in the right. Pasotti, who had
+felt sure of his game, began to show signs of uneasiness. At seven
+minutes past nine the Marchesa requested the prefect to ring the bell.
+It was now the prefect's turn to bestow a triumphant glance on Paolin,
+and he put into it all the silent contempt for the old woman that it
+would hold.
+
+"Prepare the table," said the Marchesa to the footman.
+
+He soon returned with the two candles. From the depths of his sorrowful
+eyes also, the phantom of the dead child looked forth. While he was busy
+arranging the candles, the cards, and the ivory counters on the table,
+the room was enveloped in that silence which always preceded the rising
+of the Marchesa. But the Marchesa showed no intention of rising. She
+turned to Pasotti, saying:
+
+"Controller, if you and the others wish to play----"
+
+"Marchesa," Pasotti promptly replied, "my wife's presence must not deter
+you from enjoying your game. Barborin is not a good player, but she
+delights in looking on."
+
+"I shall not play this evening," the Marchesa answered, and although the
+tone was mild, the refusal was decisive.
+
+The worthy Paolon, who was always silent and could not play _tarocchi_,
+believed he had at last discovered a word which was both wise and
+obsequious, and which he might safely utter:
+
+"Exactly!" said he.
+
+Pasotti gave him a surly glance, thinking: "What business is it of his?"
+but he did not venture to speak. The Marchesa appeared not to have
+noticed Paolon's utterance, and added:
+
+"The others can play if they like."
+
+"Never!" exclaimed the prefect. "We should not think of such a thing!"
+
+Pasotti drew his snuff-box from his pocket. "The _Signor Prefetto_,"
+said he, speaking very distinctly, and slightly raising his open hand, a
+pinch of snuff between the thumb and forefinger, "The _Signor Prefetto_
+must speak for himself. For my part, as the Signora Marchesa wishes us
+to play, I am quite willing to oblige her."
+
+The Marchesa was silent, and the fiery prefect, encouraged by her
+silence, grumbled in an undertone:
+
+"After all, we are in a house of mourning."
+
+Never since Franco had left the house had his name been mentioned at
+these evening assemblies in the red drawing-room, nor had the Marchesa
+even alluded either to him or to his wife. She now broke the silence
+that had lasted four years.
+
+"I am sorry for the baby," said she, "but as for her father and mother,
+the Almighty has seen fit to punish them."
+
+No one spoke. After some minutes Pasotti said in a low and solemn tone:
+
+"A fearful punishment!"
+
+And the curate of Cima added in a louder voice:
+
+"A manifest punishment!"
+
+Paolin dared not remain silent, neither did he dare speak, so he
+ejaculated: "Dear, dear!" and this encouraged Paolon to repeat his
+"Exactly!" Signor Giacomo simply puffed.
+
+"A chastisement from the Almighty!" the curate of Cima repeated with
+emphasis. "And also, considering the circumstances, a mark of His
+especial regard for some one else."
+
+All, save the prefect, who was chafing inwardly, looked at the Marchesa
+as if the protecting hand of the Omnipotent were suspended above her
+wig. But instead that Divine Hand was hovering above the lofty bonnet of
+Barborin Pasotti, and was keeping her ears tightly closed, that they
+might not hear those contaminating and iniquitous words. "Curate," said
+Pasotti, "as the Signora Marchesa has proposed it, shall we have a
+little game? You, Paolin, Signor Giacomo, and I?"
+
+The four, seated in their corner at the little card table, at once gave
+themselves up to the luxury of unrestrained conversation, and to the
+enjoyment of certain stale, Ambrosian[P] witticisms, which cling to the
+_tarocchi_ cards like grease.
+
+"I shall get there first!" Pasotti exclaimed after the first round,
+laughing loudly, with the intention of proclaiming both his victory and
+his good spirits.
+
+The players had rid themselves of the phantoms; not so the others. The
+deaf woman, sitting stiff and motionless on the sofa, had suffered
+mortal anguish, dreading a gesture from her husband which should command
+her to play. Oh, dear Lord! was she to be made to suffer this also? By
+the grace of Heaven the sign was not given, and her first feeling upon
+seeing the four seat themselves at the little table had been one of
+relief. But at once bitter disgust seized her.
+
+What an insult that game was to her Luisa! What contempt it showed for
+poor, dear little Maria, who was dead! No one spoke to her, no one
+noticed her, so she began to recite in her heart a string of _Paters_,
+_Aves_, and _Glorias_, for the soul of that wicked creature seated at
+the other end of the sofa, who was so old, so rapidly approaching the
+moment when she must appear before her God. She repeated, for her
+benefit, the prayer for the conversion of sinners which she had been in
+the habit of repeating night and morning for her husband's benefit, ever
+since she had discovered his over-familiarity with a certain menial
+attached to her household.
+
+When the prefect heard Pasotti's outburst of mirth, he rose to take his
+leave. "Wait," said the Marchesa, "you must have a glass of wine." At
+half-past nine a precious bottle of old San Colombano was usually
+brought in. "I shall not drink to-night," said the prefect heroically,
+"I have been greatly upset ever since this morning. Puria knows why."
+
+"Dear, dear!" said Puria softly. "Of course it was a terrible tragedy."
+
+Silence. The prefect bowed to the Marchesa, saluted Signor Pasotti with
+an expression that said: "You and I understand each other," and left the
+room.
+
+The curate of Puria, who was possessed of a big body and a level head,
+was studying the Marchesa without appearing to do so. Was she or was
+she not affected by the events at Oria? Her having refrained from
+playing seemed to him a doubtful symptom. She might have done so simply
+out of respect for her own flesh and blood. On closer observation the
+curate noticed that her hands trembled; this was unusual. She forgot to
+ask Pasotti if the wine was good; this also was unusual. Her face with
+its waxen mask, twitched violently from time to time; this was extremely
+unusual. "She is touched!" thought the curate. As she was perfectly
+silent, and as Signora Pasotti and Paolon were also silent, the whole
+group seemed turned to stone. Puria cast about for a means of breaking
+the ice, but could find nothing better than to induce those three heads
+to turn towards the card-table, while he commented upon Pasotti's
+exclamations, upon Paolin's and Signor Giacomo's ejaculations and
+puffings. The Marchesa roused herself somewhat, and expressed her
+satisfaction that the players were enjoying themselves. Barborin neither
+heard nor spoke a word, so the three others ended by talking about her.
+The Marchesa complained that she was so deaf it was impossible to
+converse with her. The other two lavished upon her all the praise she so
+richly deserved, the praise all those who remember her still lavish upon
+her. There she sat, sad and speechless, never suspecting that she was
+the subject of their conversation. The Lord protected her profound and
+simple meekness, by never allowing the praises of the world to enter
+into her ears, but only the scoldings of her worthy consort.
+
+Her great, sorrowful black eyes brightened when Signor Giacomo uttered a
+loud and final puff, and his companions, dropping their cards, threw
+themselves back in their respective chairs to rest a little and reflect
+upon the delights of the game. At last her master approached the sofa,
+and motioned to her to rise. For the first time in her life, perhaps,
+she was glad to get into the boat.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+When her guests had left, the Marchesa rang the bell for the rosary,
+which they had not been able to repeat at the usual hour. The rosary was
+a living thing in Casa Maironi, having its roots in the Marchesa's past
+sins, and its growth was steady, for it was always putting forth fresh
+_Aves_ and _Glorias_, as the old lady became more advanced in years, and
+saw her own disgusting skull looming before her, ever more distinct,
+ever more apparent. Consequently her rosary was extremely long. The
+sweet peccadillos of her protracted youth did not trouble her conscience
+over-much, but there were certain other transgressions which could be
+computed in pounds, shillings, and pence, transgressions never properly
+confessed and therefore never properly forgiven, and these caused her
+great uneasiness; an uneasiness she was continually trying to stifle by
+means of rosaries, but which was forever bursting out afresh. While she
+was praying to the Great Creditor for the remission of her debts, she
+would feel perfect confidence in His power to remit them all, but later
+there would once more loom before her mind's eye the sorrowful faces of
+the lesser creditors, bringing with them doubts concerning the pardon
+received, and thus her avarice and her pride were ever struggling
+against the fear of a perpetual debtor's prison beyond the tomb.
+
+When they had recited the prayers for the conversion of sinners, and
+those for the healing of the sick, and were about to begin the _De
+Profundis_, she announced three new _Ave Marias_, without, however,
+stating for what purpose. The scullery maid, a simple peasant from
+Cressogno, supposed these _Ave Marias_ were intended for the unhappy
+family at Oria, and recited them with extreme fervour. The
+scullery-maid's _Aves_ clashed with and routed those of her mistress,
+which were asking for sleep, and rest for the nerves and conscience. As
+to the _Ave Marias_ of all the others, they were repeated in the common
+hope that they might not remain definitely attached to the rosary, as
+too often happened. In short, no one succeeded in checking the onward
+march of the ghost.
+
+Towards eleven o'clock the Marchesa retired. She drank some
+citron-water, and the maid having begun to talk of Oria and of Don
+Franco, who, it was whispered, had returned, she ordered her to be
+silent. She was certainly affected. She saw continually before her eyes
+the image of Maria as she had once seen her when passing in her gondola
+below the little Gilardoni villa; a slight figure in a white apron, with
+long hair and bare arms, and strangely like a child of her own who had
+died when only three. Did she feel affection or pity? She herself could
+not tell what she felt. Perhaps it was only irritation and terror at not
+being able to rid herself of an annoying image; perhaps it was fear at
+the thought that if a certain great sin had not been committed long ago,
+if Marchese Franco's will had not been burnt, the child would not have
+died.
+
+When she was in bed she had the maid read some prayers to her, then she
+ordered her to put out the light, and finally dismissed her. She closed
+her eyes, trying not to think of anything, and saw beneath her eyelids,
+a shapeless, light spot, which little by little transformed itself into
+a small pillow, then into a letter, then into a large white
+chrysanthemum, and at last into a pale, drooping, dead face, that
+gradually grew smaller and smaller. She fancied she was falling asleep,
+but as a result of this last transformation the thought of the child
+shot through her heart, and although she saw nothing more beneath her
+eyelids, her drowsiness vanished, and she opened her eyes, vexed and
+uneasy. She determined to think out a game of _tarocchi_ in order to
+drive away these troublesome fancies, and induce sleep. She thought of
+the game, and succeeded, by an effort, in seeing in her mind's eye the
+little card-table, the players, the candles, the cards; but when she
+relaxed the tension of effort, in order to give herself up to a passive
+contemplation of these soporific phantoms, something totally different
+appeared beneath her eyelids--a head which was continually changing its
+features, its expression, its position, and which, at last, slowly
+drooped forward, as in sleep or death, so that she could only see the
+hair. This was another shock to her nerves. The Marchesa once more
+opened her eyes, and heard the clock on the stairs begin to strike. She
+counted the strokes; twelve o'clock. It was already midnight, and she
+could not get to sleep! She lay some time with wide open eyes, and now
+images began to appear in the dark as they had before appeared beneath
+her eyelids. At first there was only a formless nucleus, which soon
+began to undergo transformation. She saw the face of a clock which
+presently turned into the horrible eye of a fish, and then became an
+angry, human eye. Suddenly the Marchesa felt quite sure she would not be
+able to go to sleep at all, and once more the drowsiness that had
+already taken firm hold on her, was put to flight. Then she rang the
+bell.
+
+The maid let her ring twice, and then came in, half dressed and sleepy.
+She was ordered to place the candle upon a chair in such a position that
+the flame might not be visible from the bed, to get a volume of
+Barbieri's sermons, and to read in a low voice. The maid was in the
+habit of administering these narcotics. She began to read, but at the
+end of the second page, hearing her mistress's breathing grow deeper,
+she very gradually lowered her voice, until it became only an
+inarticulate murmur, and finally lapsed into silence. She waited a
+moment, listening to the deep and regular breathing, then rose and went
+to look at the dark face turned upwards on the pillows, with wrinkled
+brow and half-open mouth. Then she took up the candle and went out on
+tiptoe.
+
+The Marchesa was asleep and dreaming. She was dreaming that she was
+stretched on a bed of straw in a great dark dungeon, chains upon her
+ankles, and accused of murder. The judge entered with a light, sat down
+beside her, and read her a sermon on the necessity of confession. She
+kept protesting that she was innocent, and repeating: "Don't you know
+she was drowned?" The judge made no answer, but went on reading in a
+mournful and solemn voice, while the Marchesa insisted: "No, no! I did
+not kill her!" In her dream she was no longer phlegmatic, but writhed
+like one in despair. "Remember that the child herself says so," the
+judge replied. He rose to his feet, repeating: "She says so." Then he
+struck the palm of one hand loudly upon the palm of the other, and
+called out: "Enter!" Thus far the Marchesa had been conscious in her
+dream that she was dreaming; at this point she thought she awoke, and
+saw with horror, that some one had indeed entered the room.
+
+A human form, slightly luminous, was seated in the armchair heaped with
+clothes that stood beside her bed, but in such a position that she could
+not distinguish the lower part of the apparition. Its shoulders, arms,
+and clasped hands were of a whitish hue, and indistinct in outline, but
+its head, that rested against the chair-back, was distinctly visible,
+and surrounded by a pale light. The dark, living eyes were staring at
+the Marchesa. Oh, horror! It was indeed the dead child! Oh, horror! Oh,
+horror! The eyes of the apparition spoke, and accused her. The judge was
+right, the child was saying so--without words--with her eyes! "It was
+you who did it, Grandmother, you! I should have been born, should have
+lived under your roof. You would not have it. Your punishment shall be
+death everlasting!"
+
+The eyes alone, the staring, sad, pitiful eyes said all these things at
+once. The Marchesa uttered a long groan, and stretched out her arms
+towards the apparition, trying to say something, and succeeding only in
+gasping out: "Ah--ah--ah--" while the hands, the arms, the shoulders of
+the phantom vanished in a mist, the outlines of its face became blurred,
+and only the gaze remained, staring intently, and then finally becoming
+veiled was absorbed, as it were, into a deep and distant Self, nothing
+remaining of the apparition save a slight phosphorescence which was
+presently lost in the darkness.
+
+The Marchesa awoke with a start. In her agitation she forgot the bell,
+and tried to call out, but could not raise her voice. By an effort of
+her will, which was still strong in spite of her failing bodily
+strength, she thrust her legs out of bed, and stood upright. She
+staggered forward a step or two in the dark, stumbling against the
+easy-chair, and clutched at another chair, dragging it down with her as
+she fell heavily to the ground, where she lay moaning.
+
+The noise of the fall roused the maid, who called out to her mistress,
+but receiving no answer, and hearing the moaning, she lighted her candle
+and hastened into the room, where, in the dim light between the armchair
+and the bed she saw something large and white that was writhing on the
+floor like some huge marine monster, that has been cast upon the shore.
+She screamed and rushed to the bell, rousing the whole house at once,
+and then hastened to help the old woman, who was groaning: "The priest!
+The priest! The prefect! The prefect!"
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[P] Ambrosian: From St. Ambrose, patron of Milan. Therefore, Milanese.
+[_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+FLIGHT
+
+
+At half-past two that same night Franco, Lawyer V., and their friend
+Pedraglio were sitting in the loggia in the dark, and in silence.
+Suddenly Pedraglio started up exclaiming: "What can that fool be about?"
+Going out to the terrace he listened a moment and then returned to the
+room. "No sign of him," said he. "Oh, I say! Are we to sit here like
+idiots and wait for them to come and take us, and all on account of that
+silly ass, who has probably fallen asleep? Maironi, you are fairly well
+acquainted with the road, and we all three have plenty of courage. If it
+should be necessary to pitch into anybody we should be quite equal to
+the occasion. Don't you think so, V.?"
+
+The night before, between seven and eight o'clock, Pedraglio had
+happened to be on the road between Loveno and Menaggio. At the spot that
+goes by the name of "Bertin's Cove" a man had begged of him, had pressed
+a note into his hand, and had then walked rapidly away. The note ran as
+follows: "Why does Carlino Pedraglio not go to Oria at once, to see
+Signor Maironi and the lawyer from Varenna, and take a nice little walk
+with his dear friends over beyond the stake?"
+
+Ever since the arrest of his friend the doctor at Pellio, Pedraglio had
+been expecting some sign from the police, and this note was not the
+first timely and ungrammatical warning which had reached a patriot. The
+note spoke plainly; he must pass the stake that marked the frontier
+without delay. Pedraglio knew nothing of Franco's misfortune and return,
+nor was he aware of the lawyer's presence in Oria. He did not stop to
+speculate, however, but hastened to Loveno, provided himself with money,
+and started off on foot. He would not risk going to Porlezza, but took
+the path that from a spot near Tavordo rises upwards through a lonely
+ravine to the Passo Stretto. As nimble as a chamois, he reached Oria in
+four hours, and found Franco and the lawyer preparing to start, another
+mysterious warning having reached them through the curate of Castello,
+who had been to Porlezza, and had there been charged with the message,
+in the confessional. Ismaele was to guide them across the frontier. The
+passes of Boglia were very carefully guarded, and Ismaele proposed
+passing between Monte della Neve and Castello; then they would drop down
+into the valley, making straight for the Alpe di Castello below the
+Sasso Grande, and from there descend to Cadro, an hour above Lugano.
+
+But Ismaele was to have been there at two o'clock, and at half-past two
+he had not yet appeared.
+
+Luisa was also up. She was in the alcove-room mending a pair of Maria's
+stockings, which she intended to place on the little bed, where she had
+arranged all of the child's little garments with the same care as when
+the little one was alive. She had not wished to see either the lawyer or
+Pedraglio. After her intense excitement at the funeral her grief had
+once more assumed that gloomy aspect which caused Dr. Aliprandi still
+greater anxiety. She was no longer excited; she did not even speak, and
+she had never yet wept. Her manner towards Franco exhibited nothing but
+pity for this man who loved her, and whose affection and presence were,
+in spite of herself, perfectly indifferent to her. Franco, relying upon
+obtaining the position his director had talked so much about, had
+proposed taking the whole family back to Turin with him. Uncle Piero,
+poor old man, was quite ready to make this new sacrifice, but Luisa had
+stated explicitly that rather than leave her little daughter, she would
+end her days in the lake.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Upon hearing the proposal to start without Ismaele, Franco rose and said
+he would go and take leave of his wife. Just at that moment the lawyer
+heard a step in the street below. "Silence!" said he. "Here he is."
+Franco went out to the terrace. Some one was, indeed, coming from the
+direction of Albogasio. Franco waited until the wayfarer had reached the
+church-place, and then called out in a low voice:
+
+"Ismaele?"
+
+"It is I," a voice answered that was not Ismaele's. "It is the prefect.
+I am coming up-stairs."
+
+The prefect at that hour? What could have happened? Franco went to the
+kitchen, lighted a candle, and then hastened downstairs.
+
+Five minutes passed and he had not returned to his friends. But
+meanwhile Ismaele's wife had appeared to say that her husband was
+feeling very ill, and could not stir. She stood in the square, and spoke
+to Pedraglio, who was on the terrace. He hastened to summon Franco, and
+found him on the stairs, coming up with the prefect. "The guide is ill,"
+said he, knowing the priest to be an honest man. "Let us start at once,
+and not waste any more time." Franco replied that he could not start
+immediately, and that they must go on ahead. How was this? Why could he
+not start? No, he could not. He ushered the prefect into the hall,
+called the lawyer, and tried to persuade both Pedraglio and him to start
+at once. Something extraordinary had happened, about which he must
+consult his wife, and he could not say what he might decide to do. His
+friends protested that they would not forsake him. The jovial Pedraglio,
+who was in the habit of spending more money than his father approved
+of, observed that if the worst came to the worst, they would be able to
+live more economically and more virtuously at Josephstadt or Kufstein
+than in Turin, and that this would be a consolation to his "governor."
+"No, no!" exclaimed Franco. "You must go! Prefect, you persuade them!"
+And he went towards the alcove-room.
+
+"Are you ready to start?" said Luisa, in that voice which seemed to come
+from a far-away world. "Good-bye."
+
+He came to her side, and stooped to kiss the little stocking she held.
+"Luisa," he whispered, "the Prefect of Caravina is here." She did not
+express the slightest astonishment. "Grandmother sent for him an hour or
+two ago," Franco continued. "She told him she had seen our Maria,
+shining like an angel."
+
+"Oh, what a lie!" Luisa exclaimed, in a tone full of contempt, but not
+angrily. "As if it were possible she would go to her and not come to
+me!"
+
+"Maria has touched her heart," Franco went on. "She begs us to pardon
+her. She fears she is dying, and entreats me to come to her, to bring
+her a word of peace from you also."
+
+Franco himself did not believe in the apparition, being profoundly
+sceptical of everything that was supernatural outside of religion, but
+he did believe that Maria, in her higher state, had already been able to
+work a miracle, and touch his grandmother's heart, and the thought
+caused him indescribable emotion. Luisa remained like ice. She was not
+even irritated, as Franco had feared she would be, by the proposal to
+send a friendly message. "Your grandmother fears hell," she observed
+with her mortal coldness. "Hell does not exist, and so all this amounts
+to nothing more than a fright. The suffering is not great. Let her bear
+it, and then die as we all must, and so, 'Amen.'" Franco saw it would be
+useless to insist. "Then I will go," said he. She was silent.
+
+"I don't think I shall be able to come back this way," Franco added. "I
+shall have to take to the hills."
+
+Still no answer.
+
+"Luisa!" the young man said softly. Reproach, grief, passion, all these
+were in his appeal. Luisa's hands, that had never once paused in their
+work, now became still. She murmured:
+
+"I no longer feel anything. I am like a stone."
+
+Franco turned faint. He kissed his wife on her hair, said good-bye, and
+then entered the alcove, where, kneeling beside the little bed, he threw
+his arms across it, recalling his treasure's little voice: "One kiss
+more, papa!" A paroxysm of weeping assailed him, but he controlled
+himself, and hurriedly left the room.
+
+In the hall his friends were impatiently awaiting his return. How could
+they start? They did not know the way. The lawyer was, indeed,
+acquainted with the Boglia road, but was that the best way to go if they
+wished to avoid the guards? On hearing that Franco was going to
+Cressogno they were filled with amazement, and Pedraglio gave vent to
+his indignation, saying it was shameful to forsake his friends in this
+fashion, when they were in trouble. When the prefect realised how
+matters stood he took Pedraglio's part, and offered to explain Franco's
+absence to his grandmother, and proposed that Franco should write a line
+or two, which he himself would carry to Cressogno. But Franco was
+convinced that his Maria wished him to take this step, and he would not
+yield. He suddenly remembered that the prefect was as familiar as a hare
+with all the mountain paths. "You go!" said he, addressing the priest.
+"You accompany them!" The prefect was about to reply that perhaps the
+Signora Marchesa might need him, when the lawyer exclaimed: "Hush! Look
+there!"
+
+Directly in front of the house, where the shadow of Monte Bisgnago lay
+obliquely upon the rippling water, a boat had stopped. Franco recognised
+the customs-guards' launch.
+
+"I am willing to wager those hogs are watching for us," Pedraglio
+murmured. "They are afraid we shall escape by boat. Anyway, they are on
+the lookout."
+
+"Hush!" the lawyer repeated, approaching the window that overlooked the
+church-place.
+
+All held their breath in silence.
+
+"Children," said V., turning quickly from the window, "we are done for!"
+Franco went to the window, and saw a solitary figure running towards
+the house. He concluded the lawyer had given a false alarm, but the
+man--it was he who went by the nickname of "the hunted hare," and who
+knew and saw everything--flung two words upwards as he passed beneath
+the window: "The police!" At the same moment they heard the noise of
+many feet. "Come with me! You also, Prefect!" cried Franco, and the
+others following, he made for the little courtyard between the house and
+the hillside, and, passing through a woodshed, reached the short cut
+that leads to Albogasio Superiore. It was so dark that no one noticed a
+customs-guard, standing, carbine in hand, not two steps from the door of
+the wood-shed. Fortunately this guard, a certain Filippini, from Busto,
+was an honest fellow, who ate the bread of Austria unwillingly, and
+simply because he could find no other. "Be quick!" said he in an
+undertone. "Cut across the fields, and then take the Boglia road! The
+path below the Madonnina on the left." Franco thanked the man, and, with
+his companions, started up the steep path that comes out on the narrow
+communal road of Albogasio Superiore. Half-way up they all jumped into a
+field of maize on the right, and stopped to listen. They heard steps on
+the stairs leading upwards from the church-place, and then on the path
+where the guard was posted. Evidently the police wished to make sure
+that all the exits were well guarded. The four crawled swiftly away
+through the maize, and on reaching the spot below a great boulder
+called "Lori's Rock," they stopped to hold a consultation. They might
+take the path that comes out on the Albogasio road at the very door of
+Pasotti's garden, and then climb up from field to field, as far as the
+Boglia road. But the path would be hard to find at this hour, and
+fearing to lose too much time, they determined to make for the stairway
+that leads up from Albogasio Inferiore to Puttini's house, then, leaving
+Casa Puttini on the right, they could reach the Boglia road in no time.
+It was already less dark. In one way this was a disadvantage, but at
+least it would enable them to find their way through that labyrinth of
+small fields and low walls. All were silent. Only Pedraglio would utter
+an oath in Milanese from time to time, as he stumbled over a stone or
+scratched his hands on a hedge. Then the others would hush him. They
+reached the narrow stairway preceded by the prefect, who jumped walls
+and hedges like a squirrel. When they were all together on the stairs
+Franco withdrew from the group. On the Boglia road they would not need
+him; he was going to Cressogno. In vain Pedraglio seized him by the arm,
+in vain the prefect implored him not to expose himself to certain
+arrest, and probable imprisonment. He believed he was obeying Maria's
+voice, and felt that he was acting according to the dictates of
+conscience. He tore himself from Pedraglio, and disappeared up the
+stairs, for he did not wish to go to Cressogno by way of S.
+Mamette--that would be too dangerous.
+
+"Follow me!" said the prefect. "The man is mad, and we have ourselves to
+think of."
+
+As they were about to turn the corner of Puttini's house, they heard
+people approaching who were probably going down the stairs. The door of
+Puttini's house was open. The friends slipped inside. The people passed,
+talking. They were peasants, and one was saying: "Where the deuce can he
+be going at this hour?" Alas, they had met and recognised Franco! If the
+gendarmes and the guards should start out to hunt for the fugitives and
+come across these people, they would discover a trace at once. Towards
+dawn one is always sure of meeting people. This time they had been able
+to avoid being seen, but a second time they might be less fortunate, and
+a meeting might prove as fatal to Pedraglio and the lawyer as this one
+would probably prove to Franco. "If you could only disguise yourselves
+as peasants!" said the priest. A happy thought struck the lawyer, who
+had something both of the poet and the artist, and who was well
+acquainted with Puttini. He would take _Scior Zacomo's_ clothes for
+Pedraglio, who was also short, and the big, fat servant's clothes for
+himself; stuff their own things into a _gerla_,[Q] fasten it upon his
+back, and start for Boglia. The "first political deputy" of Albogasio
+might have a hundred reasons for visiting the forest belonging to the
+commune. No sooner said than done! They proceeded upstairs, and the
+prefect, who was familiar with the house, went straight to call
+Marianna. She did not answer, and her room was empty. The prefect
+guessed at once that the unfaithful servant had gone to S. Mamette for
+some secret business transaction, like that of the oil. That was why
+they had found the door open. They went to the kitchen and lighted two
+candles. The lawyer took one and the prefect pointed out _Scior
+Zacomo's_ room to him. Meanwhile Pedraglio explored the kitchen by
+the light of the other candle, in search of "something wet, something to
+brace him up."
+
+_Scior Zacomo_ slept in a corner room beyond the hall which the lawyer
+crossed on tiptoe, picking his way between piles of chestnuts, walnuts,
+filberts, and pears. He approached the door--it was closed. He
+listened--silence. Very slowly he turned the handle and pushed. The
+beastly door squeaked--he heard a formidable snort, and _Scior Zacomo_
+cried out angrily: "Go away! Let me alone! Go away!" The lawyer entered
+without further parley. "Away with you, you accursed woman! Go away, I
+tell you!" cried _Scior Zacomo_, the point of his white night-cap rising
+out of the pillows. On catching sight of the lawyer he began to groan:
+"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, dear me! For pity's sake, forgive me! I
+thought it was my servant. Most distinguished Advocate, for the love of
+Heaven, tell me what has happened."
+
+"Nothing, nothing, _Scior Zacomo_!" said the lawyer. "Only the
+Commissary of Porlezza is here----"
+
+"Oh, good Lord!" and _Scior Zacomo_ started to stick his legs out of
+bed.
+
+"It is nothing, nothing! Be calm, be calm! Cover yourself up; cover
+yourself up again! We are going up to Boglia on account of that accursed
+bull, you know."
+
+"Oh, Lord! What are you talking about? There is no bull at Boglia at
+this time of the year. Oh! I am all bathed in sweat!"
+
+"Never mind. I tell you we are going to see the place, to see where he
+used to be. But the Commissary has very good reasons for strictly
+forbidding you to accompany us; he forbids you, moreover, to go out
+until we return, and he has even ordered me to remove your clothes."
+
+Then he began rapidly collecting Puttini's garments, commanding him in
+the name of the Commissary to be silent. He took possession of the tall
+hat, seized the bamboo walking-stick, ordered the wretched man to bolt
+the door as soon as he should have left the room, and to open it to no
+one, to speak to no one, until the Commissary's return; all this in the
+name of that dreaded functionary. Then, leaving the poor man more dead
+than alive, he once more joined his companions, who, by dint of much
+searching, had found a filthy dress of Marianna's, a big, red kerchief
+for the head, a _gerla_, and a bottle of _Anesone triduo_.[R] "The
+deuce!" swore the lawyer, on examining the loathsome garments he must
+don. His disguise was indeed most unsatisfactory. The skirt was too
+short, and the kerchief did not hide his face sufficiently. However
+there was no time to look for anything better. But Pedraglio, in the
+tall hat, with the bamboo walking-stick in his hand, was a perfect
+_Scior Zacomo_. The lawyer thrust an old manuscript pamphlet he found in
+the kitchen under his friend's arm, and showed him how to walk and puff.
+Finally he took the keys to the wine-cellar, two enormous keys, gave one
+to Pedraglio and put the other in his own pocket. These would prove
+valuable weapons in case of need; one, he said, would strike in the
+treble key, the other in the bass. And so they went out, the prefect
+first, followed by the false _Scior Zacomo_ puffing like a steam-engine,
+and then the false Marianna and her _gerla_ bringing up the rear. Hardly
+had they reached the street when the real Marianna appeared, returning
+from S. Mamette with an empty flask. Catching sight of her master's tall
+hat looming in the uncertain light, she faced about and made off as fast
+as her legs would carry her.
+
+"Miserable thief!" the prefect exclaimed. "Excellent! Your disguise is
+splendid!" In five minutes they had reached the Boglia road. Then the
+prefect turned homewards, and presently, hearing people coming up from
+Albogasio Superiore talking of gendarmes and guards, he went to meet
+them and inquired what had happened. Oh, nothing very important; only
+the gendarmes and soldiers had been to Casa Ribera to arrest Don Franco
+Maironi, and, it would appear, lawyer V. also, for they were sure he
+must have been there, and they had been asking every one about him.
+However, they had found neither one nor the other of the friends,
+although the customs-guards had been watching the house since midnight.
+Now the police were searching all the houses in Oria, in the belief that
+the two men must have escaped by the roof. While the prefect was
+listening to this news a boy came running towards them from the
+direction of Albogasio Superiore. They stopped him. "The guards!" he
+gasped; "the gendarmes!" He was as white as a sheet; why he was running
+away he himself could not tell, and they found it impossible to gather
+from him where the gendarmes were. A woman appeared on the scene who was
+able to give them more information. Four customs-guards and four
+gendarmes had just now crossed the square in Albogasio Superiore. It was
+rumoured that Don Franco had been seen on the road to Castello, and two
+gendarmes with two guards had started towards the Boglia. The priest
+shuddered. "Of course," some one said, "they will cut him off on the
+Boglia road." The prefect took some comfort in the thought that both
+gendarmes and guards were now searching for Franco only. He was so tall,
+so slender, that neither the false Puttini nor the false Marianna could
+possibly be suspected of being him. Their fate was now beyond his
+control, but for Franco he could still do much. He started for
+Cressogno, confident that Franco would reach that place in safety, if
+the gendarmes did not discover any fresh traces, for they would search
+for him on all the paths leading from Castello to the frontier, but not
+on the road to Cressogno.
+
+Pedraglio and the lawyer accomplished the first part of the journey from
+Albogasio to the stables of Püs, creeping up the precipitous slope like
+cats, with long and cautious steps. The lawyer advanced in silence, but
+the other was continually cursing his garments in an undertone. That
+"beastly hat," that made his forehead slippery with grease, that
+"infernal tail-coat," that smelt strong of the sweat of ages. They
+reached Püs without having met a living being. At Püs an old woman came
+out from between the stables just after they had passed, and exclaimed
+in amazement: "You up here, _Scior Giacomo_? At this hour?" "Puff!"
+murmured the lawyer, and Pedraglio began to blow, "Apff! Apff!" like a
+pair of bellows. "Such paths as these take the breath away, my good
+sir," said the old woman. They met no one else until they reached
+Sostra.
+
+Sostra, a stable about half-way up the mountain, with a barn, a shed,
+and a cistern, lies some distance back from the path. That path is the
+very worst in the whole of Valsolda. It would make even a wild goat hang
+its tongue out. Pedraglio and the lawyer, panting and wet through with
+perspiration, turned into the Sostra for a moment's rest. There all was
+silence and solitude. At that height they already breathed a different
+air. And how much lower the mountain-tops had become! And the lake down
+there in the depths looked like a river! The lawyer cast anxious glances
+upwards towards the first crest of the Boglia, where the great beech
+forest begins. Only half an hour more of climbing! "Come along!" said
+he. But Pedraglio, in whose legs there still lingered the memory of that
+other long walk from Loveno to Oria by way of the Passo Stretto, wanted
+to rest a little longer, and began calmly turning over the leaves of
+Puttini's old manuscript. It was a monkish poem by some unknown
+Cremonese of the seventeenth century. "Come along," his companion
+repeated after a minute or two, and was already preparing to rise when
+he heard some one approaching. He had barely time to whisper, "Look
+out!" and turn his back that his face might not be seen. Pedraglio,
+though he kept his manuscript close to his nose, saw first two
+customs-guards and then two gendarmes appear upon the path. He warned
+his friend of this in a low tone, and without turning his head. The two
+guards halted. One of them saluted: "My respects, Signor Puttini."
+Turning to the gendarmes, he said: "This gentleman is the first
+political deputy of Albogasio." The gendarmes saluted also, and
+Pedraglio raised his hat, and held the manuscript a little higher. The
+guards wished to rest awhile, but one of the gendarmes ordered them to
+move on, and when the rest of the company had started forward, he
+himself approached the Sostra. He was from Ampezzo, and spoke Italian
+very fluently. "You dog! I hope you don't know me!" thought Pedraglio,
+vaguely conscious of his dual personality. "We are in for it, anyway!"
+
+"_Signor Deputato Politico_," said the man, "did you happen to see
+Signor Maironi at Oria this morning?"
+
+"I? No, indeed. Signor Maironi is in bed and asleep at this hour."
+
+"And you yourself----where are you going?"
+
+"I am going up that mountain, up that accursed Boglia, to see about the
+communal bull."
+
+"Idiot!" groaned the lawyer inwardly. "He is making it communal now!"
+But the "communal" was allowed to pass unchallenged. The gendarme, who
+had a face like a bull-dog, stared hard at his interlocutor. "You are a
+political deputy," said he insolently, "and you wear that thing on your
+chin?" Instinctively Pedraglio's hand went to his thin, black, pointed
+beard, the abhorred beard of the liberals. "I will cut it off," said he,
+with mock seriousness. "Most certainly, my dear sir! Are you also going
+up the Boglia!" Very stiffly the gendarme moved away, without answering,
+and all unconscious of the shameful gibbet to which the political deputy
+was consigning him.
+
+The two friends congratulated themselves on their narrow escape, but
+they recognised that the game had become very serious. Now they had the
+guards to reckon with, who knew Puttini well, and they must find a means
+of avoiding them. And what if that bull-dog of a gendarme should blab
+about the beard? "Come on! Come on!" said the lawyer. "Let us follow
+them, and if we see or hear them turn back we must take to our heels and
+make off to the left, towards the frontier." This would have been a
+desperate move, for they were unacquainted with the ground, with which
+the guards were undoubtedly familiar.
+
+But in order to catch up with his companions the bull-dog had to sweat
+and pant so hard that when he reached them he had no desire left to
+speak of beards. Pedraglio and the lawyer climbed slowly upwards, and
+saw the enemy reach the crest of the hill at the Madonnina beech-tree.
+There they halted for some time and then disappeared.
+
+The venerable beech-tree, which had the honour of bearing upon its trunk
+an image of the Madonna, which, on its death, it bequeathed to a small
+chapel, stood like a sentinel before the great forest of Boglia, like a
+soldier posted in this dip of the crest, to keep watch over the
+precipitous hillside, the lake, and the sloping ground of Valsolda. The
+venerable army of colossal beeches stood marshalled in another silent
+hollow between the slope of Colmaregia, the easily climbed Dorsi della
+Nave, the rocky base of the Denti di Vecchia or Canne d'Organo, and that
+other saddle of the Pian Biscagno, between Colmaregia and the Sasso
+Grande, and faced the depths of Val Colla from Lugano to Cadro. An open,
+grass-grown strip of ground stretched along the edge of the crest,
+between the Madonnina beech-tree and the forest. The two fugitives
+stopped to consider their position. Which way should they go? Should
+they look for the little path below the beech-tree, of which the guard
+who had saved them had spoken, or should they enter the forest? No, it
+would be unwise to take to the woods, in the wake of the game they had
+just seen enter them. In the forest they were sure to find the dead
+leaves lying ankle-deep, and it would be impossible to pass through
+without attracting the attention of the blood-hounds that were roaming
+there, and their disguise would not bear close inspection. The path?
+There were more paths than one beneath the beech-tree. Which was the
+right one? Pedraglio swore at the absent Franco for not having
+accompanied them, but the lawyer was studying the Colmaregia, which
+could be climbed without entering the forest. He had twice made the
+ascent of the Colmaregia, that superb, slender, grass-grown peak of the
+Boglia, which the line of the frontier cuts in halves. He knew that from
+there they would be able to descend to the Swiss village of Brè, and he
+resolved to try that route. No one was visible on the crest that rises
+from the Madonnina beech towards the Colmaregia, and the summit was
+enveloped in clouds.
+
+Just below the beech-tree they were overtaken by a wave of mist which
+had rolled up one side of the mountain and was rapidly pouring down the
+other; a cold, thick mist, a mist "as bad as they make them," so V.
+said. They could not see five steps ahead, and thus it happened that
+near the beech-tree Pedraglio ran almost into the arms of a
+customs-guard.
+
+He was one of the four, and had been told off to guard the open space
+between the brow of the hill and the forest. Catching sight of the
+little man in the top-hat, he exclaimed: "On the Boglia, Sig----" The
+lawyer quickly cast aside his _gerla_, and the guard did not finish his
+sentence, but stared a moment, open-mouthed, and then exclaimed: "How is
+this?"
+
+The lawyer did not wait for further explanations.
+
+"This is how it is," said he calmly, and drawing his fists into
+position on his breast, he hit out suddenly, and dealt the guard a
+tremendous blow in the stomach that sent him rolling on the grass, his
+heels in the air. In a flash Pedraglio was upon him, and snatched his
+carbine from him.
+
+"If you yell, you dog, I shall do for you!" said he. But how could he
+possibly yell? With a blow like that in the stomach, it was all he could
+do to breathe for at least fifteen minutes. In fact the man lay like one
+dead, and it was some time before they could even make him groan
+faintly: "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!"
+
+"It's nothing, nothing at all," V. told him with his usual, mocking
+calm. "Shocks like that are good for the health. You will see. Now, my
+friend, you are just going to pick yourself up and stand nice and firm
+on your legs, and accompany us to Colmaregia. You will see how well you
+will be able to walk. I was careful not to use this." And he showed him
+the key.
+
+"Oh, what a blow!" groaned the guard. "Oh, what a terrible blow!"
+
+"It is indeed a rather stiff climb," the lawyer went on, taking the
+carbine from Pedraglio, "but with your permission we will help you up
+from behind with the point of this instrument. Thus climbing will become
+a delight. Then you must bear us company down to Brè. We will carry your
+carbine for you, but you, in return, must carry this little _gerla_. Is
+my meaning quite clear to you? Now, march!"
+
+But the wretched man could not get to his feet and they certainly could
+not leave him there and run the risk of his calling out for help.
+
+"Poor fellow!" said Pedraglio. "You hit him too hard."
+
+V. replied that he had touched him with the gentleness of a woman, and
+passing the carbine to Pedraglio, he seized the guard by the collar of
+his uniform, pulled him to his feet, and made him run his arms through
+the straps of the _gerla_.
+
+"Go ahead, you fraud!" said he. "March, lazy-bones!"
+
+Up, up, ever upwards they climbed through the thick mist. The hillside
+was extremely steep, and it was all they could do to find foothold
+between the clumps of soft grass. They slipped, they laboured with hands
+and feet, but they heeded naught, struggling ever upwards for freedom's
+sake. Up, up, ever upwards, through the thick mist, invisible as
+spirits, first the false Marianna, then the guard puffing and groaning
+under the heavy _gerla_, then the false _Scior Zacomo_ promising him a
+fine view from the top, and from time to time encouraging him with the
+point of the carbine. The carbine worked miracles. In half an hour the
+three had reached the crest, from whence the hill slopes down towards
+Brè, lying only a short distance below the summit. Then, sitting upon
+the grass, they let themselves slide rapidly downwards. Presently it
+began to rain, and the mist grew thinner, and below them, at their
+feet, they could see the red of the woodlands. _Scior Zacomo's_
+venerable top-hat was the first to reach the spot, hurled from above by
+Pedraglio with a joyful "Hurrah for Italy!" as he himself slid onwards,
+arm in arm with the guard. At Brè Pedraglio called the whole town
+together by firing off the carbine in sign of exultation, and then he
+distributed _anesone triduo_ among the men, and administered it in
+smaller doses to the girls. He begged the curate to allow him to hang
+the tail-coat in the church as a votive offering, sat down to eat with
+the guard, got the priest to preach him a sermon on the duty of
+pardoning blows in the stomach, and read a verse of the monkish poem to
+him, which ended thus:
+
+ At this point the good priest did exclaim:
+ My views are no longer the same.
+
+After this he had no difficulty in demonstrating to him that if this
+Padre Lanternone had suddenly changed his opinions, he, the guard, would
+be fully justified in changing his, and he finally persuaded him to
+desert. The guard ended by casting aside his uniform and donning the
+tail-coat, amidst the laughter and applause of all present. The only one
+who did not join in the laughter was the lawyer. "What may not have
+happened to poor Maironi?" said he.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Franco did not cross Castello. Upon reaching the little Rovajà chapel he
+hastened downwards by the path that leads to the fountain at Caslano,
+reached the narrow lane that goes to Casarico and followed it upwards as
+far as the last turning just below Castello, where the church of Puria
+becomes visible beneath its amphitheatre of crags; then he turned into
+the valley on the right, hastening along a path fit for goats only,
+climbed upwards once more below the church of Loggio, and reached Villa
+Maironi without having met any one.
+
+Carlo, the old servant who opened the door for him, nearly fainted with
+emotion as he kissed Franco's hands. At that moment the doctor was in
+the sick room. Franco decided to wait until he should come out, and
+meanwhile took the faithful old man into his confidence, telling that
+the gendarmes were at his heels. Dr. Aliprandi soon came out, and
+Franco, who knew him to be a patriot, confided in him also, for he must
+show himself, and make inquiries about his grandmother. Aliprandi had
+been called in the night, after the prefect had left for Oria. He had
+found the Marchesa in a state of nervous excitement, tormented by a
+terrible fear of death, but exhibiting no symptoms of illness. At
+present she seemed quite calm. Franco had her informed of his arrival,
+and was ushered into the room by the maid, who looked at him with
+obsequious curiosity, and then withdrew.
+
+The half-open shutters of the room where the Marchesa lay, admitted only
+two slanting streaks of grey light, which did not reach the face,
+thrown back upon the pillow. On entering Franco could not see that
+face, but he heard the familiar, sleepy voice saying:
+
+"Is that you, Franco?"
+
+"Yes, grandmother. Good-morning," and he stooped to kiss her. The waxen
+mask was unruffled, but there was a vague and gloomy expression about
+the eyes that seemed at once desire and terror. "I am dying, you know,
+Franco," said the Marchesa. Franco protested, and repeated what the
+doctor had said to him. His grandmother listened, gazing eagerly at him,
+trying to read in his eyes if the doctor had really spoken thus. Then
+she answered:
+
+"It makes no difference. I am quite ready."
+
+From the changed expression on her face and in her voice Franco
+understood perfectly that she was quite ready to live twenty years
+longer. "I am sorry for your bereavement," said she, "and I forgive
+you."
+
+Franco had not expected words of pardon from her. He had believed it was
+for him to bring forgiveness, not to receive it. Comforted and
+reassured, the Marchesa of every day was gradually reappearing beneath
+the Marchesa of an hour. She was willing to purchase peace of mind, but
+she was like the sordid miser who, having yielded to the temptation of
+gratifying some desire, allowed the price of his enjoyment to escape
+painfully from between his tightly-clasped fingers, trying the while to
+keep back as much as possible behind his nails. At another time
+Franco's wrath would have burst forth, he would have rejected that
+forgiveness angrily, but now, with his sweet Maria in his heart, he
+could not feel thus. He had however noticed that his grandmother had
+proffered her forgiveness to him alone. This was too much; he could not
+pass this over.
+
+"My wife, my wife's uncle, and I myself have suffered much beside this
+last bereavement," said he, "and now we have lost our only comfort.
+Uncle Ribera I leave out of the question; you, I myself, all must bow
+before him, but if my wife and I have sinned against you, let us make
+forgiveness mutual."
+
+This was a bitter pill, but the Marchesa swallowed it in silence.
+Although she no longer saw death at her bedside, her heart still
+trembled with the terror inspired by the apparition, and by certain
+words the prefect had spoken on hearing her confession. "I shall make a
+will," she said, "and I wish you to know that the whole Maironi property
+will go to you."
+
+Ah, Marchesa, Marchesa! Poor, icy creature! Did she believe she could
+purchase peace at this price? In this the prefect also had blundered,
+for it was he who had advised her to make this declaration to her
+grandson, kind, honest man that he was, but entirely without tact, and
+incapable of understanding Franco's lofty soul. The idea that she might
+think he had been prompted by sordid motives to come to her, was
+intolerable to Franco. "No, no!" he exclaimed, quivering, and fearing
+his hot temper would get the better of him after all. "No, no! Don't
+leave me anything. It will be quite enough if you will allow the
+interest on my own money to be paid at Oria. Grandmother, you must leave
+the Maironi property to the Ospitale Maggiore. I fear my ancestors did
+very wrong to keep it."
+
+His grandmother had not time to answer, for there came a knock at the
+door. The prefect entered, and offering as an excuse that he would tire
+the invalid, persuaded Franco to say good-bye. "You must make haste,"
+said he, when they were outside. "You have done more than your duty
+here. Too many people are now aware of your presence, and the gendarmes
+may appear at any moment. I have arranged everything with Aliprandi. He
+considers a consultation necessary for the Marchesa, and will take the
+Villa Maironi gondola and go to Lugano for a doctor. The two boatmen
+will be Carlo and yourself. There are those oil-cloth cloaks with hoods.
+Put on one of those and remain in the stern. Now we must shave off that
+pointed beard of yours, and then with the hood drawn over your head, no
+one will possibly be able to recognise you. You will be perfectly safe.
+Perhaps you may not even be obliged to put in at the customs-house. At
+any rate, they will not recognise you. If there is any talking to be
+done, Carlo can do it."
+
+The idea was good. The Marchesa's gondola was always looked upon by the
+agents of Austria with the greatest respect; as if it were carrying an
+egg of the double-headed eagle. Even when returning from Lugano it was
+made to stop at the customs-house simply _pro forma_.
+
+It was past eight o'clock when the gondola left the boathouse. From the
+lofty summits the mist had descended upon the lake, and it was raining.
+Sad, sad day! Sad, sad journey! Neither Franco, the servant, nor
+Aliprandi spoke a word. They passed S. Mamette and Casarico, and then,
+amidst the mist beyond the olives of Mainè, the white walls of Maria's
+resting-place appeared. Franco's eyes filled with tears. "No, dear," he
+thought; "no, love; no, my life, you are not there; and I thank my God,
+who tells me not to believe this horrid thing!" A few strokes more and
+there was the little house of happy days, of bitter hours, of
+misfortune; there was the window of the room where Luisa was giving
+herself up to black grief, the loggia where, henceforth, poor old Uncle
+Piero would spend his days alone, that just man who was going down to
+the grave in silence, in tribulation, in weariness. Franco longed to
+know what had happened after his departure; if the police had worried
+Uncle Piero and Luisa. In vain he strained his eyes: no living being was
+to be seen either on the terrace, in the little garden, or at the
+windows of the loggia. All was silent, all was calm. He stopped rowing,
+searching for some sign of life. Dr. Aliprandi opened the door of the
+_felze_[S] and begged him to resume his rowing, begged him not betray
+himself. At that moment Leu came to the parapet of the little garden,
+with a jug in her hand; she glanced at the gondola and then entered the
+loggia. Uncle Piero must be in the loggia, and they were taking him the
+customary glass of milk, so probably nothing had happened. Franco once
+more began to row, and Dr. Aliprandi closed the door. They glided past
+the little garden, past the other houses of Oria, and the gondola turned
+towards the landing-stage of the customs-house.
+
+Bianconi, sitting under an umbrella and fishing for tench, spied the
+gondola, and, dropping his pole, came forward to pay his respects to the
+Marchesa. But he found Dr. Aliprandi instead, who so upset him by his
+alarming account of the lady that he felt called upon to summon his
+Peppina and impart the news to her; and Peppina, poor woman, was obliged
+to act a little comedy of affliction under her Carlascia's umbrella.
+Both husband and wife exhorted Aliprandi to make haste, to return
+quickly. The big mastiff gave him permission to cross directly from
+Gandria to Cressogno on the way back. Then the doctor turned to Franco,
+and gave the order to proceed. Franco had listened to the conversation
+standing motionless, his hands clasping his oar, and hoping to hear
+something about his friends or his family. But no word was breathed
+concerning either police, arrests, or flights, and Casa Ribera might
+have been in China. The gondola backed slowly away from the
+landing-stage, turned its prow towards Gandria, gliding ever further and
+further away until it had slipped across the frontier, and vanished in
+the mist.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+On reaching the Lugano shore, Dr. Aliprandi opened the door, and called
+Franco into the little cabin. Their acquaintance was only slight, but
+they embraced like brothers. "When the cannonading begins I shall be
+there also," Aliprandi said.
+
+They must say good-bye here, and Franco must go ashore first and alone,
+for Lugano was full of spies and the doctor must also be cautious.
+Besides, Aliprandi was in no hurry. He was more anxious to find a
+boatman than a physician. Franco drew his hood over his eyes, stepped
+ashore and went directly to the Albergo della Corona.
+
+Some hours later, when the gondola had started homewards, he went out in
+search of some one from Valsolda who might give him news, and directed
+his steps towards the Fontana pharmacy. Under the arcades he met his two
+friends, who had just left the pharmacy. They fell upon his neck, and
+wept with emotion. They also had been in search of news, and at the
+pharmacy they had heard that Franco had been arrested. What joy to find
+him here, and to feel they were standing on free soil!
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Q] _Gerla_: a basket the peasants both in Switzerland and in North
+Italy carry fastened upon their backs. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[R] _Anesone triduo_: a sort of very coarse and very strong anisette.
+[_Translator's note._]
+
+[S] _Felze_: the cover which is placed upon gondolas in winter or in bad
+weather. It forms a tiny cabin. [_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+Part III
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE SAGE SPEAKS
+
+
+No less than three springs had come and gone since the autumn of 1855
+without bringing to the banks of the Ticino that mustering of armies and
+of banners that the Italians had expected. In February, 1859, all were
+convinced that a fourth spring could not pass thus. Great events, duly
+pre-announced by a splendid comet, were approaching. The old world was
+quivering and creaking inwardly, as does a frozen river on the eve of a
+thaw. That deadly cold and awful silence which had lasted ten years, was
+about to disappear, to be swept away amidst the clamour of strife and
+destruction, by new currents, warm and brilliant. Carlascia was playing
+the braggart, and would talk to his guards (who made no comments) of an
+impending military expedition to Turin. Signor Puttini had never
+entirely recovered from the shock he had received on that memorable
+morning; and the lawyer's treachery, the tragic end of the top-hat, the
+comic end of the tail-coat, had deeply affected him, and he had lost
+all respect for patriots. Dr. Aliprandi was already in Piedmont. A
+veteran subaltern of the army of Napoleon, who lived in Puria, was
+secretly furbishing up his old uniform, with the intention of presenting
+himself before the French Emperor when he should enter Italy. Whenever
+Intrioni, the curate of Castello, met Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri, he
+would remind him of a certain rhyme of 1796 which he, Don Giuseppe, had
+gone about repeating in 1848, but which he had soon hidden away again.
+
+ The mighty Ulans
+ Came here from Hungary,
+ But the Frenchman's arms
+ Made them all promptly flee!
+
+Don Giuseppe, greatly alarmed, would cry: "Hush! Hush!"
+
+Meanwhile the violets continued to grow as peacefully on the slopes of
+Valsolda as if nothing were happening. On the evening of the twentieth
+of February, Luisa carried a bunch to the cemetery. She was still in
+mourning. Pallid and emaciated, her eyes had become larger, and there
+were many silver threads in her hair. She seemed to have grown twenty
+years older since her bereavement. Upon leaving the cemetery she turned
+towards Albogasio, and joined some women from Oria, who were going to
+recite the Rosary in the parish church. She no longer seemed the same
+dark phantom that had laid the violets on Maria's grave. She talked
+calmly, almost gaily, first with one, then with another of the women;
+inquired after a sick animal, praised and caressed a little girl who was
+going to the Rosary with her grandmother, and told her to sit very still
+in church, as her Maria had always done. She said this and mentioned
+Maria very quietly, but the women shuddered and were filled with
+astonishment, for Luisa herself never went to church now. She asked one
+of the girls if the young men were going to act a play as usual, and if
+her brother was to take part. Upon receiving an answer in the
+affirmative she offered to help with the costumes. She left the others
+on the church-place of the Annunciata, and as she went down the
+Calcinera alone her face once more resumed its spectral appearance.
+
+She was on her way to Casarico to see the Gilardonis, who had been
+married three years. The professor's happiness and his adoration of
+Ester would deserve to be told in verse! Uncle Piero said of him that he
+had grown feeble-minded. Ester feared he might become ridiculous, and
+would not allow him to assume certain ecstatic poses before her when
+there was anyone present. The only person in whose presence she did not
+insist upon the observance of this rule was Luisa. But Gilardoni always
+showed the greatest deference for Luisa; to him she was still a
+superhuman being; to his respect for the woman herself had been added
+his respect for her grief, and in her presence his behaviour was always
+most circumspect. Luisa had been going to Casa Gilardoni almost every
+evening for about two years now, and if anything could have troubled the
+couple's happiness it would have been these visits.
+
+Indeed, their motive was a strange one, and one repugnant to Ester, but
+Ester's affection for her friend, and her pity for her bereavement, were
+so great, while her heart was so full of remorse for not having looked
+after Maria more carefully on that terrible day, that she did not dare
+to resolutely oppose her wishes, or dissuade her husband from gratifying
+them. She expressed her disapproval to Luisa, and begged her at least to
+maintain secrecy concerning the nightly doings in the professor's study,
+but she went no further. The professor, on the contrary, would have
+enjoyed these séances had it not been for his wife's disapproval. It was
+already dark when Luisa rang the bell at the little door of Casa
+Gilardoni. Ester herself opened it. Luisa did not return her greeting,
+which she felt was full of embarrassment. She simply looked at her, but
+when they reached the little parlour on the ground-floor where Ester was
+in the habit of spending her evenings, she embraced her so passionately
+that Ester burst into tears. "Have patience with me!" Luisa said. "It is
+all that is left me!" Ester tried to comfort her, telling her that
+happier times were coming for her; that she and Franco would soon be
+reunited. In a few months Lombardy would be free, and Franco would come
+home. And then--and then--so many things might happen! Perhaps Maria
+might return! Luisa started violently and caught her friend's hands.
+"No!" she cried. "Do not say such things! Never! Never! I am all hers! I
+belong to Maria alone!" Ester could not answer, for at that point the
+smiling professor came bustling into the room.
+
+He saw that his wife's eyes were wet with tears and that Luisa was
+greatly excited. He greeted her very quietly and sat down in silence
+beside Ester, in the belief that they had been discussing the usual
+subject, which was so painful to his wife. She would have liked to send
+him away and resume her conversation with Luisa, but did not venture to
+do so. Luisa was shuddering at that spectre of future danger which would
+sometimes stand vaguely outlined before her mind's eye, but which she
+had always banished with horror, never pausing to examine it, and which
+now, evoked by her friend's words, rose before her, naked and distinct.
+After a long and painful silence Ester sighed, and said in a low voice:
+
+"You may go if you like. Go, both of you."
+
+Luisa, moved by an impulse of gratitude, fell on her knees before her
+friend and buried her face in her lap. "You know," she said, "I no
+longer believe in God. At first I thought there must be a cruel God, but
+now I do not believe in the existence of any God. But if a loving God,
+such as He in whom you believe, did really, surely exist, He would not
+condemn a poor mother who has lost her only child, and who is
+struggling to persuade herself that a part of that child still lives!"
+
+Ester made no reply. Almost every night for two years Luisa and her
+husband had evoked the spirit of the dead child. Professor Gilardoni, in
+whom there was a strange mingling of the free-thinker and the mystic,
+had read with great interest the marvellous tales that were told
+concerning the Fox sisters--Americans--and the experiments of Eliphas
+Levi, and had closely followed the spiritualistic movement which had
+spread rapidly in Europe, in the form of a mania that upset both heads
+and tables. He had spoken to Luisa about this movement, and Luisa,
+possessed and blinded by the idea that she might ascertain if her child
+did still exist, in which case she might in some way be able to
+communicate with her, seeing nothing else in all the marvellous facts
+and strange theories save this one luminous point, had besought him to
+make some experiments with Ester and herself. Ester believed in nothing
+supernatural outside the doctrines of Christianity, and did not,
+therefore, take the matter seriously. She willingly consented to place
+her hands on a small table, in the company of her friend and her
+husband, who, on the contrary, exhibited great zeal, and had faith in
+their chances of success. The first experiments were disappointing.
+Ester, who found them tedious, would have liked to discontinue the
+attempts, but one evening, after twenty minutes of waiting, the little
+table tipped to one side, lifted a leg in the air, righted itself, and
+then tipped again, to Ester's great chagrin, but to the great joy of
+Luisa and the professor. The next night five minutes sufficed to make
+the table move. The professor taught them the alphabet, and then tried
+to summon a spirit. The table responded, knocking with its leg upon the
+floor according to the alphabet that had been arranged. The spirit
+evoked gave its name: Van Helmont. Ester was frightened and trembled
+like a leaf; the professor was trembling also, but with excitement. He
+wished to tell Van Helmont that he had his works in his library, but
+Luisa besought him to inquire where Maria was. Van Helmont answered:
+"Near!" Then Ester rose, as pale as a ghost, protesting that she would
+not continue, and neither Luisa's tears nor entreaties could move her.
+It was sinful, sinful! Ester's religious sense was not deep, but she had
+a wholesome fear of hell and the devil. For some time it had been
+impossible to resume the séances--she had a horror of them, and her
+husband did not venture to oppose her wishes. It was Luisa who, by dint
+of prayers and entreaties, at last obtained a compromise. The séances
+were resumed, but Ester took no part in them.
+
+She did not even wish to know what took place. Only, whenever her
+husband seemed worried or preoccupied, she would throw out an uneasy
+allusion to the secret dealings in the study. Then he would be troubled,
+and offer to desist, but Ester had not the courage to face Luisa. For
+she had discovered indirectly that Luisa really believed she held
+communication with the child's spirit. Once she had said: "I shall not
+come to-morrow night because Maria does not wish it." At another time
+she had said: "I am going up to Looch because Maria wants a flower from
+her grandmother's grave." To Ester it seemed incredible that a head so
+clear and strong could be thus deluded. At the same time she realised
+the extreme difficulty of convincing her by gentle means, and all the
+cruelty of using harsh measures with her.
+
+The professor lit a candle and went upstairs to the study, followed by
+Luisa. We are acquainted with this study that was like a ship's cabin,
+its shelves filled with books, its little fireplace, its windows
+overlooking the lake and the armchair in which Maria had gone to sleep
+one Christmas Eve. The room now contained something else. Between the
+fireplace and the window stood a small round table, with one central leg
+only, that branched out into three feet, about a hand's breadth from the
+floor.
+
+"I am very sorry to cause Ester so much pain," said the professor as
+they entered the room. He placed the light on the writing-desk, but
+instead of preparing the little table and the chairs as usual he went to
+look out of the window at the pale light on the water and in the sky,
+amidst the surrounding shadows of night. Luisa stood motionless, and
+suddenly he faced about as if some magnetism had revealed her anguish to
+him. He saw appalling anguish on her face, and understood that she
+believed he had made up his mind to stop the séances, whereas he had
+only been tempted to do so, and, greatly moved, he seized her hands,
+telling her that Ester was good, that she loved her so much, that
+neither he nor she would ever willingly cause her suffering. Luisa did
+not answer, but the professor had all he could do to prevent her kissing
+his hand. While he was arranging the little table and the two chairs in
+the centre of the floor, she sank into the armchair, in a state of great
+depression.
+
+"There!" said the professor.
+
+Drawing a letter from her pocket Luisa handed it to him.
+
+"I need Maria and you so much to-night," said she. "Read that. It is
+from Franco. You can begin with the fourth page." The professor did not
+hear these last words, but going to the light, began to read aloud:
+
+ "Turin, _February 18, 1859_.
+ "My OWN LUISA,--
+
+ "Do you know you have not written to me for a fortnight!"
+
+ "You can skip that," said Luisa, but at once corrected herself.
+ "No, perhaps you had better read it." The professor continued.
+
+ "This is my third letter to you since yours of the sixth.
+ Perhaps I was too violent in my first letter, and wounded you.
+ What a temper is this of mine, that makes me speak, and
+ sometimes even write such harsh words when my blood is up! And
+ what blood is this of mine that at two-and-thirty is as quick
+ to boil as at two-and-twenty! Forgive me, Luisa, and permit me
+ to return to the subject, and take back those words that may
+ have offended you.
+
+ "At present there is no more talk here either of tables or of
+ spirits, but only of diplomacy and war; in former years,
+ however, spiritualism was very widely discussed, and several
+ persons I both respect and esteem believed in it. I knew
+ positively that many among them were simply deluded but I never
+ doubted their good faith when they told me of conversations
+ they had had with spirits. It would indeed seem that our
+ imagination, when inflamed, can make us see and hear things
+ that do not really exist. But I am willing to admit that in
+ your case you are not deceived by your imagination; that your
+ little table does really move and express itself exactly as you
+ say. I was wrong to doubt this--I confess it--in the first
+ place because you are so sure of not being mistaken, and
+ secondly, because I am well aware of Professor Gilardoni's
+ honesty. But to me this is a question of sentiment. I know that
+ my sweet Maria lives with God, and I cherish the hope that some
+ time I, with other souls dear to me, may go where she is. If
+ she should appear before me unbidden, if, without having
+ summoned her, I should hear the sound of her voice, clear and
+ distinct, perhaps I should not be able to bear such joy. But I
+ could never summon her, never force her to come to me. The
+ thought is repugnant to me; it is contrary to that sense of
+ veneration I feel for a Being who is so much nearer God than I
+ am. Dear Luisa, I also speak to our treasure every day, speak
+ to her of myself and of you as well; I am convinced that she
+ sees us, that she loves us, that she can still do much for us
+ even in this life. How I wish that your intercourse with her
+ might be of the same nature! If, in answering your letter in
+ which you allude to a communication from her I expressed myself
+ too harshly, forgive me, not only in consideration of my hasty
+ temper, but still more in consideration of my sentiments, which
+ are indeed a part of my nature.
+
+ "Forgive me also in consideration of the atmosphere of intense
+ excitement in which I am living here. My throat is perfectly
+ well. Since war has been talked of, I have cast aside both
+ camphor and sedative waters, but my nerves are in a state of
+ such extraordinary tension that it seems as if, were they
+ touched, sparks must fly from them. All this is partly due to
+ the amount of work to be accomplished at the Home Office, where
+ it is no longer a question of regular hours, but where even the
+ humblest secretary, if he be conscientious, must strain every
+ muscle. When I first obtained this position through the
+ kindness of Count Cavour, I felt I was not really earning the
+ bread the government gave me. This is no longer the case, but I
+ am about to withdraw from this field of strenuous labour; and
+ this brings me to another topic, to something I have long had
+ in my heart, and which I now impart to you with feelings of
+ indescribable emotion.
+
+ "In a week my friends and I are going to enlist in the army as
+ volunteers, for the duration of the coming campaign. We are
+ entering the ninth infantry regiment, stationed in Turin. Here
+ at the Home Office they would like to keep me some time longer,
+ but I intend to become familiar with my duties in the regiment
+ before the campaign opens, and I have therefore simply promised
+ not to leave the Office until the day before we enlist.
+
+ "Luisa, we have not seen each other for three years and almost
+ five months! It is true you are under police surveillance, and
+ that you may not go to Lugano, but I have several times
+ proposed means to you of meeting me, at least at the frontier,
+ or on the mountains, and you have never even answered. I
+ believed I knew why. It was because you could not tear yourself
+ away even for a short time, from a certain sacred spot. This
+ seemed too much, and I confess I had many bitter feelings. Then
+ I reproached myself, I felt I was selfish, and I forgave you.
+ Now, Luisa, circumstances have changed. I have no forebodings
+ of evil; indeed, it seems impossible that I should be destined
+ to end my days on a battlefield, nevertheless this is not
+ impossible. I am going to take part in a war that promises to
+ be one of the greatest, one of the longest and most desperate,
+ for if Austria is risking her Italian provinces, we, and
+ perhaps Emperor Napoleon as well, are risking everything. It is
+ said we shall spend next winter beneath the walls of Verona.
+ Luisa, I cannot run the risk of dying without seeing you once
+ more. I shall have only twenty-four hours, I cannot come to the
+ frontier or to Lugano, and I should not be satisfied to spend
+ ten minutes with you. Ask Ismaele to get you to Lugano in some
+ way on the morning of the twenty-fifth of this month. Leave
+ Lugano in time to reach Magadino at one o'clock, for you cannot
+ go by way of Luino. At Magadino you must take the boat that
+ leaves at about half-past one. At four or thereabouts you will
+ reach Isola Bella, where I shall arrive at about the same hour
+ from Arona. At this time of year Isola Bella is a desert. We
+ can spend the evening together, and in the morning you will
+ leave for Oria, I for Turin.
+
+ "I am writing to Uncle Piero to ask his forgiveness for
+ depriving him of your company for one day.
+
+ "I do not apprehend any danger. The Austrians are thinking only
+ of their arms, and their police are letting thousands of young
+ men escape them, young men who come here to take up arms. The
+ Austrians would be terrible the day after a victory, but, God
+ willing! that day shall never dawn for them.
+
+ "Luisa, can it be possible I shall not find you at Isola Bella,
+ that you may think you are pleasing Maria by not coming? But
+ don't you know that if some one had said to my Maria, to my
+ poor little darling--run and say good-bye to your papa, who is
+ perhaps going away to die--how fast----"
+
+The reader's voice trembled, broke, and was lost in a sob. Luisa hid her
+face in her hands. He placed the letter on her knees, saying with
+difficulty: "Donna Luisa, can you hesitate?"
+
+"I am wicked," Luisa murmured. "I am mad!"
+
+"But do you not love him?"
+
+"Sometimes I think I love him very much, at other times not at all."
+
+"My God!" the professor exclaimed. "But now? Are you not moved by the
+thought that you may never see him again?"
+
+Luisa was silent, she seemed to be crying. Suddenly she started to her
+feet, pressing her hands to her temples, and fixed her eyes on the
+professor's face, eyes in which there were no tears, but in which there
+shone a sinister and angry light. "You don't know," she cried, "what
+there is here in my head! What a mass of contradictions, how many
+opposite thoughts that are struggling together, and always changing
+places with each other! When I received the letter I cried bitterly, and
+said to myself. 'Yes, my poor Franco, this time I will go!'--And then
+there came a voice that spoke here in my forehead, and said: 'No, you
+must not go because--because--because----'"
+
+She ceased speaking, and the professor, terrified by the flashes of
+madness he saw in those eyes that were fixed on his, did not dare to ask
+for an explanation. The eyes, which still stared into his, gradually
+softened and became veiled with tears. Luisa took his hands, and said
+gently, timidly: "Let us ask Maria."
+
+They sat down at the table and placed their hands upon it. The professor
+sat with his back to the light, which fell full upon Luisa's face. The
+little table was in the shadow. After eleven minutes of profound
+silence, the professor murmured:
+
+"It is beginning to move."
+
+In fact the table was gradually leaning over to one side. Presently it
+righted itself, and knocked once, lightly. Luisa's face brightened.
+
+"Who are you?" said the professor. "Answer with the usual alphabet."
+
+There came seventeen, then fourteen, then eighteen knocks, and then one
+alone. "Rosa," said the professor softly. Rosa was a little sister of
+his wife's who had died in infancy, and the table had knocked out this
+name on several previous occasions. "Go away," said Gilardoni. "Send
+Maria to us."
+
+The table soon began to move again, and knocked out the words:
+
+"It is I, Maria!"
+
+"Maria, Maria, my own Maria!" whispered Luisa, her face assuming an
+expression of intense joy.
+
+"Do you know the contents of the letter your father has written to your
+mother?" Gilardoni inquired.
+
+The table answered:
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What is your mother to do?"
+
+Luisa was trembling from head to foot in anxious suspense. The table did
+not move.
+
+"Answer," said the professor.
+
+This time the table moved, but knocked out only an incomprehensible
+confusion of letters.
+
+"We do not understand. Repeat."
+
+The little table did not move again. "Repeat, I tell you!" said the
+professor, rather sharply.
+
+"No, no!" begged Luisa. "Don't insist. Maria does not wish to answer."
+But the professor was bound to insist. "It is not admissible that a
+spirit should not answer. You know very well we have often before been
+unable to understand what they said."
+
+Luisa rose, greatly agitated, saying that rather than force Maria she
+should prefer to cut the séance short. The professor remained seated,
+lost in thought. "Hush!" said he at last.
+
+The table moved and once more began to knock.
+
+"Yes!" exclaimed Gilardoni, his face radiant. "I inquired mentally if
+you should go, and the table has answered 'yes.' Now you yourself must
+ask aloud."
+
+Five or six minutes passed before the table began to move. In answer to
+Luisa's question: "Shall I go?" there came first thirteen, then fourteen
+knocks. The answer was "no."
+
+The professor turned pale, and Luisa questioned him with her eyes. He
+was silent for some time, and then said with a sigh:
+
+"Perhaps it was not Maria. Perhaps it was a lying spirit."
+
+"And how can we find out?" Luisa inquired anxiously.
+
+"We cannot find out. It is impossible."
+
+"Then how about the other communications? Is there never any certainty?"
+
+"Never."
+
+She lapsed into terrified silence. Then presently she murmured: "It was
+bound to end thus. This also was to be taken from me."
+
+She rested her forehead upon the table. The candle light fell upon her
+hair, upon her arms and hands. She was motionless, nothing moved in the
+room save the little flickering flame of the candle. Another little
+flame, the last light of hope and of comfort, was dying out in this poor
+head which had gone down before the onslaught of a bitter and invincible
+doubt. What could Gilardoni do or say? He saw that Ester's wish would
+soon be gratified, but not by his means. Three or four minutes later
+they heard Ester's voice, and steps on the floor below. Luisa rose
+slowly.
+
+"Let us go," said she.
+
+"Perhaps we should pray," Gilardoni observed without rising. "Perhaps we
+should ask the spirits if they confess Christ."
+
+"No, no, no!" Luisa exclaimed in an undertone, at the same time
+protesting with a hostile gesture. The professor silently took up the
+candle.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+On her way back to Oria Luisa went up to the gate of the cemetery.
+Resting her forehead against it she sent a stifled good-bye towards
+Maria's grave, then she went down the hill again. On reaching the
+church-place she crossed over to the parapet and gazed down upon the
+lake sleeping in the shadow. She stood there some time, letting her
+thoughts roam at will. Placing her elbows on the parapet, she leaned
+forward and rested her face upon her hands, still gazing at the water,
+the water that had taken Maria. Her thoughts were beginning to take a
+definite shape, not within her, but down there in the water. She
+contemplated this shape. To die, to end it all! She was familiar with
+the thought, she had seen it once before when gazing into the water
+thus, long ago, before the experiments with the professor began. After
+that it had disappeared. But now it had returned again. It was a sweet
+and merciful thought, full of rest, of self-surrender, and of peace. It
+was good to gaze upon it now that her faith in the spirits was gone
+also. To die, to end it all! On that former occasion the image of her
+old uncle had been strong in helping to dispel the fascination. Now it
+was not so strong. Since Maria's death Uncle Piero had lapsed into a
+state of almost complete silence which Luisa believed to be the
+beginning of the apathy of old age. She did not understand that in the
+old man's soul profound disapproval was mingled with grief, nor did she
+understand how great was his aversion to these daily and repeated visits
+to the cemetery, the flowers, the mysterious journeys to Casarico, and
+above all, how he regretted her complete abandonment of the church. If
+she had not been so engrossed in her dead child she might have
+understood her uncle better, at least on this last point, the church,
+for now the silent old man himself went to Mass oftener than before, his
+heart returning to the religion of his father and mother, which,
+heretofore, he had practised coldly, from habit, and out of respect for
+family traditions. It seemed to Luisa that he had grown very dull, and
+that if only his personal needs were attended to, he would be quite
+content. Cia was there to attend to his comforts, and the means that had
+sufficed for three would be more than sufficient for two. Luisa thought
+she saw the water rise a hand's breadth. And Franco? Franco would be in
+despair, would mourn for a few years, and then he would be happier than
+ever. Franco knew the secret of speedy consolation. The water seemed to
+rise another hand's breadth.
+
+At the same moment in which she had approached the parapet, Franco,
+passing the church of S. Francesco di Paolo in Via di Po, had seen
+lights and heard the organ. He went in. Hardly had he said a short
+prayer when the one dominant thought took possession of him once more;
+the sound of the organ became the noise of trumpets and drums, the clash
+of arms; and while a hymn of peace was rising from the altar, he, in
+imagination, was furiously charging the enemy. Suddenly he saw before
+his mind's eye the image of Luisa, pale, and dressed in mourning. He
+began to think of her, to pray for her with intense fervour.
+
+Then, standing there on the church-place of Oria, she turned cold and
+was filled with dread, while the tempting thought gradually vanished.
+She tried to recall it, but could not. The water subsided. An inward
+voice said to her: "What if the professor be mistaken? What if it be not
+true that the table answered first yes and then no? what if it be not
+true about the lying spirits?" She drew back from the parapet, and with
+slow steps, went up to her house.
+
+She found her uncle in the kitchen sitting in the chimney-corner, the
+tongs in his hand, and his glass of milk beside him. Cia and Leu were
+sewing.
+
+"Well," said Uncle Piero, "I have been to the Custom-House. The
+Receiver is in bed with the jaundice, but I spoke with the
+_Sedentario_."
+
+"What about, uncle?"
+
+"About Lugano. About your journey to Lugano on the twenty-fifth. He has
+promised to close an eye and let you pass."
+
+Luisa was silent, and stood thoughtfully watching the fire. Presently
+she gave Leu some orders for the next day, and then begged her uncle to
+come into the parlour with her.
+
+"What for?" said he, with his habitual simplicity, "You can't have any
+great secrets to tell. Let us stay here where the fire is."
+
+Cia lit a candle. "We will go out," said she.
+
+The uncle made his usual grimace, expressive of compassion for the
+weaknesses of others, but remained silent. Draining his glass of milk,
+he passed it to Luisa. She took the glass, and said softly: "I have not
+decided yet."
+
+"What?" the uncle exclaimed sharply. "What is it you have not decided?"
+
+"Whether I shall go to Isola Bella."
+
+"Now what the deuce----?"
+
+Uncle Piero was utterly incapable of grasping such a thing as this.
+
+"And why should you not go?"
+
+She answered calmly, and as if stating a perfectly obvious fact:
+
+"I am afraid I shall not be able to leave Maria."
+
+"Oh, come now!" Uncle Piero exclaimed. "Sit down over there," and he
+pointed to a bench in the chimney-corner opposite him. Then he said, in
+that serious, honest voice of his, which seemed to come from his heart:
+
+"My dear Luisa, you have lost your bearings!"
+
+And raising his arms, he uttered a long "Ah!" and then let them fall
+upon his knees once more.
+
+"Lost your bearings completely!" he repeated. He sat silent for a time,
+his head bent, while behind his pursed lips there was the rumbling of
+words in course of formation, which presently burst forth.
+
+"I would never have believed it! It does not seem possible! But when,"
+and here he raised his head and looked Luisa straight in the face, "but
+when we once begin to lose our bearings it is all up with us. And you,
+my dear, began to lose yours a long time ago."
+
+Luisa shuddered.
+
+"Yes indeed!" Uncle Piero cried in a loud voice. "You began losing yours
+a long time ago. And now this is what I wish to say to you. Listen. My
+mother lost children, your mother lost children, I have seen many
+mothers lose children, but not one of them acted as you act. What can
+you expect? We are all mortal, and must adapt ourselves to our
+circumstances. Other mothers become resigned, but you do not. And this
+running two, three, and even four times a day to the cemetery! And the
+flowers, and I know not what all besides! Oh, dear me! And all that
+foolishness at Casarico with that other poor imbecile, which you think
+is such a secret, while every one is talking of it, even Cia. Oh, dear
+me!"
+
+"No, uncle," said Luisa, sadly but calmly. "Don't talk of these things.
+You cannot understand them."
+
+"Exactly!" the uncle retorted with all the irony of which he was
+capable. "I cannot understand! But there is something else. You no
+longer go to church. I have never mentioned this to you because I have
+always made it a rule to let people do as they like, but when I see you
+losing your good sense, losing your common-sense even, the least I can
+do is to remind you that this is all you do by turning your back on the
+Almighty. And now this idea of not going to see your husband, under
+similar circumstances! It is past belief. Well, well," he said after a
+short pause, "I will go myself."
+
+"You?" Luisa exclaimed.
+
+"Why not? Yes, I. I had intended to accompany you, but if you will not
+go I must take the journey alone. I will go and tell your husband that
+you have lost your head, and that I hope I may soon be called to join
+poor Maria."
+
+No one had ever heard such bitter words from Uncle Piero's lips. Perhaps
+it was for that reason, perhaps it was the authority of the man, perhaps
+it was Maria's name pronounced in that way, but at any rate Luisa was
+conquered.
+
+"I will go," she said, "but you must stay here."
+
+"Most certainly not!" cried Uncle Piero, greatly pleased. "It is forty
+years since I saw the islands. I must avail myself of this opportunity.
+And who knows but what I may enlist in the cavalry?"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"Well?" said Cia, when the uncle had gone to bed. "Does my master really
+intend to go? For the love of Heaven, don't let him, my dear!" And she
+told Luisa that two hours before he had rolled his eyes in a strange
+manner, letting his head sink upon his breast, and when she had called
+to him he had not answered. Presently he had recovered, and had been
+provoked at her anxious questions, protesting that he had not been ill,
+that he had simply felt rather sleepy. Luisa listened to her, standing
+with her candle in her hand, her eyes glassy, and her attention divided
+between the words she was hearing and another very different thought, a
+thought very far removed from Uncle Piero, from the house, from
+Valsolda.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE SUMMONS TO ARMS
+
+
+On the morning of the twenty-fifth of February, the day fixed for their
+journey, Uncle Piero rose at half-past seven, and went to the window. A
+heavy, white fog hung over the lake, hiding the mountains so that they
+appeared only as short black streaks, one on the right, the other on the
+left, between the lake and the fog. "Alas!" the uncle sighed. He had not
+finished dressing when Luisa came in, and using the unpleasant weather
+as a pretext, once more begged him to remain at home, and let her go
+alone. Cia was greatly distressed, and had entreated her to urge him not
+to go, for she knew he had had an attack of giddiness on the twentieth,
+and that on the twenty-second he had gone to confession without
+mentioning it to any one. Seeing that he was growing impatient, Luisa
+decided it would be wiser to desist, and let him have his own way. Poor
+Uncle Piero, he had always enjoyed the best of health, and now he was
+extremely apprehensive, and the slightest disturbance alarmed him. But
+he did not feel that Luisa should be allowed to set out alone in her
+present state of mind, and so he was going to sacrifice himself for
+her. He finished dressing and returning to the window called out
+triumphantly to Luisa, who was in the little garden below.
+
+"Look up!" said he. "Look up at the Boglia!"
+
+High up above Oria through the smoking fog, the pale gold of the sun
+shining on the mountain could be seen, and still higher up all was clear
+and transparent.
+
+"Fair weather!"
+
+Luisa did not reply, and the old man came down to the loggia in a
+cheerful frame of mind, and went out to the terrace to enjoy the
+magnificent struggle between fog and sun.
+
+The stretch of water towards the east between the Ca Rotta, the last
+house of S. Mamette on the left, and the gulf of the Doi on the right,
+was one immense white sea. The Ca Rotta could just be distinguished,
+coming out of the fog like some spectre. At the gulf of the Doi, the
+narrow black streak of the mountains began, making a gap between the
+leaden lake and the fog, which, little by little, was assuming a bluish
+hue. Vague lights broke in the sky towards Osteno; at the end of the
+eastern sea a new brightness trembled, streaks and spots, dark with the
+breeze, were forming; the eye of the sun appeared and disappeared among
+the whirling clouds above Osteno, until at last, growing rapidly larger,
+it shone forth triumphant. The fog fled in all directions in sheets and
+puffs, of which many sped past Oria, large and swift, while others cast
+themselves upon the shore; but the largest rolled away into the far
+east, where, behind and above a heavy white curtain, the mountains of
+the lake of Como rose, glorious in the blue.
+
+Uncle Piero called Luisa to witness the spectacle, the last splendid
+scene of the drama, the triumph of the sun, the flight of the mists, the
+glory of the hills. He admired nature in a simple manner, without the
+refinement of the artistic sense, but with youthful ardour, and with the
+ring of sincerity in his voice; his admiration was that of an old man
+who has lived a life of purity, who has not exhausted the freshness of
+his spirit, who still retains a certain simplicity of imagination.
+"Look, Luisa!" he exclaimed, "we must indeed cry out, 'Glory be to the
+Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!'" Luisa did not answer, but went
+quickly indoors, that she might not see that white enclosure beyond the
+kitchen-garden that was drawing her so strongly, with its tacit cry of
+reproach and grief. She had gone there that morning at six o'clock, and
+had remained an hour, seated on the wet grass.
+
+The uncle remained on the terrace lost in contemplation until the moment
+of departure arrived. Had he been a vain poet he might have imagined
+that Valsolda was offering him this farewell spectacle to speed him on
+his way; that she wished to show herself more beautiful than he had,
+perhaps, ever seen her before. However, these poetic fancies did not
+come to him, and, besides, his journey was to be so short. But the image
+of Maria came to him instead; he saw her running round him, he took her
+upon his knee, and repeated the old rhyme to her:
+
+ Proud shade of the river
+ Of Missipiṕ----
+
+"Enough!" he sighed. "It was a terrible thing!" and in answer to a
+summons from Cia he went slowly towards the little garden where Luisa
+was awaiting him, ready to go down to the boat. "Here I am," said he.
+"And you, Cia, be careful not to let the house tumble into the lake
+while we are away!"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+During the journey on Lake Maggiore on board the _San Bernardino_, Luisa
+remained in the second-class cabin most of the time. She went on deck
+once to try and persuade Uncle Piero to go below also, but, although the
+wind was cold, Uncle Piero, wrapped in his heavy grey travelling cloak,
+would not stir from the deck, where he sat calmly watching the hills and
+villages, and chatting with a priest from Locarno, with a little old
+woman from Belgirate, and with other second-class passengers. Luisa was
+obliged to leave him there, while she herself went below again,
+preferring to be alone with her own thoughts. As they approached Isola
+Bella a sense of inward excitement and a vague foreboding of many
+things took possession of her. How would the meeting with Franco take
+place? How would he treat her? Would he repeat Uncle Piero's sermon to
+her? His letters were indeed always compassionate and tender, but who
+does not know that we write in one way and speak in another? How and
+where would they spend the evening? And then that other question, that
+question it so terrified her to think about----? All these anxious
+thoughts were rising higher and higher, threatening to become dominant,
+to place themselves in bold opposition to that image of the cemetery of
+Oria, which from time to time would return with impetuous violence, as
+if to snatch back its own. At the station of Cannero, Luisa heard the
+noise of many steps and of loud talking above her head, and went
+upstairs to look after her uncle. A party of soldiers, recalled to
+service, had come out to the steamer in two large barges. Other small
+boats bore women, children, and old men, who were crying and waving
+good-bye. The soldiers, most of whom were _Bersaglieri_, fine jolly
+young fellows, answered the greeting with shouts of "Hurrah for Italy!"
+and made promises of presents from Milan. One old woman, all
+dishevelled, but tearless, had three sons among those soldiers, and was
+calling out to them to remember our Lord and the Madonna. "Yes, yes,"
+grumbled an old sergeant who was escorting them, "Remember our Lord, and
+the Madonna, and the Bishop, and don't forget the _prevosto_, the
+parish priest!" The soldiers, who were well acquainted with the
+_prevosto_, or military prison, laughed loudly at the joke, as the
+steamer started forward. There were cries, and waving of handkerchiefs,
+and then the men burst into song, a song shouted by fifty strong voices.
+
+ Addio, mia bella, addio,
+ L'armata se ne va.
+
+The soldiers were all clustered together at the prow, among piles of
+bags and barrels, some sitting, some lying down, others standing, and
+all singing at the top of their voices to the dull accompaniment of the
+paddles as the steamer glided straight towards that background of sky,
+against which rose the pointed hills of Ispra, dividing the immense
+expanse of water from the Ticino beyond. The young men would soon be
+crossing the Ticino, probably to the cry of "Savoy for ever!" and amidst
+the fury of cannonading. Death was awaiting many of them down there
+under that clear sky, but all sang gaily, and only the dull noise of the
+paddles seemed to be aware of their fate. The free hills of Piedmont,
+past which the boat was gliding, although they stood in the shadow,
+seemed to shine with pride and satisfaction at having given their sons
+to the captive hills of Lombardy, which wore an air of tragedy, although
+illumined by the sun. Luisa felt her blood begin to tingle, felt her
+once ardent patriotism begin to stir. And those mothers who had seen
+their sons depart thus? She foresaw whither her thoughts were tending,
+and hastened to assure herself that she also would gladly have given a
+son to Italy, that the grief of those mothers could not in any way be
+compared to hers. But what a difference there was between reading a
+letter in Valsolda, telling of the war, and feeling the very breath,
+hearing the very noise of war all about her, feeling it in the air
+itself! In the quiet of Valsolda, war was a shadow without substance;
+here the shadow became incarnate. Here Luisa's personal grief, that
+immense grief which filled the lifeless air surrounding her in Oria,
+seemed to shrink before the emotion of many, and her consciousness of
+this gave her an indefinable sense of discomfort and trouble. Was it the
+dread of losing a part of her own grief, a part, as it were, of herself?
+Was it the desire to escape from a comparison from which she shrank? At
+the same time the idea that Franco was going to this war, the idea that
+had affected her so slightly in Valsolda, was now assuming a new aspect
+of reality in her mind, was making her heart quiver, and it also was
+wrestling with the image of the cemetery of Oria. For the first time
+this image of the past was no longer the one, all-powerful master of her
+soul, and although her soul was indignant and regretful, new images,
+images of the present and of the future, were assailing it.
+
+Uncle Piero began to feel cold and came down to the cabin.
+
+"In little more than an hour we shall be at Isola Bella," said he.
+
+"Are you tired?"
+
+"Not in the least. I feel wonderfully well."
+
+"But nevertheless, you will go to bed early to-night?"
+
+The uncle, whose thoughts were wandering, did not answer, but presently
+he exclaimed: "Do you know what I was thinking? I was thinking that now
+there ought to be another Maria."
+
+Luisa, who was sitting beside him, sprang up shuddering, and went to the
+little window opposite, standing with her back to Uncle Piero, who did
+not understand in the least, and, concluding she was embarrassed, went
+to sleep in his corner. The steamer touched at Intra. Now there was only
+Pallanza before Isola. They were skirting the coast; through the little
+oval window Luisa could see the banks, the houses, the trees slipping
+by. How fast the boat was gliding, how fast!
+
+Pallanza. The steamer stopped five minutes.
+
+Luisa went on deck and inquired when they would reach Isola Bella. They
+would not stop either at Suna or Baveno, so it was a question of only a
+few minutes now. And when would the steamer from Arona arrive? The
+steamer from Arona appeared to be late. She went below once more to
+awaken Uncle Piero, who presently came on deck with her. The last part
+of the journey was accomplished in silence. The uncle watched Pallanza,
+which they were leaving behind, while Luisa had fixed her gaze on Isola
+Bella, which they were rapidly approaching, and she saw nothing else.
+
+The boat reached the landing-stage at Isola Bella at forty minutes past
+three. There was no sign of the steamer from Arona. A porter told Luisa
+that it was always late now because the train from Novara was never on
+time, owing to the movement of troops. No one else went ashore at Isola,
+no one was on the beach save the attendant at the landing-stage. When
+the boat had left, he himself conducted the two travellers to the
+_Albergo del Delfino_. He said it was a mere chance their finding the
+hotel open at this season. A large family were spending the winter
+there. They were English people. Indeed, it seemed the Island of
+Silence. The lake lay about it, motionless and silent, the shore was
+deserted, no living being was to be seen in the porches of the poor
+little houses clustered together about the bay, between one of the round
+bastions of the gardens and the hotel. The English people had gone out
+in a boat; the hotel was as silent as the shore and the water. The new
+arrivals were given two large rooms on the second floor, both of which
+faced south, and overlooked the melancholy strait between the island and
+the wooded strip of coast that runs from Stressa to Baveno. The first
+room was on the western corner of the house, and its window looked out
+on the little church of S. Vittore, which rises beside the hotel, and
+upon the small Isola dei Pescatori in the distance. Uncle Piero planted
+himself at the window contemplating the little island, the little pile
+of houses rising out of the mirror of the lake and culminating in a
+campanile; the great mountains of Val di Toce and Val di Gravellone,
+half hidden in a thin mist through which the sun was shining. Luisa,
+seeing that the room contained two beds, hastened to the other room,
+where an alcove also held two beds. "There," said Uncle Piero, coming
+in, a moment later, "this will do nicely for you two." Luisa asked the
+proprietor, in an undertone, if they could not have three rooms instead
+of two. No, it was impossible. "But this is all right," Uncle Piero
+repeated. "This is a perfect arrangement. You take this room, and I will
+have the other." Luisa was silent, and the proprietor withdrew. "Don't
+you see you have an alcove, just as at home?" It never struck the simple
+old man that the very sight of that alcove was a torment to Luisa. She
+told him she preferred the other room, which was lighter and more
+cheerful. "Amen!" said the uncle. "Do as you like. I am quite willing to
+be alcoved."
+
+This corner of the hotel soon lapsed into silence once more. Luisa
+posted herself at the window. The boat from Arona must be very near now;
+the man who had accompanied them to the hotel was walking slowly towards
+the landing-stage, and in a few minutes she heard the noise of the
+paddles in the distance. Uncle Piero told Luisa he was tired, and
+remained in his room.
+
+She went down towards the landing-stage and stopped behind a small house
+that hid the boat from view, but she could hear it distinctly. Suddenly
+the prow of the _San Gottardo_ glided slowly in front of her and
+stopped. Luisa recognised her husband in the midst of a noisy group.
+Franco saw her, and springing ashore, ran towards her, while she came
+forward a few steps to meet him. They embraced, he speechless and blind
+with emotion, laughing and crying, full of gratitude, but uncertain as
+to her state of mind, as to how he should regulate his conduct; she more
+composed, extremely pale, and serious. "God bless you! God bless you!"
+he kept repeating, as they turned towards the hotel. Then Franco
+overwhelmed her with questions, first about her journey and the passing
+of the frontier, and then about Uncle Piero. When he mentioned the
+uncle, Luisa raised her head and said: "Look!" The old man was at the
+window waving his handkerchief and calling out his welcome in a ringing
+voice. "Oh!" cried Franco in amazement, and he ran forward.
+
+Uncle Piero was waiting for him on the landing, his face wearing an
+expression of satisfaction that seemed to spread all over his peaceful
+breast. "How are you, my boy?" said he, taking both his hands and
+shaking them heartily, but, nevertheless, holding him at a distance. He
+did not want kisses, feeling that at such a moment they would mean
+thanks; but he could not hold out against Franco's impetuosity. "Did you
+fancy a lady of the house of Maironi could travel without a courier?"
+said he, when he had extricated himself from the young man's arms.
+"Moreover, I came to enlist in the _Bersaglieri_!" And the man who had
+said he was tired started downstairs, saying he was going to order
+dinner.
+
+There was no sofa in their room. Franco drew Luisa to a seat on the bed,
+and sat down beside her, encircling her shoulders with his arm. He could
+not talk to her, could only keep on repeating: "I thank you! I thank
+you!" as he lavished eager caresses, eager kisses, and tender names upon
+her. Luisa did not respond in any way, but trembled violently with bowed
+head. Presently he checked himself, and, taking her head in his hands
+like some sacred thing, fell to touching with his lips the white hairs
+he saw here and there. She knew he was searching out the white hairs,
+understood those timid kisses, and was moved. She felt her heart of ice
+melting, and, seized with terror, struggled to defend herself more
+against her own emotions than against Franco. "You don't know," she
+said, "how cold my heart is. I did not even want to come, did not want
+to leave Maria or give you the pain of finding me in this state. But I
+came on Uncle Piero's account. He was determined to set out alone, and
+that I could not allow."
+
+When she had pronounced these cruel words she felt Franco's lips
+withdrawn from her hair, felt his arm forsake her shoulders. Both were
+silent for a time, then Franco murmured with great gentleness:
+
+"Only thirteen hours more. Then perhaps I shall never trouble you
+again." At that moment Uncle Piero entered and announced that dinner was
+ready. Luisa took her husband's hand and pressed it in silence; it was
+not a lover-like pressure, but it told him she shared his emotion.
+
+At dinner neither Franco nor Luisa could eat. But the uncle had a good
+appetite, and talked a great deal. He did not approve of Franco's
+enlisting. "What sort of a soldier do you expect to become?" said he.
+"What will you do without your camphor, your sedative water, and all the
+rest?"
+
+Franco replied that he had cast aside all remedies, that he felt as if
+he were of steel, and that he should become the most robust soldier of
+the whole ninth regiment. "Maybe," the uncle grumbled, "maybe. And you,
+Luisa, what do you say about it?" Luisa believed it would be as her
+husband had said. "Then that is enough!" the uncle cried. "And so,
+hurrah!" He had a great opinion of the strength of Austria, and did not
+view matters in the same rosy light as did Franco. According to Franco
+there was not the slightest doubt that the Italians would be victorious.
+He had seen one of Niel's adjutants, who had come to Turin on a secret
+mission, and had heard him say to some staff officers: "_Nous allons
+supprimer l'Autriche!_" Of course they fully expected to leave at least
+fifty thousand Italians and Frenchmen between the Ticino and the Isonzo.
+
+"Excuse me, Signori," said the waiter who was serving them, "but did the
+gentlemen speak of enlisting in the ninth regiment?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The Queen's Brigade! A splendid brigade! I served in the tenth. We
+covered ourselves with glory in 1848, as you may remember. Goito, Santo
+Lucia, Governolo, and Volta. Now it will be your turn."
+
+"We will do our best."
+
+Luisa shuddered slightly. The English people, who were dining at a table
+near them, heard this dialogue and looked at Franco. For some minutes no
+one in the room spoke; there passed before them the vision of a column
+of infantry charging with fixed bayonets, amidst a shower of grapeshot.
+
+After dinner the uncle remained at the hotel for his usual nap, and
+Franco went out with Luisa. They turned to the right towards the Palace.
+It was rather dark and a few infrequent drops of rain were falling. The
+steps leading from the shore to the courtyard of the villa were
+slippery, and Franco offered his arm to his wife, who took it in
+silence. They stopped between the deserted courtyard and the stairs that
+lead to the landing-stage, to count the hours which the clock on the
+Palace was ringing out. Six o'clock. Two hours had passed, and there now
+remained only eleven before the separation, before the unknown! They
+walked on slowly and silently, following the straight path between the
+lake and the side of the Palace, as far as the corner which commands a
+view of the Isola dei Pescatori, where some lights were already visible.
+Two women came towards them, chattering, and walking arm in arm. Franco
+allowed them to pass, and then asked his wife if she remembered the
+Ranc̣.
+
+Two years before their marriage they had made an excursion with a party
+of friends to Drano and the Ranc̣, high pasture-lands of the Valsolda,
+on the way to the Passo Stretto. They had had a lively dispute, and had
+sulked and suffered for an hour. "Yes," Luisa replied, "I remember." At
+the same moment both realised how different was the present hour, and
+how painful it was to have to admit the difference. They did not speak
+again until they reached the corner. Bells rang out on the Isola dei
+Pescatori. Franco dropped his wife's arm, and leaned upon the parapet.
+The misty lake was silent; nothing was to be seen save the lights on the
+other island. The lake, the mist, those lights, those bells, which might
+have belonged to a ship lost at sea, the silence of all things, even the
+infrequent, tiny rain-drops, everything was so sad!
+
+"And do you remember afterwards?" Franco murmured, without turning his
+head. Luisa was also leaning against the parapet. She was silent for a
+moment, and then answered in an undertone:
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+And in her "dear," there was a slight and hidden beginning of warmth, of
+affectionate emotion. Franco felt it, and thrilled with joy, but
+controlled himself.
+
+"I am thinking," he went on, "of the letter I wrote you as soon as I got
+home, and of the three words you said to me next day, at Muzzaglio, when
+the others were dancing under the chestnut-trees, and you passed close
+to me on your way to get your shawl, which you had left on the grass. Do
+you remember?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He took her hand and raised it to his lips.
+
+"And do you also remember that I slipped before we reached the bridge,
+and that you said: 'My dear sir, it is your place to support me!'"
+
+Luisa did not answer, but pressed his hands.
+
+"I have been good for nothing," he added sadly. "I have not known how to
+support you."
+
+"You have done all you could."
+
+Luisa's voice, as she spoke these words, was indeed faint, but very
+different from when she had said: "My heart is so cold."
+
+Once more her husband drew her arm through his, and they returned to the
+landing-stage. The dear arm was less passive than before, and betrayed
+agitation and a struggle. Franco stopped, and said softly:
+
+"And if I am called to join Maria? What shall I say to her from you?"
+
+She began to tremble, and resting her head on his shoulder, whispered:
+"No, stay here!" Franco did not hear the words, and repeated: "What?"
+There was no answer, and very slowly he bent his head towards her, saw
+her lips seeking his, and pressed his own upon them. His heart was
+beating fast, faster than when he had kissed Luisa for the first time as
+her lover. He raised his head, but could not speak. At last he succeeded
+in saying these words: "I will tell her you have promised----" "No,"
+murmured Luisa, in great distress. "I cannot do that. You must not ask
+it of me! It is no longer possible!"
+
+"What is not possible?"
+
+"Oh, you understand quite well! I also understood what you meant!"
+
+She started forward as if to flee from the subject, but still clinging
+to Franco's arm, and he held her back.
+
+"Luisa," said he gravely, almost severely, "will you let me go away like
+this? Do you realise what it means to me to go away like this?"
+
+Then she slowly withdrew her arm from his, and turned towards the
+parapet on the right, leaning upon it, and gazing into the water as she
+had done that night at Oria. Franco stood quietly beside her; waited a
+few moments, and then begged her to answer his question.
+
+"It would be better for me to end it all in the lake," she said
+bitterly. Her husband passed his arm round her waist, pulled her away
+from the parapet, and then letting her go, threw up his arm with a
+gesture of protest. "You!" said he indignantly. "You talk thus? You who
+used to prate of looking upon life as a battle? And is this the way you
+fight? Once I believed you were the stronger of us two. Now I know it is
+I who am the stronger. Much the stronger! Can you not even imagine what
+I have suffered during all these years? Can you not----" For a moment
+his voice failed him, but he quickly controlled himself and went on.
+"Can you not even understand what you are to me, and what I would give
+to be able to spare you the slightest pain? While you, it would seem, do
+not care how cruelly you rend my soul!" She flung herself into his arms.
+In the silence that ensued, broken only by her spasmodic and suppressed
+sobbing, Franco heard steps approaching, and with difficulty freed
+himself from her embrace and induced her to turn with him towards the
+hotel. "You naughty girl!" he whispered. "And it is you who don't want
+me to be glad to die, when I can die so gloriously for my country!"
+Luisa pressed his arm without speaking. They met two young lovers, who
+looked curiously at them in passing. The girl smiled. When they reached
+the short flight of steps that leads down to the little square in front
+of S. Vittore, they heard voices of women and girls. Luisa paused a
+moment on the first step, and said softly the three words she had spoken
+at Muzzaglio.
+
+"I love you!"
+
+Franco did not answer, but pressed her arm. Very slowly they went down
+the stairs, and entered the Albergo del Delfino.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Some young men who were drinking, smoking, and laughing, rose as Franco
+and Luisa entered, and came towards them. "Signora," said the first to
+present himself to Luisa, "your husband has probably announced to you
+the visit of the Seven Wise Men." A great hubbub immediately ensued,
+because Franco had forgotten to tell Luisa that his friends had
+accompanied him from Turin, but, not wishing to intrude, had gone on to
+Pallanza promising to come and pay their respects to the Signora in the
+evening. They had come over from Pallanza in a row-boat, and had
+intended returning immediately, but Franco ordered a couple of bottles
+of wine and, soon, in spite of Luisa's presence, their hilarity became
+such that the proprietor begged them, for love of his English family, to
+make less noise.
+
+After arranging with Franco to meet him in the morning on board the
+first steamer, the Wise Men took themselves off. Franco accompanied
+them to the boat and Luisa went to look after Uncle Piero. He had left
+word for them with the proprietor that, feeling very sleepy, he had gone
+to bed. In fact Luisa could hear him snoring noisily. She put the candle
+down, and waited for Franco.
+
+He came up almost immediately, and was surprised to hear that the uncle
+was already asleep. He had wished to say good-bye to him before going to
+bed, as his boat was leaving so early in the morning--at half-past five.
+The door between the two rooms was closed, but nevertheless Luisa begged
+her husband to step and speak softly. She told him what Cia had confided
+to her. The uncle needed rest. She hoped he would remain in bed until
+nine or ten o'clock, and she intended to start at one, and spend the
+night at Magadino, in order not to tire him too much. She laid great
+stress upon her apprehensions concerning Uncle Piero's health, and
+talked incessantly, nervously, anxious to avoid other topics, seeking
+thus to escape too tender caresses. At the same time she was continually
+moving about the room, repeatedly taking up and putting down the same
+objects, and this partly from nervousness, partly with the intention
+that her husband should go to bed before her. He, for his part, was
+intent upon a side-bag, which he was finding difficulty in opening. At
+last he succeeded, and, calling his wife to him, gave her a roll
+containing fifty twenty-franc pieces. "I know," said he, "that I shall
+not be able to send you anything for some months. This money is not
+mine, I have borrowed it." Then he drew a sealed letter from his pocket.
+"And this," he added, "is my will. I have little to leave, but of course
+I must dispose of that little. I have made only one legacy. My father's
+scarf-pin, which you have, is to go to Uncle Piero. I have also set down
+the name of the person who loaned me the thousand francs. Besides the
+will the letter contains a few words for you alone. That is all." He
+spoke with grave sweetness, and without agitation. Her hands trembled as
+she took the letter. "Thank you," she said, and began to unbraid her
+hair, but she immediately twisted it up again, hardly conscious of what
+she was doing, in her struggle with the phantom of the dead child, and
+with another vision of war and death. She said brokenly that, as she
+must be up so early to accompany Franco to the boat, she thought she
+would lie down with her clothes on, and not loosen her hair. Franco made
+no comment, but having said a short prayer, began to undress. From his
+neck he unclasped a little chain from which hung a small gold cross.
+This had belonged to his mother. "I wish you to keep this," said he,
+offering it to Luisa. "It will be safer. It might, perhaps, fall into
+the hands of the Croatians." She was horrified, she shuddered, hesitated
+a moment, then threw her arms about his neck, and pressed him to her in
+a passionate embrace.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The waiter knocked at their door at about half-past four. At five Franco
+took the candle and went into Uncle Piero's room. He was already awake.
+Franco said good-bye to him, and then proposed to Luisa that they also
+take leave of each other in the privacy of their own room. In her face
+and voice there was an expression of grave and painful stupor. She
+displayed no agitation, and did not weep, but embraced and kissed her
+husband as one in a dream, and, still in a dazed state, followed him
+downstairs. Did a flash from the thought that was filling her soul pass
+into his? If so, it happened in the little hotel parlour, while he was
+taking his coffee, his wife seated opposite him. He seemed suddenly to
+discover something in that glance, in that expression, for he paused to
+study her, cup in hand, while ineffable tenderness, anxiety and emotion
+overspread his face. She evidently had no wish to speak, but he longed
+to do so. A hidden word quivered in all the muscles of his face, and
+shone in his eyes, but his mouth did not venture to utter it.
+
+Hand in hand they went down to the landing-stage, and leaned against the
+wall where Luisa had leaned the day before. When they heard the noise of
+the paddles, they embraced for the last time and said good-bye without
+tears, troubled rather by the hidden thought harboured by both than
+afflicted by the separation. The steamer came in noisily, the ropes were
+flung ashore and made fast. A bell rang. One kiss more! "God bless you!"
+said Franco, and hurried on board.
+
+She lingered as long as she could hear the noise of the paddles, as the
+steamer glided towards Stressa. Then she returned to the hotel, sank
+upon the bed, and sat there as one turned to stone, engrossed in the
+idea, in the instinctive certainty, that maternity awaited her a second
+time.
+
+Although this was precisely what she had so greatly feared it cannot be
+said that now she was grieved. All other sentiments were subdued by the
+wonder of listening to a strong, inward voice, that was so clear and
+still so inexplicable. She was dazed. Since Maria's death she had firmly
+believed that the Book of Destiny could contain nothing new for her,
+that certain secret fibres of her heart were dead. And now a mysterious
+voice was speaking within that heart, saying: Know that one page in the
+book of your destiny is finished, and the leaf has been turned. For you
+there is still a future of intense living. The drama that you believed
+had come to an end at the second act, is to continue, and if I Myself
+announce it to you, it must indeed prove wonderful!
+
+For three hours, until Uncle Piero called her, she sat there, absorbed
+in this voice.
+
+The uncle rose at half-past nine; he was feeling very well. The weather
+was still damp, almost rainy, but he would not hear of remaining in the
+house until it was time to start for Magadino, as Luisa wished him to
+do. He knew, for he had inquired of the proprietor, that the gardens
+could be visited after nine o'clock, so at ten he drank his milk and
+then started out to visit them with Luisa. When they passed S. Vittore
+he wished to go in and see the paintings. Mass was being sung, and at
+that moment the officiating priest turned towards them and said
+_Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus_. Uncle Piero crossed himself devoutly,
+and lingered to hear the last gospel. He did not attempt to examine the
+paintings, for there was little light in the church, but said with his
+accustomed cheerfulness: "Now that I have received that blessing I feel
+quite happy!"
+
+It was not possible to hurry in his company. He stopped at every step,
+examining everything that seemed artistic, everything that was in a
+position to be examined. He studied the front of the church, the triple
+stairway of the landing-stage of Villa Borromeo, all three sides of the
+courtyard, and the great palm in the centre, which he was much
+scandalised to learn Luisa had not even noticed when she had passed it
+the night before with Franco. When the custodian ushered them into the
+palace, it took the uncle at least ten minutes to climb and admire the
+great stairway. As they reached the top a ray of sun glinted forth, and
+the custodian proposed that they should take advantage of this and visit
+the gardens. He turned to the left and led the visitors through a suite
+of empty rooms to the iron gate, where he rang the bell. A gardener
+appeared, a civil lad, to whom Uncle Piero took a great fancy, for he
+explained everything willingly, and the uncle's questions were not few.
+The camphor-tree near the entrance cost him five minutes. Luisa was
+distressed, for she feared the uncle would tire himself too much, and
+she herself was weary of looking at so many trees, of hearing so many
+names, both Latin and Italian, and of having to watch the uncle, while
+her thoughts called for silence and solitude. The gardener proposed
+going up to the Castello di Nettuno. Uncle Piero would have liked to
+inspect more closely the unicorn of the Borromei, which stood rampant up
+there, but there were many stairs to climb, the air was heavy, and he
+hesitated. Luisa took advantage of that moment of hesitation to ask the
+gardener where she might find a seat. "Just below here," said he. "On
+the left, where the _Strobus_ are." Uncle Piero finally consented to go
+down and visit the clump of _Strobus_.
+
+He was tired, but he continued to look at everything, to ask questions
+about everything. As they walked towards the _Strobus_ they heard in the
+distance, over towards Isola Madre, the rolling of the drums of the
+National Guard of Pallanza, which was drilling on the shore. "Now it is
+all play," said the young man. "Not exactly play, but.... Next month we
+shall go to work in earnest. We have a lesson to give to a huge beast.
+There it is, over there, the monster!" The monster was the Austrian war
+steamer _Radetzky_, called by the inhabitants of the Piedmontese shore,
+_el Radesc̣n_. "The ship is just entering the bay of Laveno," said the
+young fellow, "coming from Luino. Come this way if you wish to see her
+plainly."
+
+Uncle Piero knew his eyes were not strong enough to see the steamer, so
+he sat down on the first bench he found under the _Strobus_, which stood
+just in front of a group of bamboos, and was flanked by two groups of
+large azaleas. Behind the bamboos, between the great twisted trunks of
+the _Strobus_, he could see the mirror of white water trembling as far
+as the black line of the hills of Ispra. The sky, dark towards the
+north, was clear in that quarter. Luisa and the gardener went to the
+gate which bears the coat of arms, and which faces the green Isola
+Madre, Pallanza, and the upper lake. Luisa looked out over the immense
+expanse of leaden water, crowned by misty giants from the Sasso di Ferro
+group above Laveno to the mountains of Maccagno, and to the distant
+snows of the Splügen. The smoke of the _Radetzky_ was more plainly
+visible than its body, and the drums of Pallanza were still rolling.
+Uncle Piero called the gardener and Luisa went to lean against the
+parapet beside the gate, and near the yew-tree that rises from the
+terrace below. The tree shut out the view on the east. She was glad to
+be alone at last, to rest her eyes and her thoughts on the grey of the
+great mountains and of the great waters. Presently the gardener came
+back to point out to her the yellow acacias and the white heather that
+were blossoming on the lower terrace. "The _bruyères blanches_ bring
+luck," said he. Seeing that Luisa was lost in thought, and did not heed
+him, he started towards the hot-house containing the begonias. "An old
+_Strobus_," said he, speaking in a loud voice that the visitors might
+hear him, but without looking around, "An old _Strobus_ that has been
+struck by lightning. If you wish to visit the private gardens----"
+
+Luisa turned from the parapet and went to fetch the uncle, and give him
+her arm if necessary. The gardener, who was waiting at the entrance of
+the little grove of laurels, saw her start towards the old gentleman,
+who was still sitting on the bench, saw her quicken her pace and then
+rush to his side with a cry.
+
+Like the innocent and aged tree Uncle Piero also had been struck down.
+His body was resting against the back of the bench, his head had fallen
+forward, and his chin touched his breast. His eyes were open, fixed and
+expressionless. It had indeed been a farewell spectacle his beloved
+Valsolda had offered him the day before. Uncle Piero, the dear,
+venerable, old man, wise, upright, and fatherly, the benefactor of his
+own people, Uncle Piero was gone, gone forever. He had come to enlist,
+but God had called him to a higher service; the bugle had sounded, and
+he had answered the call. The drums of Pallanza still rolled, rolled for
+the end of the old world, and rolled for the advent of the new. In
+Luisa's womb there lay a vital germ which was preparing to fight the
+battles of a new era, preparing to taste other joys, other griefs than
+those which the man of the old world was leaving thus peacefully,
+blessed unconsciously, at the last moment, by that strange priest of
+Isola Bella, who had, perhaps, never uttered the holy words to one more
+worthy.
+
+
+
+
+ _A Selection from the
+ Catalogue of_
+
+ G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
+
+ Complete Catalogues sent
+ on application
+
+
+
+
+"Signor Fogazzaro is at the present moment undoubtedly the greatest of
+Italian novelists. His nobility of feeling, his wide sympathy, his
+kindliness and breezy humor entitle him to a high place among writers of
+fiction."--
+
+ From Villari's "Italian Life."
+
+
+ The Trilogy of Rome
+
+ BY
+
+ ANTONIO FOGAZZARO
+
+
+ The Patriot
+
+ PICCOLO MONDO ANTICO _Crown 8vo. $1.50_
+
+A picture of "the little ancient world" of Vasolda in the troubled
+period of 1848-49, when the "spirit of patriotism mourned its fiercest."
+The book is a wonderful portrayal of the social life of the period.
+
+
+ The Sinner
+
+ PICCOLO MONDO MODERNO _Crown 8vo. $1.50_
+
+An impassioned love story involving faithful pictures of the life of the
+Italian world of fashion and introducing the character that becomes the
+central figure of _The Saint_.
+
+
+ The Saint
+
+ IL SANTO _Crown 8vo. $1.50_
+
+"An exceptional, remarkable, profoundly interesting work. It is eloquent
+with intense earnestness, with a deep-rooted sense of a duty to perform,
+a fervent message to deliver. You lay it aside with an abiding sense of
+having read something eminently worth while, something very genuine and
+sincere."--_The Bookman._
+
+
+ "_A Remarkable Book_"
+
+ SAN CELESTINO
+
+ BY JOHN AYSCOUGH
+
+ Author of "MAROTZ," "DROMINA," etc.
+
+In form, it is almost exactly like a novel with frequent conversations,
+and going, in minor matters at least, far beyond the record of history.
+The narrative opens with Petruccio as a child in the home of his
+parents, who belong to the minor nobility of the Abruzzi. It follows his
+career at Salerno, where he attended the University as a lonely figure
+making few friends. Afterwards he became a hermit and the story tells
+how disciples gathered round him, beginning with two worldly young men
+who had known him at Salerno. The Order of the Celestines thus founded
+grew in numbers and importance through fifty quiet years, when the cal
+swiftly and dramatically--the poor simple old man dragged weeping from
+his hermit's cave and borne to the triumph from which he shrank in
+horror,--the miserable weeks in Rome, touching examples of his
+simplicity and guilelessness. Then the peace which came with the
+renunciation, and his last days passed quite happily as a captive in a
+prison cell.
+
+ _Crown 8vo. $1.50_
+
+
+"One of the most striking novels of the year."--_British Weekly._
+
+ MAROTZ
+
+ By John Ayscough
+
+A story of the present day, containing vivid word pictures of Southern
+Italian and Sicilian life, written by a distinguished Catholic. The
+passionate peoples of the South, tempered by the sweet influences of
+religion, despite science and modernity, are depicted with great
+fidelity. It is safe to say that no truer account of Convent life has
+ever been printed.
+
+ "A literary masterpiece."--_The Observer._
+
+ _Crown octavo. $1.50_
+
+
+_Alluring Novels for Summer Reading_
+
+ HENRY OF NAVARRE By May Wynne
+ A Romance of August, 1572
+
+ _Frontispiece_ by H. M. Brock.
+
+_Listed as one of the six best selling novels in England._
+
+"Vividly and vigorously recounted, the dialogue is brisk and ingenious,
+the plot well contrived, and action swift and skilfully managed."--_N.
+Y. Sun._ Crown 8vo. $1.50
+
+
+ JUDITH of the CUMBERLANDS By Alice MacGowan
+
+ Author of "The Last Word," "Return," "Huldah," etc. _With Six
+ Full-Page Illustrations in Color_ by George Wright.
+
+"A book that combines historical value with so good a story is a book to
+be praised."--_N. Y. Times._
+
+ "An admirable tale."--_The Outlook._ Crown 8vo. $1.50
+
+
+ PRINCESS NADINE By Christian Reid
+
+ Author of "The Chase of an Heiress," "The Man of the Family,"
+ etc. _With Frontispiece in Colors_ by John Edwin Jackson.
+
+"A dramatic and splendid piece of fiction, the love element is
+delicately treated, while it sparkles with wit and is captivating in
+style."--_Buffalo Courier._ Crown 8vo. $1.50
+
+
+ FRATERNITY By John Galsworthy
+
+"It has warmth and color, and that spiritual exaltation of insight into
+the heart of humanity which is one of the attributes of genius. In
+conception and in execution _Fraternity_ must be justly termed _a great
+novel_."--_N. Y. Times._ Crown 8vo. Fixed price, $1.35 net (by mail,
+$1.50)
+
+
+ PLAYS By John Galsworthy
+ THE SILVER BOX--JOY--STRIFE
+
+"By the power of his conceptions John Galsworthy must be recognized as a
+distinctive and important figure among the younger English novelists.
+Still in his thirties, he is nevertheless a master."--_Chicago Evening
+Post._
+
+ Crown 8vo. Fixed price, $1.35 net
+
+
+ DROMINA By John Ayscough
+
+"Spacious in scope, splendid in vigor and coloring, and rich in human
+feeling and sentiment ... the whole romance thrills and glows with a
+real and splendid effect of life, and I commend it heartily."--_Dundee
+Advertiser._
+
+ Crown 8vo. $1.50
+
+
+ MAROTZ By John Ayscough
+
+ "One of the most striking novels of the year."--_British
+ Weekly._ Crown 8vo. $1.50
+
+
+ The
+ Trilogy of Rome
+
+ By
+ ANTONIO FOGAZZARO
+ "_The Greatest of Italian Novelists_"
+
+ (Authorized American Editions)
+
+ 1. The Patriot
+ (Piccolo Mondo Antico)
+
+ 2. The Sinner
+ (Piccolo Mondo Moderno)
+
+ 3. The Saint
+ (Il Santo)
+
+ The first of these romances is an impassioned
+ story of lovers struggling to break the barriers
+ of aristocratic prejudice that oppose their marriage.
+ It is also a story of patriotism--of the freeing of
+ Italy from the Austrian yoke.
+
+ In _The Sinner_, the second book of this Trilogy,
+ we read the dramatic story of Piero Maironi, the
+ son of the hero of _The Patriot_, and of his love for
+ the beautiful Jeanne Dessalle,--a story that presents
+ a vivid picture of the Italian world of rank
+ and fashion, and involves, too, a study of political
+ and ecclesiastical life.
+
+ In _The Saint_, the concluding novel in the series,
+ the hero of _The Sinner_ and the lover of Jeanne
+ Dessalle appears as a penitent full of religious
+ zeal that finds a double outlet--in asceticism
+ and works of mercy and in an attempt to reform
+ the Church of Rome from within.
+
+
+ G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
+
+ New York London
+
+
+
+
+
+ * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note:
+
+ The table of contents corresponds to a different edition.
+
+ The footnotes have been moved to the end of the respective chapters.
+
+ Obvious punctuation errors have been corrected.
+
+ Archaic and inconsistent hyphenation was retained as printed.
+
+ Page 3 "once" replaces "one" (the voice groaned one more)
+
+ Page 40 "plena" replaces "piena" (Ave Maria, gratia piena)
+
+ Page 444 removed repeated word "the the" (Meanwhile Pedraglio
+ explored the the kitchen...)
+
+ Page 445 "he" replaces "be" (Then be began rapidly collecting ...)
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PATRIOT***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 33778-8.txt or 33778-8.zip *******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/3/7/7/33778
+
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://www.gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
+paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works. See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+ the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+ you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is
+ owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+ has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+ Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments
+ must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+ prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+ returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+ sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+ address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+ the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+ you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+ does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+ License. You must require such a user to return or
+ destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+ and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+ Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+ money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+ electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+ of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+ distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+ Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+ Chief Executive and Director
+ gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+ http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
diff --git a/33778-8.zip b/33778-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..89d42d9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/33778-8.zip
Binary files differ
diff --git a/33778-h.zip b/33778-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0f46aa7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/33778-h.zip
Binary files differ
diff --git a/33778-h/33778-h.htm b/33778-h/33778-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..60af58d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/33778-h/33778-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,19488 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+ "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Patriot, by Antonio Fogazzaro</title>
+ <style type="text/css">
+
+body {
+ margin-left: 10%;
+ margin-right: 10%;
+}
+
+ h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {
+ text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
+ clear: both;
+}
+
+p {
+ margin-top: .75em;
+ text-align: justify;
+ margin-bottom: .75em;
+}
+
+hr {
+ margin: 3em auto 3em auto;
+ height: 0px;
+ border-width: 1px 0 0 0;
+ border-style: solid;
+ border-color: #dcdcdc;
+ width: 500px;
+ clear: both;
+}
+
+hr.hr2 {
+ width: 250px;
+ margin: 3em auto 3em auto;
+}
+
+table {
+ margin-left: auto;
+ margin-right: auto;
+}
+
+table.toc {
+ margin: auto;
+ width: 50%;
+}
+
+td.c1 {
+ text-align: left;
+ vertical-align: top;
+ padding-right: 1em;
+}
+
+
+td.c2 {
+ text-align: left;
+ margin-left: 0em;
+ padding-right: 1em;
+ vertical-align: top;
+}
+
+td.c3 {
+ text-align: right;
+ padding-left: 1em;
+ vertical-align: bottom;
+}
+
+td { padding: 0em 1em; }
+th { padding: 0em 1em; }
+
+ .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
+ /* visibility: hidden; */
+ position: absolute;
+ left: 92%;
+ font-size: smaller;
+ text-align: right;
+ color: #999;
+} /* page numbers */
+
+ .blockquot {
+ margin-left: 5%;
+ margin-right: 10%;
+}
+
+ .blockquot2 {
+ margin-left: 20%;
+ margin-right: 20%;
+}
+
+ .center {text-align: center;}
+
+ .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;}
+
+/* Transcriber Notes */
+div.tn {
+ background-color:#EEE;
+ border:dashed 1px;
+ color:#000;
+ margin-left: auto;
+ margin-right: auto;
+ margin-top:5em;
+ margin-bottom:5em;
+ padding:1em;
+}
+
+ul.corrections {
+ list-style-type:circle;
+}
+
+/* Footnotes */
+div.fn {
+ background-color: #EEE;
+ border: dashed 1px;
+ color: #000;
+ margin-left: 20%;
+ margin-right: 20%;
+ margin-top: 5em;
+ margin-bottom: 5em;
+ padding: 1em;
+}
+
+ .footnote {
+ margin-left: 10%;
+ margin-right: 10%;
+ font-size: 0.9em;
+}
+
+ .footnote .label {
+ position: absolute;
+ right: 84%;
+ text-align: right;
+}
+
+ .fnanchor {
+ vertical-align: super;
+ font-size: .8em;
+ text-decoration: none;
+}
+
+/* Poetry */
+ .poem {
+ margin-left: 10%;
+ margin-right: 10%;
+ text-align: left;
+}
+
+ .poem br { display: none; }
+
+ .poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; }
+
+ .poem span.i0 {
+ display: block;
+ margin-left: 0em;
+ padding-left: 3em;
+ text-indent: -3em;
+}
+
+ .poem span.i2 {
+ display: block;
+ margin-left: 1em;
+ padding-left: 3em;
+ text-indent: -3em;
+}
+
+ .signature {
+ text-align: right;
+ margin-right: 5%;
+}
+
+ .signature2 {
+ text-align: left;
+ margin-left: 5%;
+}
+
+ .signature3 {
+ text-align: left;
+ margin-left: 3%;
+}
+
+ .signature4 {
+ text-align: center;
+ margin-left: 3%;
+}
+
+ hr.full { width: 100%;
+ margin-top: 3em;
+ margin-bottom: 0em;
+ margin-left: auto;
+ margin-right: auto;
+ height: 4px;
+ border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */
+ border-style: solid;
+ border-color: #000000;
+ clear: both; }
+ pre {font-size: 85%;}
+ </style>
+</head>
+<body>
+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Patriot, by Antonio Fogazzaro, Translated
+by M. Prichard-Agnetti</h1>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: The Patriot</p>
+<p> Piccolo Mondo Antico</p>
+<p>Author: Antonio Fogazzaro</p>
+<p>Release Date: September 20, 2010 [eBook #33778]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PATRIOT***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Julia Neufeld,<br />
+ and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+ (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h1>THE PATRIOT</h1>
+<h4>(PICCOLO MONDO ANTICO)</h4>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>By</h3>
+<h2>ANTONIO FOGAZZARO</h2>
+<h4><i>Author of "The Saint"</i></h4>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h4>Translated from the Italian by</h4>
+<h3>M. PRICHARD-AGNETTI</h3>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS</h3>
+<h4>NEW YORK AND LONDON<br />
+The Knickerbocker Press</h4>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h5><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1906</span><br />
+BY<br />
+G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS</h5>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2>
+
+<p><i>The Patriot (Piccolo Mondo Antico)</i> was
+published in Milan in 1896, and has reached
+its forty-fourth edition, which is in itself sufficient
+proof of its popularity; for Italians do not purchase
+books largely, and one volume will often
+make the tour of a town, coming out of the campaign
+in rags and a newspaper cover.</p>
+
+<p>Although <i>The Patriot</i> is not an historical novel
+in the true sense of the term, it certainly throws a
+wonderful side-light on those ten years of "deadly
+cold and awful silence," a silence broken only from
+time to time by the cries of the martyrs of Mantua,
+by the noise of inward strife in the Papal States,
+and by the weeping of mothers who saw their sons
+disappear behind the clanging doors of Austrian
+fortresses. These ten years stretched drearily
+from the disastrous field of Novara to the glorious
+days of Magenta, Solferino and San Martino
+(1849&ndash;59).</p>
+
+<p>Antonio Fogazzaro, born in Vicenza in 1842,
+was a child when the battle of Novara was fought
+and lost; but when the French drove the Austrians
+from the bloody field of Magenta, he, a
+youth of seventeen, was ready to be fired with
+patriotic enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span>
+ During those years, there was little the patriots
+could do save to feed the fire of hatred against
+the foreign oppressors, and prepare, as best they
+could, in secret and in constant danger of death,
+for the moment when Piedmont should once more
+give the signal of revolt.</p>
+
+<p>In the night that succeeded the battle of Novara,
+King Carlo Alberto, who had risked all for the
+freedom of the rest of Italy&mdash;for it must be remembered
+that his own kingdom of Sardinia was
+independent of Austria&mdash;discouraged, mortified,
+and impoverished, abdicated in favour of his son,
+Victor Emmanuel. It was no longer possible to
+continue hostilities, and Carlo Alberto hoped that
+his son, whose wife, Maria Adelaide, was the
+daughter of an Austrian grand-duke, might obtain
+more favourable conditions from Austria for
+his unhappy country. On the following day the
+young King and Field-Marshal Radetzky met, and
+a peace was signed, the conditions of which Victor
+Emmanuel found great difficulty in persuading his
+parliament to ratify. But in the end Piedmont
+paid Austria an indemnity of seventy-five million
+francs.</p>
+
+<p>Victor Emmanuel had not, however, abandoned
+the idea of United Italy, and could say with
+Massimo D'Azeglio: We will begin over again,
+and do better! Count Camillo Benso di Cavour,
+one of the greatest statesmen of modern times,
+stood by the King from the first. They immediately
+turned their attention towards bettering
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span>
+the condition of their impoverished country, and
+soon succeeded in rendering the little capital,
+Turin, one of the brightest and most prosperous
+cities of the Continent. The patriots, the best
+men in Italy, flocked to Turin from all those
+states where Austria or her tools held sway.
+The Piedmontese government granted subsidies to
+some of these refugees, and found employment for
+others, receiving all with open arms.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Mazzini and Garibaldi were working,
+sometimes at home, sometimes in exile, while in
+Mantua brave patriots, among them several
+saintly priests, were suffering torture and death at
+the hands of the Austrians. The records of their
+trials revealed such palpable and flagrant violation
+of all justice, all law, that when the Austrians
+were at last expelled from Mantua, they were careful
+to remove these to Vienna, where they are still
+preserved. The aged mother of one of the priests
+who suffered execution appealed to the young Empress
+Elisabeth, begging that her son's body might
+be restored to her, and receive burial in consecrated
+ground. But Elisabeth was deaf to the unhappy
+woman's prayers. During the long and desolate
+years of her own affliction, how often must the
+unfortunate Empress have thought of the tears of
+blood the mothers of Italy had shed! It was
+Field-Marshal Haynau of inglorious memory, he
+who for his cruelties in that city had been dubbed
+the "hyena of Brescia," who tortured these martyrs
+of Mantua and signed their death-warrants.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span>
+ All these things were happening during those
+ten years of heavy silence when Fogazzaro was a
+child. We can fancy how eagerly he listened to
+the accounts of these horrors, and to the long and
+animated discussions his father (Franco Maironi
+of <i>The Patriot</i>) and his uncle (Uncle Piero) held
+with the brilliant company that assembled at
+Casa Fogazzaro. His father took an active part
+in the defence of Vicenza in 1848, while his mother,
+whom he has portrayed for us in the lovely
+character of Signora Luisa Rigey, busied herself
+with scraping lint and making cockades for the
+soldiers. These events and scenes, which so
+deeply impressed the child, were ever present to
+the mind of the man, and the long cherished project
+of immortalising those personages and places
+which were both familiar and dear to him, was at
+last realised in the pages of <i>The Patriot</i>, in
+which, evoking personal memories of the past,
+he gives us a stirring account of the petty persecutions
+and base meanness to which the mighty
+Austria stooped during that period of suspense
+and anxiety. The intrigues of the rogue Pasotti,
+the skirmishes of the wicked old Marchesa with
+the adjutant of the great Radetzky himself, fill
+us with indignation and contempt, while we thrill
+with patriotic emotion when Luisa raises her glass
+and whispers: "Hurrah for Cavour!"&mdash;<i>whispers</i>
+the words, because in those days the very walls
+had ears, and in her toast there breathed sedition!</p>
+
+<p>As the years passed and peace and prosperity
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span>
+settled over United Italy, another question,
+that of the religious life, began to occupy the
+master-mind of Antonio Fogazzaro. Intensely
+but broadly religious himself, he could not fail to
+introduce into his work the burning question of
+belief or unbelief which, from long contemplation
+and study, had become, as it were, a part
+of himself. The artistic motive of the book,
+the struggle between an unbelieving wife and an
+intensely religious husband, came to the Italian
+reader as a new revelation. Had Fogazzaro
+been influenced by certain works which had already
+excited much comment and discussion in
+England and America? Perhaps so; but at all
+events he has treated the subject differently, and
+in his own masterly fashion; he has spared us the
+long and tedious tirades of personages who are,
+after all, simply mouthpieces, and has given us
+instead two warm and palpitating human beings,
+who live and act in accordance with their opinions,
+and whose innermost souls are laid bare to us by
+their own deeds, their own actions. Franco and
+Luisa do not discuss and argue, they simply <i>feel</i>,
+feel intensely, and by a few burning words here,
+a few delicate touches there, our author leads us
+to feel with them, to understand and sympathise
+with their impulses, their passions, and their
+weaknesses.</p>
+
+<p>We may not agree with Fogazzaro's conclusions,
+but we cannot but admire the masterly delineation
+of character, the unstudied and thoroughly artistic
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span>
+arrangement of the work, and the skilful handling
+of so many different elements.</p>
+
+<p>The very simplicity and directness of his
+language give to his style a grandeur all its own,
+and lend a peculiar charm to his descriptions
+of nature, which form some of the most fascinating
+pages of <i>The Patriot</i>. With a few broad
+strokes, he spreads before us a landscape of
+ineffable beauty, or shows us the fury of the
+maddened elements. How marvellous in its
+solemn grandeur is the picture of the struggle
+between the sun and the fog, which Uncle Piero
+witnesses from the terrace at Oria! How wonderful
+in its awe-inspiring realism is the story of
+Franco's journey across the mountains, in the
+darkness of a moonless night! And that glorious
+picture of the sunrise, when Franco's crushed and
+tortured soul soars upwards again with the growing
+light, and, inspired and comforted, he once
+more squares his shoulders, and takes up his
+heavy burden of care!</p>
+
+<p>Infinite sweetness breathes from the pages which
+deal with the short and sunny life of dear little
+Maria, and there are passages full of humour
+and whimsical reflections that must remind the
+English reader of Dickens.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps when Fogazzaro wrote <i>The Patriot</i>, he
+had already planned the trilogy of which it
+forms the first volume, but certainly the trilogy
+was rather evolved than planned, evolved from
+the union of two such characters as Franco and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span>
+Luisa; and probably, while writing the first, the
+author was, to a certain extent, ignorant of what
+the second and third volumes would contain;
+for Luisa and Franco, Jeanne and Piero are not
+puppets which have been fitted into a story, but
+the story is in every particular the outcome of
+their personalities.</p>
+
+<p>Certain it is that when we read the promise contained
+in the closing lines of <i>The Patriot</i>, we look
+forward eagerly to the succeeding volumes of the
+trilogy; and when, after that marvellous scene in
+the gardener's house, we reluctantly bid farewell
+to the Saint, our first thought is a hope that the
+master may soon resume his magic pen and continue
+the struggle for the purification and regeneration
+of the Faith, and, through the Faith,
+of Mankind.</p>
+
+<div class="signature">MARY PRICHARD-AGNETTI.</div>
+
+<div class="signature2"><span class="smcap">Berceto, Italy</span>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>October, 1906</i>.</div>
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg x]<br />[Pg xi]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+
+<table class="toc" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2"><big><i>PART FIRST</i></big></td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER I</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">Risotto and Truffles</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER II</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">On the Threshold of a New Life</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER III</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">The Great Step</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER IV</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">Carlin's Letter</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER V</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">The Rogue at Work</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER VI</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">The Old Lady of Marble</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2"><big><i>PART SECOND</i></big></td><td class="c3">&nbsp;
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER I</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">Fishermen</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER II</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">The Moonshine and Cloud Sonata</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER III</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">The Gloved Hand</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER IV</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">The Hand Within the Glove</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER V</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">The Secret of the Wind and the Walnut Trees</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER VI</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">The Trump Card Appears</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER VII</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">The Professor Plays His Trump Card</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER VIII</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">Hours of Bitterness</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER IX</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]<br />[Pg xiv]</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">For Bread, for Italy, for God</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER X</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">Signora Luisa, Come Home!</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER XI</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">Shadows and Dawn</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_393">393</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER XII</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">Phantoms</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_418">418</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER XIII</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">Flight</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_434">434</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2"><big><i>PART THIRD</i></big></td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER I</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">The Sage Speaks</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_465">465</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1">&nbsp;</td><td class="c2">CHAPTER II</td><td class="c3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="c1"><span class="smcap">The Summons to Arms</span></td><td class="c2">&nbsp;</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_489">489</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+<h1>Part First</h1>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<h2>CHAPTER I<br />
+RISOTTO AND TRUFFLES</h2>
+
+<p>On the lake a cold <i>breva</i><a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> was blowing, striving
+to drive away the grey clouds which clung
+heavily about the dark mountain-tops. Indeed,
+when the Pasottis reached Casarico on their way
+down from Albogasio Superiore, it had not yet
+begun to rain. The waves beat and thundered
+on the shore, jostling the boats at their moorings,
+while flashing tongues of white foam showed, here
+and there, as far as the frowning banks of the
+Doi over yonder. But down in the west, at the
+end of the lake, a line of light could be seen, a
+sign of approaching calm, of the diminishing
+<i>breva</i>, and behind the gloomy Caprino hill appeared
+the first misty rain. Pasotti, in his full
+dress black overcoat, a tall hat on his head, his
+hand grasping a thick bamboo walking-stick,
+was pacing nervously along the shore, peering
+now in this direction, now in that, or stopping
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>
+to beat his stick upon the ground, and to shout
+for that ass of a boatman, who had not yet
+appeared.</p>
+
+<p>The little black boat, with its red cushions,
+its red and white awning, its movable seat, used
+only on special occasions, fixed crosswise in its
+place, the oars lying ready amidship, was struggling,
+buffeted by the waves, between two coal
+barges, which hardly moved.</p>
+
+<p>"Pin!" shouted Pasotti, growing more and
+more angry. "Pin!"</p>
+
+<p>The only answer was the regular, constant
+thundering of the waves on the shore, and the
+bumping of one boat against another. At that
+moment one would have said there was not so
+much as a live dog in the whole of Casarico.
+Only a plaintive, old voice, like the husky falsetto
+of a ventriloquist, groaned from beneath the
+portico&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Hadn't we better walk?"</p>
+
+<p>At last Pin appeared in the direction of San
+Mamette.</p>
+
+<p>"Hurry up, there!" shrieked Pasotti, raising
+his arms. The man began to run.</p>
+
+<p>"Beast!" Pasotti roared. "It was with good
+reason they gave you the name of a dog!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hadn't we better walk, Pasotti?" groaned
+the plaintive voice. "Let us walk!"</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti continued to abuse the boatman, who
+was hastily unfastening the chain of his boat
+from a ring, fixed in the bank. Presently he
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>
+turned towards the portico, with an authoritative
+air, and jerking his chin, motioned to some one
+to come forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us walk, Pasotti!" the voice groaned
+<a name="one" id="one"></a>once more.</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders, made a rough gesture
+of command with his hand, and started
+down towards the boat.</p>
+
+<p>Then an old lady appeared under one of the
+arches of the portico, her lean person enveloped
+in an Indian shawl, below which a black silk
+skirt showed. Her head was surmounted by a
+fashionable bonnet, spindling, and lofty, trimmed
+with tiny yellow roses, and black lace. Two
+black curls framed the wrinkled face; the eyes
+were large and gentle, and the wide mouth was
+shaded by a faint moustache.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh Pin!" she exclaimed, clasping her canary-coloured
+gloves, and pausing on the bank to gaze
+helplessly at the boatman. "Can we really venture
+out with the lake in this state?"</p>
+
+<p>Her husband made a still more imperious
+gesture, and his face assumed a still sourer expression.
+The poor woman slipped down to the boat
+in silence, and was helped in, trembling violently.</p>
+
+<p>"I commend myself to Our Lady of Caravino,
+my good Pin!" she said. "What a dreadful
+lake!"</p>
+
+<p>The boatman shook his head, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"By the way!" Pasotti exclaimed, "have
+you brought the sail along?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
+ "It is up at the house," Pin answered. "Shall
+I go for it? But perhaps the Signora here, might
+be frightened. Besides, here comes the rain!"</p>
+
+<p>"Go and fetch it," said Pasotti.</p>
+
+<p>The Signora, who was as deaf as a post, had not
+heard a word of this conversation, and, greatly
+amazed at seeing Pin run off, asked her husband
+where he was going.</p>
+
+<p>"The sail!" Pasotti shouted into her face. She
+sat, bending forward, her mouth wide open,
+striving in vain, to catch, at least, the sound of
+his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"The sail!" he repeated, still louder, his hands
+framing his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>She began to think that she understood.
+Trembling with fright she drew a questioning
+hieroglyphic in the air with her finger. Pasotti
+answered by drawing an imaginary curve in the
+air, and blowing into it; then he silently nodded
+his head. His wife, convulsed with terror, started
+to leave the boat.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to get out!" said she in an agonised
+voice. "I am going to get out! I want to
+walk!"</p>
+
+<p>Her husband seized her by the arm, and pulled
+her down into her seat, fixing two flaming eyes
+upon her.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the boatman had returned with the
+sail. The poor woman writhed and sighed; tears
+stood in her eyes, and she cast despairing glances
+at the shore, but she was silent. The mast was
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
+raised, the two lower ends of the sail were made
+fast, and the boat was about to put out, when a
+voice bellowed from the portico&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Hallo! Hallo! The Signor Controllore!" and
+out popped a big, rubicund priest, with a glorious
+belly, a large, black straw hat, a cigar in his mouth,
+and an umbrella under his arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Curatone!" Pasotti exclaimed. "Well
+done! Are you invited to the dinner also? Are
+you coming to Cressogno with us?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you will take me," the curate of Puria
+answered, going down towards the boat. "Well,
+I never! The Signora Barborin is here also."</p>
+
+<p>The expression of his big face became supremely
+amiable, his great voice became supremely
+sweet.</p>
+
+<p>"She is devilish frightened, poor creature!"
+Pasotti grinned, while the curate was making a
+series of little bows, and smiling sweetly upon the
+lady, who was more terrified than ever at the prospect
+of this added weight. She began to gesticulate
+silently, as if the others had been more deaf
+than she herself. She pointed to the lake, to the
+sail, to the bulk of the enormous curate, raising her
+eyes to heaven, hiding her face in her hands, or
+pressing them to her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't weigh so very much," said the curate
+laughing. "Hold your tongue, will you?" he
+added, turning to Pin, who had murmured disrespectfully:
+"A good, big fish!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you how we can cure her of her fright!"
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
+Pasotti exclaimed. "Pin, have you a little table,
+and a pack of <i>tarocchi</i><a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> cards?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have a pack," Pin replied. "But they are
+rather greasy."</p>
+
+<p>They had great difficulty in making Signora
+Barbara&mdash;generally called <i>Barborin</i>&mdash;understand
+the matter in hand. She would not understand,
+not even when her husband forced the pack of
+filthy cards into her hands.</p>
+
+<p>For the present, however, playing was out of
+the question. The boat was being laboriously
+rowed forward towards the mouth of the river
+of San Mamette, where they would be able to
+hoist the sail. The surf, flung back from the shore,
+clashed with the in-coming waves, and the little
+boat was tossing about among the seething,
+foaming crests. The lady was weeping and
+Pasotti was swearing at Pin, who had not stood
+out into the lake far enough. At last the fat
+curate seized a couple of oars, and planting his
+big person firmly in the middle of the boat, bent
+to his work with such good will that a few strokes
+sufficed to send them forward and out of difficulty.
+Then the sail was hoisted, and the boat glided
+quietly and smoothly onward, rocking slowly and
+gently, while the water gurgled softly under its
+keel. Then the smiling priest sat down beside
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>
+Signora Barborin, who had closed her eyes and
+was muttering. But Pasotti drummed impatiently
+on the table with the cards, and play
+they must.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the grey rain was creeping slowly
+towards them, veiling the mountains, and stifling
+the <i>breva</i>.</p>
+
+<p>The lady's breath returned in proportion as the
+wind's breath diminished, and she played resignedly,
+calmly oblivious to her own gross mistakes,
+and her husband's consequent outbursts of rage.
+When the rain began to rustle on the boat's awning,
+on the lifeless waves, which in the now almost
+breathless atmosphere, were rolling in against the
+rocks of the Tentịn; when the boatman, judging
+it best to lower the sail, took to the oars once
+more, then, at last, Signora Barborin breathed
+freely. "Pin, my good fellow!" she said tenderly,
+and began playing <i>tarocchi</i> with a zeal, an energy
+and an expression of beatitude, which neither
+mistakes nor scoldings could trouble.</p>
+
+<p>Many days of <i>breva</i> and of rain, of sunshine and
+of storm have dawned and faded away over the
+Lake of Lugano, over the hills of Valsolda since
+that game of cards was played by Signora Pasotti,
+her husband, the retired controller of customs,
+and the big curate of Puria, in the boat which
+coasted slowly along the rocky shore between San
+Mamette and Cressogno in the misty rain.</p>
+
+<p>The times were grey and sleepy, in keeping with
+the aspect of sky and lake, after the <i>breva</i> had
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
+subsided, the breeze which had so terrified Signora
+Pasotti. The great <i>breva</i><a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> of 1848, after bringing
+a few hours of sunshine, and striving awhile with
+the heavy clouds, had slumbered for three years,
+allowing one breathless, gloomy, silent day to
+follow another in those places where the scene of
+this humble tale of mine is laid.</p>
+
+<p>The king and queens of <i>tarocchi</i>, the <i>mondo</i>, the
+<i>matto</i> and the <i>bagatto</i>, were imported personages
+at that time, and in those parts; minor powers
+tolerated benevolently by the great, silent Austrian
+empire; and their antagonisms, their alliances,
+their wars, were the only political questions which
+might be freely discussed. Even Pin, as he rowed,
+eagerly poked his hooked and inquisitive nose into
+Signora Barborin's cards, withdrawing it reluctantly
+again. Once he paused in his rowing, and
+let his nose hover above the cards, to see how the
+poor woman would extricate herself from a difficult
+position; what she would do with a certain
+card it was dangerous to play, and equally dangerous
+to hold. Her husband thumped impatiently
+on the little table, the big curate sorted his cards
+with a blissful smile, while she clasped hers to her
+bosom, now laughing, now groaning, and rolling
+her eyes from one to the other of her companions.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
+ "She holds the <i>matto</i>," the curate whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"She always goes on like that when she has the
+<i>matto</i>," said Pasotti, and called to her, thumping
+the table one more&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Out with the <i>matto</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"I will throw him into the lake!" said she. She
+cast a glance towards the prow, and, as an excuse,
+remarked that they were nearing Cressogno, and
+that it was time to stop playing.</p>
+
+<p>Her husband fumed awhile, but finally resigned
+himself to putting on his gloves.</p>
+
+<p>"Trout to-day, curate!" he observed, while
+his meek wife buttoned them for him. "White
+truffles, grouse, and wine from Ghemme."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you know!" the curate exclaimed. "I
+know it also. The cook told me yesterday at
+Lugano."</p>
+
+<p>"And besides, some ladies have been invited;
+the Carabellis, mother and daughter. Those
+Carabellis from Loveno, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed!" the curate exclaimed. "Is there
+any scheme&mdash;&mdash;? There is Don Franco, now,
+in his boat. But what a strange flag the young
+man is flying! I never saw him with it before."</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti raised the awning and looked out. At
+a little distance a boat flying a white and blue
+flag rose and fell in unison with the weary motion
+of the waves. In the stern, under the flag,
+sat Don Franco Maironi, the grandson of
+the old Marchesa Orsola, who was giving the
+dinner.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
+ Pasotti saw him rise, grasp the oars, and pull
+away, rowing slowly towards the upper lake, towards
+the wild gulf of the Doi, the white and blue
+flag spread wide, and floating above the boat's
+trail.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is that eccentric young man going?"
+said he. And he muttered between his teeth; in
+the strained and husky voice of a Milanese rough&mdash;"A
+surly fellow!"</p>
+
+<p>"They say he has great talents," the priest
+observed.</p>
+
+<p>"An empty head," the other declared. "Much
+arrogance, little learning, no manners!"</p>
+
+<p>"And half rotten," he added. "If I were that
+young woman&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Which?" the curate questioned.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Signorina Carabelli."</p>
+
+<p>"Mark my words, Signor Controllore! If the
+grouse and white truffles are meant for that
+Carabelli girl, they are thrown away!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know something?" Pasotti inquired,
+his eyes flaming with curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>The priest did not answer because, at that point,
+the bow grated on the gravel, and touched the
+landing-stage. He got out first; Pasotti, with
+rapid and imperious gestures, gave his wife some
+orders of unknown purport. Then he himself
+left the boat. Last to get out was the poor
+woman, wrapped in her Indian shawl, bending
+under the tall, black bonnet with the little, yellow
+roses, staggering, and stretching out her big hands
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
+in the canary-coloured gloves. The two curls,
+hanging on either side of her meek ugliness, gave
+her a special air of resignation, under the umbrella
+of her husband, proprietor, inspector and jealous
+custodian of so much elegance.</p>
+
+<p>The three went up to the portico, by means of
+which the little Villa Maironi spans the road
+leading from the landing-stage to the parish-church
+of Cressogno. Between two happy sighs,
+the curate and Pasotti sniffed an indistinct, warm
+odour, which floated out from the open vestibule
+of the villa.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! <i>risotto! risotto!</i>" the priest whispered,
+with a greedy glow on his face.</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti, who had a keen nose, shook his head,
+knitting his brows in manifest contempt for that
+other nose.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not <i>risotto</i>," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean by saying it is not <i>risotto</i>?"
+the priest exclaimed in vexation. "It <i>is risotto</i>;
+<i>risotto</i> with truffles. Don't you smell it?"</p>
+
+<p>Both stopped half way across the vestibule,
+sniffing the air noisily like a couple of hounds.</p>
+
+<p>"Do me the favour, my dear curate, to confine
+your remarks to <i>posciandra</i>," said Pasotti, after
+a long pause, alluding to a certain coarse dish
+the peasants prepare, with cabbage and sausages.
+"Truffles there are, but <i>risotto</i> there is not!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Posciandra! posciandra!</i>" the other grumbled,
+somewhat offended. "As to that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The poor, meek lady understood that they were
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
+quarrelling, and, much alarmed, began pointing
+upward towards the ceiling, with her right forefinger,
+to warn them that they might be overheard
+up above. Her husband seized her uplifted arm,
+signed to her to sniff, and then blew into her wide
+open mouth the word: "<i>Risotto</i>."</p>
+
+<p>She hesitated, not having heard distinctly.
+Pasotti shrugged his shoulders. "She don't
+understand anything," said he. "The weather
+is going to change," and he went up stairs, followed
+by his wife. The stout curate wished to take
+another look at Don Franco's boat. "The Carabellis,
+indeed!" he mused, but he was immediately
+recalled by Signora Barborin, who begged him
+to sit beside her at the table; she was so timid,
+poor creature!</p>
+
+<p>The fumes of the pots and kettles filled the stairs
+with warm fragrance. "It is not <i>risotto</i>," the
+vanguard murmured. "It is <i>risotto</i>," the rearguard
+answered in the same tone. And thus they
+continued, ever more softly: "It is not <i>risotto</i>;
+it is <i>risotto</i>," until Pasotti pushed open the door
+of the red room, where the mistress of the house
+was usually to be found.</p>
+
+<p>A hideous, lean, little dog trotted, barking,
+towards Signora Barborin, who was endeavouring
+to smile, while Pasotti was putting on his most
+obsequious expression, and the curate, entering
+last, his big face all sweetness, was really, in his
+heart, consigning the cursed little beast to hell.</p>
+
+<p>"Friend, come here, Friend!" the old Marchesa
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
+said placidly. "Dear Signora, dear Controllore,
+and the curate!"</p>
+
+<p>Her gruff nasal voice was pitched in the same
+calm tone to the guests and to the dog. She
+had risen to receive Signora Barborin, but did not
+move a step from the sofa, and stood there, a
+squat figure, with dull, torpid eyes beneath her
+marble forehead, and her black wig, which rounded
+out over her temples in the shape of two big snails.
+Her face must once have been handsome, and still
+retained in its pallor, tinged with yellow like old
+marble, a certain cold majesty, which&mdash;like her
+glance and her voice&mdash;never varied with the varying
+emotions of her soul. The big curate, standing
+at a distance, made her two or three jerky bows,
+but Pasotti kissed her hand, while Signora Barborin,
+who felt her blood turn to ice under the old
+lady's lifeless glance, did not know how to move,
+nor what to say. Another lady had risen from
+the sofa when the Marchesa rose, and was staring
+with an insolent air at Signora Pasotti, at that
+poor little bundle, old within, and new without!
+"Signora Pasotti and her husband," said the
+Marchesa. "Donna Eugenia Carabelli."</p>
+
+<p>Donna Eugenia hardly bowed her head. Her
+daughter, Donna Carolina, was standing at the
+window, talking with one of the Marchesa's
+favourites, the niece of the agent.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa did not consider it necessary to
+disturb her in order to present the new arrivals,
+and when she had invited them to be seated, she
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
+resumed her quiet conversation with Donna
+Eugenia concerning mutual friends in Milan,
+while Friend, sniffing and sneezing, circled slowly
+round Signora Barborin's shawl, which smelt of
+camphor, or rubbed himself against the curate's
+calves, studying Pasotti the while, with those
+pitiful, watery eyes of his, but never once touching
+him, as if he understood that the master of that
+Indian shawl, in spite of his amiable expression,
+would have liked to ring his&mdash;Friend's&mdash;neck!</p>
+
+<p>And the Marchesa Orsola talked on in her usual
+guttural, sleepy voice, and Donna Carabelli, in
+answering, strove to give her loud, imperious
+voice an amiable ring. But to Pasotti's penetrating
+glance, and cunning shrewdness it was
+quite clear that the two old ladies were concealing
+a certain dissatisfaction, which was greater in
+the Marchesa Maironi than in Donna Eugenia.
+Every time the door opened the dim eyes of the
+one and the dark eyes of the other were turned
+in that direction. Once it admitted the prefect
+of the <i>Santuario della Caravina</i>, with little Signor
+Paolo Sala, called <i>el Paolin</i>&mdash;little Paul&mdash;and
+Signor Paolo Pozzi, called <i>el Paolon</i>&mdash;big Paul&mdash;who
+were inseparable companions. Again there
+entered the Marchese Bianchi, of Oria, a former
+officer of the kingdom of Italy, with his daughter.
+He was a noble type of the gallant, old soldier, as
+he stood beside the attractive and vivacious
+young girl.</p>
+
+<p>On both occasions a shadow of vexation passed
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
+over Donna Carabelli's face. Her daughter also
+turned her eyes swiftly towards the door when it
+was thrown open, but presently she would begin
+chatting and laughing again, more gaily than ever.</p>
+
+<p>"And Don Franco, Marchesa? How is Don
+Franco?" said the cunning Pasotti, in a mellifluous
+voice, as he offered his open snuff-box to
+his hostess.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," the Marchesa answered, bending
+forward a little and dipping her fingers into the
+snuff. "Franco? To tell the truth I am rather
+anxious about him. This morning he was not
+feeling very well, and he has not appeared yet.
+I trust&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Don Franco?" said the Marchese. "He is out
+in his boat. We saw him a few minutes ago,
+rowing like any boatman."</p>
+
+<p>Donna Eugenia spread her fan open.</p>
+
+<p>"Well done!" said she, fanning furiously. "A
+most delightful pastime." Then she closed the
+fan with a bang, and began biting at it with
+her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Probably he needed the air," the Marchesa
+observed, in her unruffled, nasal drawl.</p>
+
+<p>"Probably he needed a wetting," the prefect
+of the Caravina murmured, his eyes sparkling with
+fun. "It is raining!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don Franco is coming now, Signora Marchesa,"
+said the agent's niece, after a glance at the lake.</p>
+
+<p>"That is good," the sleepy, nasal drawl replied.
+"I hope he is feeling better. If not, he will not
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
+speak two words. He is a perfectly healthy boy,
+but very apprehensive about himself. By the
+way, Signor Controllore, why does not Signor
+Giacomo make his appearance?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>El sior Zacomo</i>," Pasotti began, in imitation
+of Signor Giacomo Puttini, an old bachelor from
+the Veneto, who had lived at Albogasio Superiore,
+near Villa Pasotti, for the last thirty years. "<i>El
+sior Zacomo</i>&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Tut, tut!" said the old lady, interrupting
+him. "I cannot allow you to make fun of the
+Venetians, and besides, it is not true that they
+say <i>Zacomo</i> in the Veneto."</p>
+
+<p>She herself was a native of Padua, and although
+she had lived in Brescia for half a century, still
+her Lombard accent was not entirely free from
+certain chronic suggestions of her Paduan origin.
+While Pasotti was protesting, with ceremonial
+horror, that he had only intended to imitate the
+voice of his beloved friend and neighbour, the
+door opened a third time. Donna Eugenia, well
+aware who was coming, did not condescend to
+look round, but the Marchesa allowed her dull
+eyes to rest on Don Franco with the greatest
+unconcern.</p>
+
+<p>Don Franco, sole heir to the name of Maironi,
+was the son of the Marchesa's son who had died
+when only eight-and-twenty. He had lost his
+mother at his birth, and had always lived under
+the rule of his grandmother Maironi. He was
+tall and slender, and wore a tangle of rather
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
+long, dark hair, and this had procured for
+him the nickname of <i>el scovin d'i nivol</i>, "the cloud
+sweeper." He had eloquent, light blue eyes, a
+keen, animated and pleasing face, quick to blush
+or turn pale. Now that frowning face was saying
+very plainly: "Here I am, but I am much put
+out!"</p>
+
+<p>"How do you feel, Franco?" his grandmother
+inquired, and added quickly, without waiting for
+an answer: "Donna Carolina is anxious to hear
+that piece by Kalkbrenner."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! not at all!" said the girl, turning to the
+young man with an air of indifference. "I did
+indeed say so, but then I am not fond of Kalkbrenner,
+I had much rather chat with the young
+ladies."</p>
+
+<p>Franco seemed quite satisfied with the reception
+he had received and, without waiting for
+further remarks, went over to talk with the big
+curate about a fine old picture they were to inspect
+together, in the church at Dasio. Donna Eugenia
+Carabelli was quivering with indignation.
+She had come from Loveno, with her daughter,
+after certain secret diplomatic transactions, in
+which other powers had had a hand. Should
+this visit be paid or not; would the dignity of the
+house of Carabelli permit it; did that probability
+of success which Donna Eugenia exacted, really
+exist? Such were the final questions, which
+diplomacy had been called upon to answer, for,
+notwithstanding the acquaintance of long standing
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
+which existed between Mamma Carabelli and
+Grandmamma Maironi, the young people had
+met only once or twice, and then but for a few
+minutes. They were being drawn together by
+their surroundings of wealth and nobility, of
+relationships and friendships, as a drop of salt
+water and a drop of fresh water are mutually
+drawn together, though the microscopic creatures,
+which have their being in the one and in the other
+be condemned to perish if the two drops mingle.
+The Marchesa had carried her point. It had been
+decided&mdash;apparently out of respect for her age,
+but really out of respect for her money&mdash;that
+the interview should take place at Cressogno;
+for, though Franco himself was possessed
+only of his mother's modest fortune, amounting
+to eighteen or twenty thousand Austrian <i>lire</i>,
+his grandmother was enthroned in all her calm
+dignity upon several millions. And now Donna
+Eugenia, observing the young man's conduct,
+was furious with the Marchesa, as well as
+with those who had exposed her daughter
+and herself to such humiliation. If, at a single
+blow, she could have swept away the old
+woman, her grandson, the gloomy house and
+the tiresome company, she would have done so
+with joy; but she must hide her feelings, feign
+indifference, swallow the indignity and the dinner.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa preserved her external, marble
+placidity, though her heart was filled with anger
+and rancour against her grandson. Two years before
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
+he had dared to ask her consent to his marriage
+with a young girl of Valsolda, of good family, but
+neither rich nor of noble birth. His grandmother's
+decided refusal had rendered the union
+impossible, and indeed the girl's mother had felt
+obliged to forbid Don Franco the house; but the
+Marchesa was convinced that those people still
+had their eyes on her millions. She had therefore
+determined to find a wife for Franco, at once, in
+order to avert all danger. She had sought for a
+girl who should be rich, but not too rich; of noble,
+but not too noble birth; intelligent, but not too
+intelligent. Having discovered one of the right
+sort, she suggested her to Franco who flew into a
+rage, and declared he had no desire to marry.
+The answer had a very suspicious ring, and she
+redoubled her vigilance, watching every movement
+of her grandson and of that "Madam Trap,"
+that being the pleasing title she had bestowed
+upon Signorina Luisa Rigey.</p>
+
+<p>The Rigey family, consisting of the two ladies
+only, lived at Castello, in Valsolda, so it was not
+difficult to watch their movements. Nevertheless
+the Marchesa could not discover anything. But
+one evening Pasotti told her, with much hypocritical
+hesitation and many horrified comments,
+that the prefect of the Caravina, while chatting
+with Pasotti himself, with Signor Giacomo Puttini
+and with Paolin and Paolon, in the chemist's
+shop at San Mamette, had made the following
+remark: "Don Franco is going to keep quiet
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
+until the old lady is really dead!" The Marchesa
+having listened to this delicate piece of wit,
+answered: "A thousand thanks!" through her
+placid nose, and changed the subject. Later she
+learned that Signora Rigey&mdash;always more or less
+of an invalid&mdash;was suffering from hypertrophia
+of the heart, and it appeared to her that Franco's
+spirits were much affected by this illness. It was
+then that Signorina Carabelli was suggested to her.
+Carolina Carabelli was perhaps not entirely to her
+taste, but with that other danger threatening she
+could not hesitate. She spoke to Franco. This
+time he did not fly into a rage, but listened in an
+absent-minded way, and said he would think the
+matter over. This was perhaps the one act of
+hypocrisy of his whole life. Then the Marchesa
+boldly played a high card, and sent for the
+Carabellis.</p>
+
+<p>She saw plainly enough now, that the game was
+lost. Don Franco had not been present when the
+ladies arrived, and later had appeared only once
+for a few minutes. During those few minutes
+his manner had been gracious, but not so his
+expression. As usual his face had spoken so
+plainly that&mdash;though the Marchesa immediately
+invented an indisposition for him&mdash;no one could
+have been deceived. But in spite of all this, the
+old lady was not convinced that she had played
+her cards unskilfully. Ever since she had reached
+the age of discretion it had been a rule with her
+never to recognise in herself a single defect or
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
+mistake, never wittingly to wound her own noble
+and beloved self. Now she preferred to believe
+that, after her sermon on matrimony, some
+honeyed but poisonous and ensnaring word had
+mysteriously reached her grandson. If her disappointment
+was somewhat mitigated, this was
+due to the conduct of Signorina Carabelli, whose
+lively resentment was but ill concealed. This
+was not pleasing to the Marchesa. The prefect
+of the Caravina was not mistaken&mdash;though he
+perhaps erred slightly in the form of his discourse,
+when he said, softly, of her: "She is Austria itself."
+Like the old Austria of those days, the old Marchesa
+did not wish for any bold spirits in her
+empire. Her own iron will would not tolerate
+others in its neighbourhood. Such an indocile
+Lombardy-Venice as was Franco was already too
+much, and the Carabelli girl, who appeared
+to have a mind and a will of her own, would
+probably prove a troublesome subject of the
+house of Maironi, a species of turbulent Hungary.</p>
+
+<p>Dinner was announced. The footman's shaven
+face, and ill-fitting, grey livery reflected the Marchesa's
+aristocratic tastes, which, however, had
+been tempered by habits of economy.</p>
+
+<p>"And where is this Signor Giacomo, Controllore?"
+she said, without rising.</p>
+
+<p>"I fear he is not coming, Marchesa," Pasotti
+replied. "I saw him this morning, and said to
+him: 'Then we shall meet at dinner, Signor
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
+Giacomo?' But he squirmed as if he had
+swallowed a snake. He twisted and turned and
+at last puffed out: 'Yes, probably. I don't
+know! Perhaps. I can't say!&mdash;Uff! uff. Well
+really now, my good Controllore, indeed I don't
+know!&mdash;Uff, uff!'&mdash;and I could get nothing more
+out of him."</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa summoned the footman to her
+side, and gave him an order in a low tone. He
+bowed and withdrew. In his longing for the
+risotto, the curate of Puria was rocking his body
+to and fro, and stroking his knees. But the Marchesa
+on her sofa, seemed turned to stone, so he
+also became petrified. The others gazed mutely
+at one another.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Signora Barborin, who had seen the footman,
+and was surprised at this immobility and
+these astonished faces, arched her eyebrows,
+questioning with her eyes, first her husband, then
+Puria, then the prefect, until a lightning glance
+from Pasotti petrified her as well. "Perhaps
+the dinner is burnt!" she reflected, assuming an
+expression of indifference. "If they would only
+send us home! What luck that would be!" But
+in a minute or two the servant returned, and
+bowed.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us go," the Marchesa said, rising.</p>
+
+<p>In the dining-room the company found a new
+personage; a little, crooked, old man, with kind
+eyes and a long nose, that drooped towards
+his chin.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
+ "Indeed, Signora Marchesa," he began, humbly
+and timidly, "I have already dined."</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, Signor Viscontini," the Marchesa
+replied, who, like all those who are determined
+to make their world bend to their own comfort
+and tastes, was well versed in the insolent art
+of feigning deafness.</p>
+
+<p>The little man did not dare to answer, neither
+did he dare to sit down.</p>
+
+<p>"Courage, Signor Viscontini!" said Paolin,
+who stood near him. "What are you doing
+here?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is filling a gap!" muttered the prefect.
+In fact, the excellent Signor Viscontini, by trade
+a tuner of pianos, had that morning come from
+Lugano to tune the Zelbis' piano at Cima, and
+Don Franco's also, and at one o'clock he had dined
+at Casa Zelbi. Then he had come to Villa Maironi,
+and was now called upon to act as substitute
+for Signor Giacomo, because, without him, the
+company would have numbered thirteen.</p>
+
+<p>A brown liquid was smoking in the silver soup-tureen.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not risotto!" Pasotti whispered to Puria,
+passing behind him. But the big, mild face
+gave no sign of having heard.</p>
+
+<p>The Casa Maironi dinners were always lugubrious
+affairs, and this one promised to be more
+than usually so. But as a compensation, it was
+much finer than usual. While they were eating,
+Pasotti and Puria often exchanged glances of
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
+admiration, as if congratulating one another on
+the exquisite delight they were enjoying; and if
+ever Puria failed to catch one of Pasotti's glances,
+Signora Barborin, seated beside him, would apprise
+him of it by a timid touch of her elbow.</p>
+
+<p>The voices which predominated were those of
+the Marchesa and Donna Eugenia. Bianchi's
+large aristocratic nose, and his shrewd but gallant
+and courteous smile were often turned towards
+the lady's beauty, which though already fading,
+had not, as yet, departed. Both belonged to
+Milanese families of the best blood, and were
+united by a certain sense of superiority, not only
+over the other middle-class guests, but over their
+hosts as well, whose nobility was only provincial.
+The Marchese was affability itself, and would have
+conversed amiably with the humblest of his fellow-guests,
+but Donna Eugenia, in the bitterness of
+her soul, in her disgust for the place and the
+persons, attached herself to him as to the only
+one worthy of her attention, markedly singling
+him out, in order, also, to offend the others. She
+embarrassed him by remarking in a loud tone
+that she did not see how he could ever have taken
+a fancy to this odious Valsolda. The Marchese,
+who for many years had led a life of quiet and
+retirement in this region, where, moreover, the
+birth of his only daughter, Donna Ester, had taken
+place, was, first, greatly disconcerted, for this
+remark was calculated to wound several of their
+fellow-guests; but finally he burst into a brilliant
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
+defence of the place. The Marchesa showed no
+feeling; Paolin, Paolon, and the prefect, all natives
+of Valsolda, were silent and abashed.</p>
+
+<p>Then, in pompous language, Pasotti sang the
+praises of Niscioree, the villa belonging to Bianchi,
+near Oria. These praises did not seem to please
+the Marchese, who, himself a most loyal man, had
+not always found Pasotti to his liking, in the past.
+He invited Donna Carabelli to come to Niscioree.
+"You must not go on foot, Eugenia," said the
+Marchesa, well aware that her friend was tormented
+by the fear of growing stout. "The road
+from the Custom House to Niscioree is so narrow!
+You could not possibly pass." Donna Eugenia
+protested hotly. "It is not, indeed, the
+Corso of Porta Renza," said the Marchese, "but
+neither is it <i>le chemin du Paradis</i>&mdash;unfortunately!"</p>
+
+<p>"That it is not! Most certainly not! You may take
+my word for it!" exclaimed Viscontini, heated, as
+ill luck would have it, by too many glasses
+of Ghemme. All eyes were turned upon him,
+and Paolin said something to him in a low tone.
+"Crazy?" the little man retorted, his face aflame.
+"Not by any means! I tell you&mdash;&mdash;" And
+here he related how, coming from Lugano that
+morning, he had felt cold in the boat, and had
+gotten out at Niscioree, intending to pursue his
+journey on foot; how there, between those two
+walls, where the path was so narrow an ass could
+not turn round in it, he had met the customs-officers,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
+who had first abused him for getting out
+at Niscioree, and had then taken him back to the
+beastly custom-house. He said that beast of a
+Ricevitore&mdash;the receiver of customs&mdash;had confiscated
+a roll of manuscript music he had with
+him, taking the crotchets and quavers for a secret
+political correspondence.</p>
+
+<p>Profound silence followed this recital. Presently
+the Marchesa declared that Signor Viscontini
+was entirely in the wrong. He should not
+have landed at Niscioree; it was forbidden. As
+to the Ricevitore, he was a most worthy man.
+Pasotti, with a solemn face, confirmed this
+statement.</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent official," said he. "Excellent rascal!"
+muttered the prefect between his teeth.
+Franco, who at first appeared to be thinking of
+something else, roused himself, and cast a contemptuous
+glance at Pasotti.</p>
+
+<p>"After all," the Marchesa added, "it seems
+to me that, in the disguise of manuscript music,
+there might easily&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," said Paolin, who played the Austrian
+from fear while the mistress of the house
+was Austrian from conviction.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchese, who in 1815 had broken his
+sword in two that he might not be obliged to serve
+the Austrians, smiled saying quietly: "<i>La! C'est
+un peu fort!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"But every one knows that the Ricevitore is a
+beast!" Franco exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
+ "I beg to differ with you, Don Franco," said
+Pasotti.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense; beg to differ!" the other retorted.
+"He is a perfect beast!"</p>
+
+<p>"He is a conscientious man," said the Marchesa,
+"an official who does his duty."</p>
+
+<p>"Then his masters are the beasts!" Franco exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Franco!" drawled the emotionless
+voice, "I will not tolerate such language in my
+house! Thank God we are not in Piedmont!"
+Pasotti grinned his approval. Then Franco,
+lifting his plate with both hands shivered it upon
+the table, with a furious blow. "Holy Mother!"
+gasped Viscontini, and Paolon, interrupted in
+the laborious operations of a toothless glutton,
+uttered an exclamation of alarm. "Yes, yes!"
+said Franco, rising, his face distorted, "I had
+better go!" And he left the room. Donna Eugenia
+at once turned faint, and had to be led away.
+All the ladies, except Signora Pasotti, followed
+her out at one door, while the footman entered
+at another, bearing a great risotto pie. Puria
+cast a triumphant glance at Pasotti, but Pasotti
+pretended not to notice. All had risen. Viscontini,
+the apparent culprit, kept repeating: "I
+can't make it out! I can't make it out!" and
+Paolin, much vexed at seeing the dinner thus
+interrupted, grumbled at him: "What business
+have you to try to make anything out?" The
+Marchese was frowning fiercely, but kept silent.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
+At last Pasotti, the real culprit, assuming an
+air of affectionate sadness, said, as if speaking
+to himself: "What a pity! Poor Don Franco!
+A heart of gold, a good head, but such a disposition!
+It is indeed unfortunate."</p>
+
+<p>"Alas!" exclaimed Paolin, and Puria added
+despairingly: "Truly a great misfortune!"</p>
+
+<p>They waited and waited, but the ladies did not
+return. Then some one moved. Paolin and
+Puria, their hands clasped behind them, walked
+slowly towards the sideboard, lost in contemplation
+of the risotto pie. Puria called sweetly
+to Pasotti, but Pasotti did not move. "I only
+wished to observe," the big curate said, hiding
+his triumph so that it might or might not be
+apparent, "I only wished to observe that there
+are white truffles in it."</p>
+
+<p>"I should say that black truffles<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4">
+ </a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> are not
+wanting here either," remarked the Marchese
+pointedly, and slightly accentuating the words.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<div class="fn">
+<h4>Footnotes</h4>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1">
+<span class="label">[A]</span></a> <i>Breva</i>: local name for a sudden, violent wind blowing from the
+north, and sweeping over the Italian lakes. [<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2">
+<span class="label">[B]</span></a> <i>Tarocchi</i>: a game of cards once much in vogue in Italy. The
+"<i>Mondo</i>," the "<i>Matto</i>," the "<i>Bagatto</i>," which will be referred to
+later on, are all picture cards used in this game. [<i>Translator's
+note.</i>]</p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3">
+<span class="label">[C]</span></a> The <i>breva</i> of 1848 means the revolution which swept over Italy in
+that year, after which the country sunk into apparent calm, but all the
+while the people, chafing under the Austrian yoke, were preparing for
+the mighty effort which, at last, set them free. [<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4">
+<span class="label">[D]</span></a> <i>Tartufo</i>: often used to indicate those who are hypocritically
+pious. The word "black" refers to the priest's black robe.
+[<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER II<br />
+ON THE THRESHOLD OF A NEW LIFE</h2>
+
+<p>"Scoundrels!" snorted Don Franco, climbing
+the stairs that led to his room. "Silly
+ass of an Austrian!" He was venting his wrath
+on Pasotti, as he could not hurl insults at his
+grandmother, and the very letters of the word
+<i>Austrian</i> served so well to grind between his teeth,
+as he ground his rage, crushing it and enjoying
+its flavour. When he reached his room his burning
+indignation died out.</p>
+
+<p>He threw himself into a chair opposite the open
+window, and gazed at the lake, lying still and
+mournful in the cloudy afternoon, and at the lonely
+mountains beyond the sheet of water. He drew
+a long breath. Ah! how well he felt here all alone!
+Ah! what peace! How different the atmosphere
+was to that of the drawing-room! What a precious
+atmosphere, full of his thoughts and of his loves!
+He felt a great need of giving himself up to them,
+and they at once took possession of him, driving
+from his mind the Carabellis, Pasotti, his grandmother
+and that egregious beast, the receiver of
+customs. They? No, one thought alone; a
+thought composed of mingled love and reason,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
+of anxiety and joy, of so many sweet memories,
+and at the same time, of tremulous expectancy,
+for something solemn was drawing near, and
+would come to him in the shadows of the night.
+Franco looked at his watch. It wanted a quarter
+to four o'clock. Seven hours longer to wait. He
+rose, and leaned with folded arms upon the window
+sill.</p>
+
+<p>In seven hours another life would begin for him.
+Beyond the few persons who were to have a part
+in the event, not even the air itself knew
+that that same evening, towards eleven o'clock,
+Don Franco Maironi would wed Signorina Luisa
+Rigey.</p>
+
+<p>For some time Signora Teresa Rigey, Luisa's
+mother, had, in all sincerity, begged Franco to
+bend to his grandmother's will, to abstain from
+visiting their house, and to think no more of Luisa,
+who, on her part, was content, for the dignity of
+the family, and out of respect for her mother, that
+all official relations with Don Franco should cease.
+She did not, however, doubt that he would remain
+faithful to her, and considered herself bound to
+him for life. His grandmother was not aware
+that he was now privately reading law, in order
+that by following a profession, he might be able
+to maintain himself. But, as a result of so much
+anxiety, Signora Rigey contracted a heart trouble,
+which grew suddenly worse towards the end of
+August, 1851. Franco wrote to her, begging to
+be allowed at least, to visit her, since it was not
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
+possible for him to nurse her "as would have been
+his duty." The lady did not feel justified in
+consenting to this, and the young man, in despair,
+gave her to understand that he looked upon Luisa
+as his affianced wife before God, and that he would
+rather die than to give her up. Then the poor
+mother, conscious that her life was ebbing day
+by day, distressed by the uncertain position of
+her beloved child, and convinced of the young
+man's strength of purpose, conceived a great
+longing that&mdash;as the marriage would surely take
+place&mdash;it should be celebrated as soon as possible.
+Everything was arranged in haste, with the aid
+of the curate of Castello and of Signora Rigey's
+brother, the civil engineer Ribera, of Oria, who
+was in the service of the Imperial and Royal
+Office of Public Works, at Como. The understanding
+was as follows: The marriage should
+be celebrated secretly; Franco should remain with
+his grandmother, and Luisa with her mother,
+until such a time as they should deem it opportune
+to acknowledge their union to the Marchesa.
+Franco relied greatly upon the support of Monsignor
+Benaglia, Bishop of Lodi, and an old friend of
+the family, but before he was asked to interfere,
+the decisive step must be taken. If (as in all
+probability would be the case) the Marchesa
+hardened her heart against them, the young couple
+and Signora Rigey would take up their abode in
+a house in Oria, belonging to the engineer Ribera,
+a bachelor who was supporting his sister's family,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
+and would now accept Franco in place of a
+son.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>In seven hours then!</p>
+
+<p>The window overlooked the landing-place and
+the strip of garden in front of the villa, on the lake
+side. When he first fell in love, Franco used to
+stand there and watch for the coming of a certain
+boat, from which would spring a slim little person,
+as light as air, but who never, never looked towards
+his window. At last, one day he had gone
+down to meet her, and she had waited a moment
+before jumping out, that she might accept his helping
+hand&mdash;which, indeed, was most unnecessary.
+Down there in the garden he had given her a
+flower, for the first time, the sweet-smelling flower
+of the <i>Mandevilia suaveolens</i>. Down there, on
+another occasion, he had cut his finger rather
+deeply with his penknife, while gathering a little
+branch of roses for her, and she, by the anxiety
+she displayed, had given him a sweet proof of
+her love. How many excursions to the solitary
+slopes of Monte Bisgnago, on the other side, he
+had made with her and with other friends,
+before his grandmother found out! How many
+lunches and suppers at the little inn at Doi!
+Franco would come home with the sweetness of
+the many glances exchanged still lingering in his
+heart, and shutting himself up in his room, would
+recall them all, revelling in them in memory.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
+These first emotions of his love now rushed into
+his mind, not one by one, but all together, from
+the waters and from the gloomy shores, where his
+fixed gaze seemed to lose itself in the shadowy
+past rather than in the misty present. Thus, as
+he neared the goal, he thought of the first steps
+he had taken on this long road, of the unforeseen
+incidents, of the aspect of this much-longed-for
+union, so different in reality from what it had
+appeared in his dreams. He looked back upon
+the time of the <i>mandevilia</i> and the roses, of the
+excursions on the lake and among the hills.
+Certainly, at that time, he did not dream he would
+attain his object thus, secretly, and surrounded
+by so many difficulties, so much pain. Still, he
+thought that if the wedding had taken place
+openly, with the customary proem of official ceremonies,
+of contracts, congratulations, visits, and
+dinners, all this would have been even more
+wearisome and repugnant to his love than the
+opposition he had met with.</p>
+
+<p>He was aroused by the voice of the prefect,
+calling to him from the garden, to announce the
+departure of the Carabellis. Franco reflected
+that if he went down he would be obliged to offer
+some apologies, and he preferred not to make his
+appearance. "You should have smashed the
+plate on his face!" the prefect called up to him,
+his hands framing his mouth. "You should have
+smashed it on his face!"</p>
+
+<p>Then he turned away, and Franco saw the Carabellis'
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
+boatman go down to the shore to prepare
+the boat. He left the window, and returning
+to the thoughts which had occupied him first of
+all, he opened his chest of drawers, and stood
+absently contemplating an embroidered shirt
+front, where certain small diamond studs his father
+had worn at his own wedding, were already sparkling.
+He disliked the idea of going to the altar
+without some outward sign of festivity, but of
+course, this sign must not be too apparent.</p>
+
+<p>In the iris-scented chest of drawers everything
+was arranged with that order which denotes a
+cultured spirit, and no one was allowed to touch its
+contents save Franco himself. But the chairs, the
+writing table, the piano, were heaped with such
+disorder that it would seem as if a hurricane of
+books and papers had swept in at the two windows.
+Certain law books were slumbering under an inch
+of dust, but not a single leaf of the little gardenia,
+growing in a pot on the sill of the east window,
+showed a speck of dust. These indications were
+sufficient to suggest the whimsical rule of a poet.
+A glance at the books and papers would have
+given conclusive proof of this.</p>
+
+<p>Franco was passionately fond of poetry, and
+was a true poet in the exquisite delicacy of his instincts.
+As a writer of verse he could be ranked only
+as an indifferent amateur, wanting in originality.
+His favourite models were Foscolo and Giusti.
+He worshipped them fervently, and pillaged them
+both, for his genius, which was both satirical and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
+enthusiastic, was not capable of creating a style of
+its own, and must content itself with imitating
+others. It is only fair to remark that young men
+in those days generally possessed a classical
+culture such as has since become most exceptional,
+and that through the classics themselves they
+learned to respect the art of imitation, as a praiseworthy
+and virtuous practice.</p>
+
+<p>Franco liked to improvise on the piano with
+some of these verses before his eyes. Even more
+devoted to music than to poetry, he had himself
+purchased this piano for one hundred and fifty
+<i>svanziche</i>, from the organist at Loggio, because
+the poor Viennese instrument, belonging to his
+grandmother, which was always wrapped up and
+must be handled carefully, like a gouty member
+of the family, was not adapted to his requirements.
+The organist's instrument, which had
+been thumped and banged upon by two generations
+of hands, hardened by contact with the
+pickaxe, now sent forth only a funny little nasal
+voice, which rose above a faint tinkling, as of
+many tiny glasses standing too close together.
+Franco was almost oblivious to this. As soon as
+he had placed his hands upon the instrument his
+imagination would take fire; the composer's
+enthusiasm would enter into him, and, in the heat
+of the creative passion, a thread of sound sufficed
+to permeate him with the spirit of music, and
+absolutely to intoxicate him. An Erard would
+have embarrassed him, would have left less room
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
+for fancy, would, in a word, have been less dear
+to him than his spinet.</p>
+
+<p>Franco possessed too many talents, too many
+different inclinations, too much impetuosity, too
+little vanity and perhaps also, too little will-power
+to undertake that tiresome, methodical,
+manual labour, which is indispensable in order to
+become a pianist. Nevertheless, Viscontini was
+enthusiastic about the style of playing, and his
+fiancée Luisa, though she did not entirely share
+his classical tastes, honestly admired his touch.
+When, being pressed to do so, he would make the
+organ at Cressogno roar and groan in the approved
+classic manner, the good people, overwhelmed
+by the music and the honour, would stare at him
+with open mouths and reverent eyes, as they
+would have stared at some preacher, whose
+sermon they did not understand. But notwithstanding
+all this, Franco could not have held his
+own in a city drawing-room, against the majority
+of feeble amateurs, incapable even of understanding
+and loving music. All, or almost all of
+them would have shown themselves his superiors
+in agility and in precision, and would have
+gathered in more applause, even though no one of
+them had succeeded in making the piano sing
+as he made it sing, especially in the adagios of
+Bellini and of Beethoven, playing with his soul
+in his throat, in his eyes, in the muscles of his face,
+in the tendons of his hands, which seemed one
+with the chords of the piano.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
+ Another passion of his was for old pictures.
+The walls of his room held several, most of which
+were daubs. Never having travelled he had
+little experience. His fancy was quick to take
+fire, and, obliged as he was to fit his ample desires
+to his scant means, he was credulous concerning
+the alleged good fortune of other ignorant purchasers,
+and often allowed himself to be influenced
+by them, to be blinded and led into buying certain
+dirty rags, which, if they cost little, were worth
+still less. The only passably good things he
+possessed were a head, in the style of Morone,
+and a Madonna and Child, after the manner of
+Carlo Dolci. Franco, however, baptised these
+two little pictures with the names of Morone and
+Carlo Dolci, without further qualification.</p>
+
+<p>When he had re-read and enjoyed some lines
+inspired by the hypocritical Pasotti, he once
+more hunted in the chaos of his desk, and drew
+forth a small sheet of notepaper, upon which he
+intended to write to Monsignor Benaglia, the only
+person who, in the future, might be able to influence
+his grandmother in his favour. He felt
+it his duty to inform him of the step he was about
+to take, of the reasons which had forced his
+fiancée and himself to resort to this painful subterfuge,
+of the hope they cherished that he would
+help them when the time came to confess all to
+the Marchesa. He was still reflecting, pen in
+hand, when the Carabellis' boat passed beneath
+his window. Soon after he heard the Marchese's
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
+gondola glide by, followed presently by Pin's boat.
+He expected that his grandmother would send for
+him, now that she was alone, but she did not do
+so. He waited some time, expecting to be summoned,
+then he began to think of his letter again,
+and reflected so long, re-wrote the introduction
+so many times, and got on so slowly, that before
+he had finished he was obliged to light the lamp.</p>
+
+<p>The end was easier. He begged the old Bishop's
+prayers for his Luisa and for himself, and expressed
+a faith in God so perfect and so pure, that
+the most unbelieving heart must have been
+touched by it.</p>
+
+<p>Fiery and impetuous as he was, still Franco
+possessed the calm and simple faith of a little
+child. Entirely free from pride, a stranger to
+philosophical meditations, he was ignorant of
+that thirst for intellectual liberty which torments
+young men, when their senses begin to find themselves
+hampered by that strong curb&mdash;positive
+beliefs. He had never for an instant doubted
+his religion, and performed all the duties it prescribed
+without once asking himself if it be reasonable
+to act and believe thus. Still he had nothing
+of the mystic or of the ascetic. His intellect,
+though ardent and poetic, was, at the same time,
+clear and positive. Devoted as he was to nature
+and to art, and attracted by all the pleasing
+aspects of life, he would naturally shrink from
+mysticism. He had not acquired his faith; he
+had never concentrated all his thoughts upon it
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
+for any length of time, therefore it was not possible
+that it should have penetrated all his sentiments.
+Religion was to him what science is to
+the student, whose first thought is school, where
+he studies diligently, having no peace until he has
+done his home tasks, and is prepared for the next
+lesson, but who, once his duty is performed, thinks
+no more either of teachers or of books, and does
+not feel the need of regulating his actions according
+to scientific conclusions or scholastic programmes.
+Therefore it would often seem that
+Franco's life was influenced by nothing else than
+his warm and generous heart, his passionate
+inclinations, his lively impressions, and the impulses
+of his honest nature, which was offended
+by every kind of untruth and meanness, while
+he chafed under contradiction, and was incapable
+of deceit.</p>
+
+<p>He had just sealed his letter when some one
+knocked at the door. The Marchesa had sent to
+summon Don Franco downstairs to recite the
+Rosary. At Casa Maironi they recited the Rosary
+every evening between seven and eight, and the
+servants were obliged to be present. The Marchesa
+herself intoned the prayers, enthroned on
+her sofa, her sleepy eyes roving over the backs
+and legs of the worshippers, kneeling, some in
+one position, some in another, some in the light
+best adapted to set off a devotional attitude, and
+others in the shadow which would favour a comfortable,
+but forbidden nap. Franco entered the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
+room as the nasal voice was repeating the sweet
+words: "<i>Ave Maria, gratia <a name="piena" id="piena"></a>plena</i>," with that
+drawling unction which always inspired him with
+a wild desire to become a Turk. The young man
+flung himself down in a dark corner, and never
+opened his lips. It was impossible for him to
+answer that irritating voice with fitting devotion.
+He fell to imagining what the coming interview
+would be like, and preparing caustic answers.</p>
+
+<p>When the Rosary was finished the Marchesa
+waited a moment and then pronounced the words
+consecrated by long usage&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Carlotta, Friend."</p>
+
+<p>It was the duty of Carlotta, the Marchesa's
+old maid, to take Friend in her arms, and carry
+him off to bed, as soon as the Rosary was
+finished.</p>
+
+<p>"He is here, Signora Marchesa," said Carlotta.</p>
+
+<p>But Friend, though indeed he had been there,
+was somewhere else when she bent down with
+outstretched hand. That evening old Friend
+was in good spirits, and determined to play at not
+being caught. He would tempt Carlotta, and
+then slip through her fingers, taking refuge under
+the piano, or under the table, from whence he
+would peer out at the poor woman with ironical
+waggings of his tail, while Carlotta's lips said,
+"Come, come, dear!" and her heart said, "Ugly
+beast!"</p>
+
+<p>"Friend!" exclaimed the Marchesa. "That
+will do, Friend! Be good!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
+ Franco was boiling. The nasty little monster,
+imbued with his mistress' arrogance and egotism,
+paused at his feet, and Franco rolled him roughly
+towards Carlotta, who grabbed him, and punished
+him with an angry squeeze, and then carried him
+off, answering his whines with deceitful words
+of pity. "What did they do to you, poor Friend?
+What did they do to you? Tell us all about it!"</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa made no remarks, nor did her
+marble countenance betray her feelings. She
+ordered the footman to tell the prefect of the
+Caravina, or any one else who might call, that his
+mistress had retired. Franco started to leave
+the room behind the servants, but checked himself
+at once, that he might not appear to be running
+away. He took a number of the <i>Imperial and
+Royal Gazette</i> of Milan from the mantel-shelf, and
+seating himself near his grandmother, began
+reading while he waited.</p>
+
+<p>"I congratulate you heartily on the good manners
+and fine sentiments you displayed to us
+to-day," the sleepy voice began, almost immediately.</p>
+
+<p>"I accept your congratulations," Franco retorted,
+without raising his eyes from his paper.</p>
+
+<p>"Well done, my dear!" his immovable grandmother
+replied, and added: "I am glad that young
+girl had the opportunity of seeing you as you are,
+because, supposing she may have heard of a certain
+project, she will now be very glad it is no
+longer thought of."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
+ "Then we are both satisfied!" said Franco.</p>
+
+<p>"You cannot in the least tell if you are going
+to be satisfied. Especially if you still hold the
+views you once held."</p>
+
+<p>Upon this, Franco put his paper down, and
+looked his grandmother full in the face.</p>
+
+<p>"What would happen," he said, "if I still held
+the same views I once held?"</p>
+
+<p>This time he did not speak in a challenging tone,
+but with quiet seriousness.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! That is right!" the Marchesa exclaimed.
+"Let us speak plainly! I hope and believe that
+a certain event will never take place, but should it
+take place, do not flatter yourself that there will
+be anything for you at my death, for I have already
+arranged matters so that there will be
+nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! as to that&mdash;&mdash;" the young man began,
+with indifference.</p>
+
+<p>"That is the score you would have to settle
+with me," the Marchesa continued. "Then there
+would be a score to settle with God."</p>
+
+<p>"How is that?" Franco questioned. "God
+shall come first with me, and you afterwards!"</p>
+
+<p>When the Marchesa was caught in a mistake
+she always talked straight on as if nothing had
+happened.</p>
+
+<p>"And it will be a heavy score," said she.</p>
+
+<p>"But it must be settled first!" Franco insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," the formidable old woman continued,
+"a good Christian is in duty bound to
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>
+obey his father and his mother, and I represent
+both your father and your mother."</p>
+
+<p>If the one was obstinate, the other was no
+less so.</p>
+
+<p>"But God comes first!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa rang the bell and closed the
+conversation thus&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Now we understand each other perfectly."</p>
+
+<p>When Carlotta entered she rose from the sofa,
+and said, placidly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Good-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Good-night," Franco answered, and resumed
+the <i>Milan Gazette</i>.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as his grandmother had left the room
+he flung the paper aside, clenched his fists, and
+giving vent to his anger in a sort of furious snort,
+sprang to his feet, saying aloud&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! It is better so! Better, better so!"
+It was better so, he continued to assure himself
+mutely. Better never to bring Luisa to this
+accursed house, better never to oblige her to bear
+this rule, this arrogance, this voice, this face!
+Better to live on bread and water, and look to
+hard work for the rest, rather than to accept
+anything from his grandmother's hand. Better
+become a gardener, d&mdash;&mdash; it! a boatman, or a
+charcoal burner!</p>
+
+<p>He went up to his room determined to break
+with all obligations. "A score to settle with
+God!" he exclaimed, banging the door behind
+him. "A score to settle with God if I marry
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
+Luisa! Ah! after all, what do I care? Let them
+see me, spy upon me, bring her the news. Let
+them tell her, let them sing it to her in every key.
+I shall be delighted!"</p>
+
+<p>He dressed himself in feverish haste, knocking
+against the chairs, and closing the drawers with
+a bang. In his recklessness he put on a black
+suit, went noisily downstairs, called the old footman,
+told him he should be out all night, and, not
+heeding the half-astonished, half-terrified face
+of the poor fellow, who was devoted to him,
+rushed into the street, and was lost in the darkness.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>He had been gone two or three minutes when
+the Marchesa, who was already in bed, sent Carlotta
+to see who had come running downstairs.
+Carlotta reported that it was Don Franco, and
+was at once dispatched again on a second errand.
+"What did Don Franco want?" This time the
+answer was, that Don Franco had gone out for
+a few moments. The "few moments" was added
+out of kindness by the old servant. The Marchesa
+told Carlotta to go away, but not to put out
+the light. "You will return when I ring," said
+she.</p>
+
+<p>It was past midnight when the bell sounded.</p>
+
+<p>The maid hurried to her mistress.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Don Franco still out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Signora Marchesa."</p>
+
+<p>"Put out the light. Take your knitting and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
+wait in the ante-room. When he returns come
+and tell me."</p>
+
+<p>Having given these orders, the Marchesa rolled
+over on her side, turning her face towards the wall,
+and leaving the amazed and ill-pleased maid to
+stare at that white, smooth, impenetrable enigma,
+her night-cap.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER III<br />
+THE GREAT STEP</h2>
+
+<p>That same evening at exactly ten o'clock the
+engineer Ribera knocked gently twice on
+the door of Signor Giacomo Puttini's house at
+Albogasio Superiore. Presently a window above
+his head was opened, and a little, old, clean-shaven
+face of "Sior Zacomo" himself appeared
+in the moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>"Most worshipful engineer, my respects!" said
+he. "The servant is coming down to let you in."</p>
+
+<p>"That is not necessary," the other answered.
+"I am not coming up. It is time to start, so you
+had better join me at once."</p>
+
+<p>Signor Giacomo began to puff and wink hard.</p>
+
+<p>"You must pardon me," he said, in his peculiar
+dialect, which was a mixture of many elements.
+"You must pardon me, most worshipful engineer,
+but I really need&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Need what?" said the engineer, somewhat
+annoyed. The door opened, and the keen and
+yellow face of the servant appeared.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! <i>Scior Parento!</i> Sir Relative!" said she
+respectfully. She claimed I know not what
+degree of relationship with the engineer's family,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
+and always addressed him thus. "At this hour?
+Have you perhaps been to see the <i>Sciora Parenta</i>?
+The Lady Relative?"</p>
+
+<p>The "Lady Relative" was the engineer's sister,
+Signora Rigey.</p>
+
+<p>Ribera answered shortly: "Oh! Marianna!
+How are you?" and went upstairs followed by
+Marianna, carrying the light.</p>
+
+<p>"My respects," Signor Giacomo began, coming
+towards him with another light. "I understand
+and recognise the great inconvenience I am
+causing, but really&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Signor Giacomo's small, clean-shaven, pink
+face, rose above an enormous white stock, and a
+lean little body, buttoned up in a great, black overcoat,
+and in the convulsive workings of his lips
+and eyebrows as well as in his troubled eyes, the
+most comical anxiety was expressed.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter now?" asked the engineer,
+somewhat sharply. He, the most upright and
+straightforward man alive, had little sympathy
+with the hesitation of poor, timid Signor Giacomo.</p>
+
+<p>"Allow me," Puttini began, and, turning to
+the servant, said harshly:</p>
+
+<p>"Begone, you! Go into the kitchen. You will
+come when I call for you. Go, I say! Why don't
+you do what I tell you? Where is your respect
+for me? I command here! I am the master!"</p>
+
+<p>It was the servant's curiosity, her insolent
+disregard for the orders of her superior, which
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
+had provoked this outburst of despotic fury in
+"Sior Zacomo."</p>
+
+<p>"Whew! What a violent man!" she said,
+lifting the lamp on high. "There is no need to
+shout in that way! What do you think of it,
+<i>Scior Parento</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"Look here!" the engineer exclaimed. "Would
+it not be better for you to take yourself off,
+instead of standing there and jabbering?"</p>
+
+<p>Marianna went away grumbling, and Signor
+Giacomo began to communicate his most secret
+thoughts to the worshipful engineer, interlarding
+his sentences with many <i>buts</i> and <i>ifs</i>, <i>that is</i> and
+<i>reallys</i>. He had promised to be present in the
+capacity of witness at Luisa's secret marriage, but
+now, when it was time to start for Castello, he
+was assailed by an overpowering fear of compromising
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>He was "first political deputy," as the highest
+communal authority was then called. If the
+worshipful Imperial and Royal Commissary of
+Porlezza should get wind of this affair, how would
+he look upon it? And the Marchesa? "A terrible
+woman, most worthy engineer! A vindictive
+woman!" Besides he had so many other worries!
+"There is that cursed bull!" This bull, a bone of
+contention between the town and the <i>alpador</i>,
+or tenant of the hill-pastures, had, for the last
+two years, been a moral incubus to poor Signor
+Giacomo, who, in speaking of his troubles and
+trials, always began with "that perfidious servant,"
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
+and ended with "that cursed bull!" In
+speaking these words he would raise his small
+face, his eyes full of pained execration, and
+stretch out accusing hands towards the brow of
+the hill which overhung his house, towards the
+home of that fiendish beast. But the engineer,
+whose fine, honest features betrayed marked
+disapproval and a growing contempt for this
+cowardly little man, who stood wriggling there
+before him, exclaimed several times impatiently:
+"Oh, dear me!" as if pitying himself for the poor
+company he was in. Finally, his patience entirely
+exhausted, he extended his arms with the
+elbows turned outwards, and shaking them as if
+he were holding the reins of a lazy old horse,
+exclaimed: "What is all this? What is all this?
+It is absurd! This is the language of a fool, my
+good Signor Giacomo! I would never have
+believed that a man like you, a man let us say&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Here the engineer, being really at a loss for a
+suitable phrase wherewith to describe his companion,
+simply puffed out his cheeks, emitting
+a long-drawn-out rumble, a sort of rattling noise,
+as if he had an epithet in his mouth which was so
+big that he could not spit it out. Meanwhile
+Signor Giacomo, who had turned very red, was
+protesting eagerly: "Enough! Enough! Pray
+excuse me! I am quite ready! I will come! Don't
+get excited! I only expressed a doubt, most
+worshipful engineer. You know the world. So
+did I, at one time, but I know it no longer."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
+ He withdrew for a moment to reappear again
+presently carrying an enormously high hat with
+a broad brim, which had seen Ferdinand enter
+Verona in 1838, the so-called "emperor's year."</p>
+
+<p>"I feel this sign of respect and satisfaction is
+fitting," said he.</p>
+
+<p>When the engineer caught sight of the thing,
+he once more ejaculated his "What is all this?"
+But the little man, who had a ceremonious spirit,
+stuck to his point. "It is my duty, my duty!"
+and he called to Marianna to light them down stairs.
+When the servant saw her master with that immense
+"sign of satisfaction" on his head, she gave
+voice to her astonishment. "Hold your tongue!"
+puffed the unfortunate Signor Giacomo. "Be
+quiet!" and as soon as he was out of the door his
+wrath burst forth. "There is no doubt about it,
+that cursed servant will be the death of me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you send her away, then?" the
+engineer enquired.</p>
+
+<p>Signor Giacomo had already placed one foot
+on the first step of the narrow lane that leads
+upwards on one side of the Puttini house, when
+he was brought to a stand-still by this pointed
+question, which pierced his conscience like a
+dagger.</p>
+
+<p>"Alas!" he replied, sighing.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand," said the engineer.</p>
+
+<p>"Besides, what good would that do?" the other
+went on, after a short pause. "This is the same
+as that!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
+ This old Venetian saying concerning the unfortunate
+identity of the two relative pronouns,
+Signor Giacomo pronounced as an epilogue, and
+then, puffing loudly, emitted a loud breath, and
+once more started forward.</p>
+
+<p>Puttini leading and the engineer following,
+they climbed steadily for a few minutes, up the
+steep and narrow path, dimly lighted by the moon
+which was hidden among the clouds. No sound
+was heard save their slow steps, the thumping
+of their sticks on the stones, and Signor Giacomo's
+regular puffing: "Apff! Apff!" At the foot of the
+narrow stairway leading to Pianca, the little man
+stopped, removed his hat, wiped away the perspiration
+with a big, white handkerchief, and glancing
+up at the great walnut-tree, and the stables of
+Pianca to which he must ascend, puffed harder
+than ever.</p>
+
+<p>"By the body of the rogue Bacchus!" he
+ejaculated.</p>
+
+<p>The engineer encouraged him. "Up with
+you, Signor Giacomo. It is all for love of
+Luisina."<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a></p>
+
+<p>Signor Giacomo started on again without a
+word, and when they reached the stables, beyond
+which the path becomes less rough, he seemed
+to forget the stairs, his scruples, the perfidious
+servant, the Imperial and Royal Commissary, the
+vindictive Marchesa and the cursed bull, and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
+began talking of Signora Rigey with great
+enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no doubt about it, when I have the
+honour of being in the company of your niece,
+of Signorina Luisina, I assure you I really feel
+as if I were back into the days of Signora Baratela
+and the Filipuzze girls, of the three Sparesi sisters
+from San Piero Incarian, and of many others,
+whose graces used to charm me, in the old days.
+From time to time I go to see the Marchesa, and
+I sometimes meet the girls of to-day there. No&mdash;no&mdash;no,
+they do not behave in a becoming manner.
+They are either sullenly silent or over-talkative.
+But just look at Signorina Luisina, how easy is
+her manner with every one! She knows how to
+behave with young and old, rich and poor, the
+servant and the priest. I really fail to comprehend
+why the Marchesa&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The engineer interrupted him.</p>
+
+<p>"The Marchesa is right," said he. "My niece
+is neither of noble birth, nor has she a penny.
+How can you expect the Marchesa to be satisfied?"</p>
+
+<p>Signor Giacomo stopped short, rather disconcerted,
+and stared at the engineer, blinking his
+sorrowful eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"How is this? You don't really mean to say
+she is right?"</p>
+
+<p>"I never approve of acting contrary to the
+wishes of parents, or of those who represent the
+parents. But I, dear Signor Giacomo, am an
+old-fashioned man like yourself, a man of the time
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
+of Carlo Umberto, as they say hereabouts. Now,
+the world wags differently, and we must let it
+wag. Therefore, having expressed my opinions
+on this point, I said to my relatives: 'Now do
+as you like. But when you have decided one way
+or another, let me know what is to be done, and
+I shall be ready!'"</p>
+
+<p>"And what does Signora Teresina say?"</p>
+
+<p>"My sister? My sister, poor creature, says:
+'If I can see them settled in life, I shall no longer
+dread death.'"</p>
+
+<p>Signor Giacomo breathed hard, as was his
+habit whenever he heard that last, unpleasant
+word pronounced.</p>
+
+<p>"But it is surely not so bad as that?" said he.</p>
+
+<p>"Who can tell?" the engineer replied, very
+seriously. "We must trust in the Almighty."</p>
+
+<p>They had reached a sharp bend where the narrow
+path, passing the last of the small fields
+belonging to the territory of Albogasio, turns
+towards the first of those belonging to Castello,
+and winds on, on the left, along the top of a jutting
+crag, suddenly coming in sight of a deep cleft in
+the mountain's bosom, of the lake far below, of
+the villages of Casarico and San Mamette, crouching
+on the shore as if in the act of drinking.
+Castello is perched a little higher up, and not far
+distant, facing the bare and forbidding peak of
+Cressogno, the whole of which is visible, from
+the gorges of Loggio to the sky. It is a beautiful
+spot even at night in the moonlight, but if Signor
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
+Giacomo paused there, striking a contemplative
+attitude and forgetting to puff, it was not because
+he considered the scene worthy of any one's
+attention, to say nothing of that of a political
+deputy, but because, having a weighty argument
+to expound, he felt the necessity of concentrating
+all his strength in his brain, and of suspending
+all other effort, even that of the legs.</p>
+
+<p>"That is a fine maxim," said he. "Let us trust
+in the Almighty. Yes, my dear sir. But permit
+me to observe that in our time we were always
+hearing of prayers being answered, of conversions
+and miracles. Am I not correct? But now the
+world is not the same, and it appears to me the
+Almighty is sick of it all. The world is in much
+the same condition as our parish church at Albogasio,
+which the Almighty used to visit once a
+month. Now He comes only once a year."</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, my good Signor Giacomo," said the
+engineer, who was impatient to reach Castello.
+"The Almighty is not to blame because the parish
+has been transferred from one church to another.
+However, we will push on, and let the Almighty
+arrange things as He thinks best."</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon he started forwarded so briskly
+that presently Signor Giacomo was obliged to stop
+again, puffing like a pair of bellows.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me," said he, "if I yield, in a measure,
+to that curiosity which is inborn in man. Might
+one inquire your worshipful age?"</p>
+
+<p>The engineer understood the hidden meaning
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
+of his question, and answered in a low tone, with
+triumphant and ironical meekness&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I am older than you!"</p>
+
+<p>And he started off again at the same cruel pace.</p>
+
+<p>"I was born in '88, you know," Puttini groaned.</p>
+
+<p>"And I, in '85!" Ribera flung over his shoulder,
+without stopping. "Now come along."</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately for Puttini they had only a few
+steps more to go. There was the great wall that
+supported the consecrated ground about the
+church of Castello, and there was the narrow
+stairway leading up to the entrance of the village.
+Now they must turn into the dark passage below
+the priest's house, feeling their way along like
+blind men through this black hole, in which Signor
+Giacomo's imagination pictured so many treacherous
+and slippery stones, so many accursed, deceitful
+steps, that he stopped short, and, resting his
+clasped hands on the knob of his stick, spoke
+as follows&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"By the body of the rogue Bacchus! No,
+most worshipful engineer, no, no, no! Really
+I cannot. I shall remain here. They will surely
+come to church. The church is near by. I shall
+wait here. Body of the rogue Bacchus!"</p>
+
+<p>This last "Body!" Signor Giacomo ground
+privately between his teeth, like the close of an
+inward soliloquy concerning the accessories surrounding
+the exceeding discomfort he was undergoing.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a minute," said the engineer.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>
+ A thread of light appeared under the church
+door. The engineer entered and presently came
+out again, accompanied by the sacristan, who had
+been preparing the hassocks for the bride and
+groom. He now brought to Puttini's rescue the
+long pole with a lighted taper at the end, which
+was used to light the candles on the altars. Thus,
+standing in the church door, he moved the taper
+along in front of Signor Giacomo's feet as far as
+the pole would reach, while that gentleman, but
+ill-satisfied with this religious illumination, groped
+his way forward, grumbling at the darkness, the
+miserable, sacred taper, and at him who held it,
+until at last, abandoned by the sacristan, and
+seized by the engineer, he was dragged along, much
+like a pike at the end of a line, and, in spite of his
+mute resistance, was finally landed on the threshold
+of Casa Rigey.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>At Castello the houses which stand in unbroken
+line on the winding hill-top, enjoying the sun and
+the view of the lake far below, all white and
+smiling on the side towards the open, all dark on
+the side towards that other row of less fortunate
+houses, which rise sadly behind them, resemble
+certain favoured individuals, who, brought into
+too close contact with misery, assume a hostile
+demeanour, and press close to one another that,
+thus united, they may hold the others in check.
+Among these fortunate ones Casa Rigey is one of
+the darkest on the side facing the poverty of the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
+common houses, one of the brightest on the side
+facing the sun.</p>
+
+<p>From the street door a long and narrow corridor
+leads to a small, open loggia, from which,
+by means of a few steps, one may descend to the
+little white terrace which, between the reception
+room and a high, windowless wall, stretches out
+to the edge of the hill, looking down into the
+ravines from which issues the Soldo, looking down
+upon the lake, as far as the green gulfs of the
+Birosin and of the Doi, as far as the quiet sweeps
+beyond Caprino and Gandria.</p>
+
+<p>Signor Rigey, born in Milan of a French father,
+had been professor of the French language at
+Madame Berra's boarding school, but he had lost
+his position there, and most of his private pupils,
+because it was rumoured of him that he was irreligious.
+In 1825 he had purchased this little
+house, and retired to it from Milan, wishing to
+live economically and peacefully. He had, soon
+afterwards, married the sister of the civil-engineer
+Ribera. Dying in 1844 he left his wife
+with a daughter of fifteen, the house and a few
+thousand <i>svanziche</i>.<a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a></p>
+
+<p>Hardly had the engineer knocked somewhat
+noisily at the door, when light, swift steps were
+heard in the corridor. The door was thrown open
+and a voice neither low nor silvery, but indescribably
+harmonious, whispered: "What a noise,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
+Uncle!" "Noise indeed!" her uncle replied with
+mock dignity. "Am I then expected to knock
+with my nose?" His niece placed one hand over
+his mouth, and with the other drew him inside; then
+she saluted Signor Giacomo gracefully, and closed
+the door. All this was accomplished in the twinkling
+of an eye, while Signor Giacomo himself was
+puffing out: "Your most humble servant! I am
+really delightful&mdash;&mdash;" "Thank you, thank you!"
+said Luisa. "Pray go in, I have a word to say
+to Uncle."</p>
+
+<p>The little man went forward, hat in hand, and
+the young girl tenderly embraced her old uncle,
+kissing him, pressing her face to his breast, and
+clasping her arms about his neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't that do now?" said the engineer, almost
+as if to check these caresses, for in them he
+felt a gratitude which he feared would presently
+take the form of words. "There, there! That
+is enough! How is Mamma?" Luisa's only
+reply was a tightening of her embrace. This
+uncle was more than a father to her, he was the
+special Providence of the house, but, in his great
+and simple bounty, he never dreamed that he had
+the slightest claim to the gratitude of his sister
+and niece. Whatever would these poor women
+have done without him, possessing only that
+meagre sum of twelve or fifteen thousand <i>svanziche</i>
+which Rigey had left? As civil-engineer,
+employed on public works, Ribera enjoyed a good
+salary. He lived frugally at Como with an old
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>
+housekeeper, passing his savings on to Casa
+Rigey. At first he had openly and heartily disapproved
+of Luisa's attachment for Franco, for
+it seemed to him that such a union would be
+but ill-assorted; but the young people being
+determined, and his sister having consented,
+he made up his mind to help them in every possible
+way, keeping his opinions to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"And Mamma?" he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"She was feeling very well this evening because
+she was so happy, but now she is agitated, for
+Franco came about half an hour ago, and told
+her he has had something of a scene with his
+grandmother&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh dear me!" the engineer exclaimed. Whenever
+he heard of a misfortune befalling any one
+else he always uttered this expression of self-commiseration.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Uncle! Indeed Franco is right!"</p>
+
+<p>Luisa pronounced these words with sudden
+warmth. "Yes indeed!" she exclaimed, her
+uncle having uttered a doubtful "Hm!" "He
+is perfectly right. But," she added in a low tone,
+"he says he left home in such a manner that his
+grandmother will probably discover everything."</p>
+
+<p>"It will be better so," said her uncle, starting
+towards the terrace.</p>
+
+<p>The moon had set and it was dark. Luisa
+whispered: "Mamma is here."</p>
+
+<p>Signora Teresa, who was suffering for want of
+breath, had had herself drawn out into the terrace
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
+in her easy-chair, hoping to find relief in the
+open air.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you say to this, Piero?" said a voice
+resembling Luisa's in tone, but sweeter and with
+a tired ring; a voice that seemed to come from a
+gentle heart which the world has used harshly,
+and which must yield. "What do you say to
+this? After all, our precautions will be of no
+avail."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, Mamma. We are not sure of that.
+We cannot say so yet!"</p>
+
+<p>While Luisa was speaking, Franco, who was in
+the salon with the curate, came out to embrace
+the engineer.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Ribera, extending his hand, for
+embraces were little to his taste. "What has
+happened?"</p>
+
+<p>Franco related what had taken place, softening
+somewhat certain too offensive expressions of
+his grandmother's concerning the Rigeys, concealing
+her threat of not leaving him a penny,
+and blaming his own over-susceptibility rather
+than the old-woman's ill-nature, and finally confessing
+that he had purposely let it be known that
+he intended to remain out all night. This could
+have no other effect than that of leading his
+grandmother to an immediate discovery, for she
+would question him concerning this absence, and
+his silence would be a confession, for he did not
+intend to lie about this matter.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen!" Uncle Piero exclaimed, with the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>
+ringing voice and open countenance of the perfectly
+straightforward man who, being smothered
+to the point of suffocation with precautions and
+dissimulations, finally strikes out from the shoulder
+and, casting them off, breathes freely once more.
+"I admit you were wrong to irritate your grandmother,
+for, after all, old people must be respected
+even when they err; I see that the consequences
+may be serious, but nevertheless I am glad things
+are as they are, and I should be more glad if you
+had told your grandmother everything, clearly
+and roundly. I have never had any patience with
+all this secrecy, all this feigning and hiding. The
+honest man openly confesses his actions. You
+desire to marry against your grandmother's
+wishes? Well do so, but, at least, don't deceive
+her."</p>
+
+<p>"But Piero!" Signora Teresa exclaimed, who,
+besides a delicate perception of what life should
+be, possessed an accurate sense of what life really
+is, and, being much more given to religious exercises
+than her brother, and standing on a more
+familiar footing with the Almighty, could most
+easily persuade herself that He would make certain
+concessions in the matter of form, when some
+substantial benefit was to be gained.</p>
+
+<p>"But Piero! You don't think! If the Marchesa
+finds out about the marriage this way, she
+will, of course, refuse to receive Luisa into her
+house, and then what are the children to do?
+Where can they go? There is no room here, and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
+even if there were, nothing is ready. At your
+house it is the same. You must consider all these
+points. If we wished to keep the marriage a
+secret for a month or two, it was not in order to
+deceive, it was to gain time in which to win over
+Franco's grandmother, and if she would not yield,
+to prepare one or two rooms at Oria."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear me!" said the engineer, "Does it
+take two months to do that? It seems incredible!"</p>
+
+<p>At this point a prolonged puff in the shadow
+reminded them of Signor Giacomo's presence; he
+was leaning against the wall in one corner not
+daring to move, because it was so dark.</p>
+
+<p>Signora Teresa had not yet welcomed him.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Signor Giacomo!" she now hastened to
+say. "I beg your pardon. I am really so very,
+very much obliged to you! Pray come this way.
+Did you hear what we were saying? Do let us
+have your opinion."</p>
+
+<p>"Your very humble servant," said Signor
+Giacomo from his corner. "Really I dare not
+move, for with my poor sight&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Luisa!" Signora Teresa called. "Bring a
+lamp. But did you hear, Signor Giacomo? What
+do you think about it? Do tell us."</p>
+
+<p>In his profound wisdom Signor Giacomo emitted
+three or four little hasty puffs which meant: Ah,
+this is indeed an embarrassing question!</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot say," he began hesitatingly, "I
+cannot say at present, being in the dark&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Luisa!" Signora Teresa called once more.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
+ "No, no, Signora! I mean being in the dark
+on so many points. I feel that in my ignorance
+I may not pronounce an opinion. Still I will say
+it seems to me that perhaps it might ... well,
+at any rate, I am here at your service and at the
+service of this most respected family, though
+indeed I should not be astonished if the Imperial
+and Royal Commissary&mdash;a most excellent person,
+but very punctilious.... But enough, we will
+not talk of that, for here I am. But I do say, it
+seems to me that we might wait a little while,
+and our most noble friend Don Franco here might
+be able to wheedle and persuade.... Well, well,
+well. Do as you like. It is all the same to me."</p>
+
+<p>A furious protest on Franco's part had caused
+Signor Giuseppe to face about thus suddenly.
+Luisa seconded this protest, and Signora Teresa,
+who now would perhaps have been in favour of
+a postponement, did not venture to oppose their
+wishes.</p>
+
+<p>"Luisa, Franco," said she, "take me back to
+the salon."</p>
+
+<p>The two young people pushed the easy-chair
+into the salon, followed by Uncle Piero and Signor
+Giacomo.</p>
+
+<p>On the threshold Luisa, bending over her
+mother, kissed her hair, and murmured: "You
+will see. All will be for the best."</p>
+
+<p>She had expected to find the curate in the salon,
+but he had slipped away through the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly had Franco and Luisa pushed the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
+invalid's chair up to the table upon which stood
+the lamp, when the sacristan came to say that
+everything was ready. Signora Teresa asked him
+to inform the curate that the bride and groom
+would go to church in half an hour.</p>
+
+<p>"Luisa!" said she, glancing meaningly at her
+daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Mamma," the girl replied, and turning
+to her lover, said in a low tone: "Franco, Mamma
+wishes to speak with you."</p>
+
+<p>Signor Giacomo understood, and went out to the
+terrace. The engineer did not understand at all,
+and his niece had to explain to him that her
+mother was to be left alone with Franco. The
+simple-minded man could see no reason for this,
+but she took his arm and, smiling, led him away
+to the terrace.</p>
+
+<p>Signora Teresa silently held out her beautiful
+hand, which was still youthful in its curves, and
+Franco, kneeling, kissed it.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Franco," said she gently.</p>
+
+<p>Then she made him rise from his knees and sit
+close to her. She must speak to him, she said,
+and her breath was so short. But he would
+understand much from a few words, would
+he not?</p>
+
+<p>In speaking these words her voice was infinitely
+sweet.</p>
+
+<p>"You must know," she began, "that I had not
+intended to say this to you, but I thought of it
+when you spoke about breaking the plate at the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
+dinner-table. I beg you to be careful on account
+of Uncle Piero's position. In his heart he feels
+as you do. If you only could have seen the letters
+he wrote me in 1848! But he is a servant of the
+Government. It is true his conscience is perfectly
+easy, for he knows that by engineering roads and
+water-works he is serving his country and not the
+Germans. But he must and will take certain
+precautions, and you&mdash;for love of him&mdash;must
+be cautious also."</p>
+
+<p>"The Germans will soon be gone, Mamma!"
+Franco replied. "But do not worry; you shall
+see how prudent I will be."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my dear! I have little more to see, I
+have only to see you two united and blessed
+by the Lord. When the Germans go, you will
+come to Looch to tell me of it."</p>
+
+<p>Those small fields where the little cemetery
+of Castello is situated go by the name of Looch.</p>
+
+<p>"But I had intended to speak to you of another
+matter," Signora Teresa went on, without giving
+Franco time to protest. He took her hands and
+pressed them, with difficulty restraining his
+tears.</p>
+
+<p>"I must speak to you of Luisa," she said. "You
+must know your wife well."</p>
+
+<p>"I do know her, Mamma! I know her as well
+as you do, and perhaps even better."</p>
+
+<p>As he pronounced these words his whole being
+glowed and quivered in his passionate love for her
+who was the life of his life, the soul of his soul.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>
+ "Poor Franco!" said Signora Teresa, smiling
+tenderly. "No, listen to me, for there is something
+you do not know, of which you should be
+informed. Wait a moment."</p>
+
+<p>She needed to rest. Her emotion made her
+breathing more laboured, and she spoke with
+greater difficulty than usual. She motioned to
+Franco not to move, for she saw he was about to
+rise, that he might do something to relieve her.
+Only a little repose was necessary, and she took
+it, resting her head against the chair-back.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she roused herself. "You have probably
+heard many evil accounts of my poor husband,
+at your own home. You will have heard
+that he was an unprincipled man, and that I did
+very wrong to marry him. It is true he was not
+religious, and for that reason I hesitated some time
+before deciding to accept him. I was advised
+to do so because it was thought I might have a
+good influence over this man, who had a most
+noble soul. He died a Christian, and I have every
+hope of meeting him in Heaven, if the Lord, in
+His mercy, shall see fit to receive me there. But
+up to the very last hour it seemed as if I were not
+to accomplish anything. Now, I fear my Luisa
+has her father's tendencies in her heart. She
+hides them from me, but I feel they are there. I
+commend her to you; study her, advise her; she
+is gifted and has a great heart, and if I have not
+known how to do well by her, you must do better.
+You are a good Christian: see that, with all her
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
+heart, she also becomes one. Promise me this,
+Franco."</p>
+
+<p>He promised, smiling, as if he considered her
+fears groundless, and were making this superfluous
+promise simply to satisfy her.</p>
+
+<p>The invalid gazed sadly at him. "Believe me,"
+she added, "these are not fancies. I cannot die
+in peace if you do not take this matter seriously."
+And when the young man had repeated his promise,
+this time without smiling, she said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"One word more. When you leave here you
+will go to Professor Gilardoni's, will you not?"</p>
+
+<p>"That was my first plan. I was to have told
+my grandmother that I was going to sleep at
+Gilardoni's house, as we were to start on an excursion
+together in the morning. But now, you
+know how I left home."</p>
+
+<p>"Still you had better go there. I had rather
+you went there, and besides, he expects you,
+does he not? So you must go. Poor Gilardoni!
+He has never been here since his fit of madness,
+two years ago. You know about that, do you
+not? Luisa has told you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Mamma."</p>
+
+<p>This Professor Gilardoni, who lived like a hermit
+at Casarico, had fallen most romantically
+in love with Signora Teresa some years before,
+and had timidly presented himself to her as a
+suitor. She had received his proposal with such
+utter amazement that he had lacked courage to
+appear before her again.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
+ "Poor man!" Signora Rigey continued, "that
+was a most stupid action, but he has a heart of
+gold, and is a true friend. I wish you to cherish
+him. The day before he had that mad fit, he
+confided a secret to me. I may not repeat to you
+what he said, and moreover, I beg you not to
+mention the subject to him unless he speaks to
+you about it; but it is, in fact, something which,
+under certain circumstances, might be of great
+importance to you two, especially if you have
+children. If Gilardoni should confide in you,
+reflect seriously before telling Luisa. She might
+look at the matter in a wrong light. Consider
+the question carefully, consult Uncle Piero, and
+then speak or remain silent according to the line
+of action you may have determined to adopt."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Mamma."</p>
+
+<p>There was a gentle tap at the door, and Luisa's
+voice said: "Have you finished?"</p>
+
+<p>Franco looked at the invalid. "Come in,"
+said she. "Is it time to go?"</p>
+
+<p>Luisa did not answer, but threw one arm around
+Franco's neck, and together they knelt before the
+mother, their heads buried in her lap. Luisa
+tried her best to restrain her tears, knowing well
+that her mother should be spared all violent
+emotion, but her heaving shoulders betrayed her.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Luisa, no, dear, no!" said her mother,
+caressing her bowed head. "I am grateful to
+you, for you have always been a good daughter
+dear; such a good daughter! Calm yourself; I
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
+am so happy! You will see, I shall get better.
+Now go. Kiss me, both of you, and then go.
+You must not keep the curate waiting. May
+God bless you, Luisa, and you also, Franco!"</p>
+
+<p>She asked for her prayer-book, drew the lamp
+towards her, had the windows and the door leading
+to the terrace thrown open that she might breathe
+more easily, and then dismissed the maid, who
+was prepared to keep her company. When the
+young couple had left the room, the engineer
+came in to greet his sister before going to
+church.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by, Teresa."</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by, Piero. Another load is laid on your
+shoulders, my poor Piero."</p>
+
+<p>"Amen!" the engineer answered, calmly.</p>
+
+<p>When she was alone Signora Rigey sat listening
+to the receding footsteps. The heavy steps of her
+brother and Signor Giacomo bringing up the
+rear, prevented her hearing those others, which
+she strained her ear to follow as far as possible.</p>
+
+<p>Another moment and the sounds ceased. She
+realised that Luisa and Franco were going away
+together into the future, whither she might follow
+them only for a few months, perhaps only for a
+few days; that she could neither divine nor foresee
+what their fate would be. "Poor children!"
+she thought. "Who knows what they may have
+passed through in five years, in ten years." She
+listened again, but the silence was profound; the
+open window admitted only the far-away thundering
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>
+of the cascades of Rescia, over across the lake.
+Then, thinking that they must already have entered
+the church, she took her prayer-book, and
+read attentively.</p>
+
+<p>But she soon grew weary; her brain was confused,
+and the words of the book blurred before
+her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Her mind was becoming drowsy, her will-power
+was lost. She foresaw the approach of a vision
+of unreal things, but she knew she was not asleep,
+she understood that this was not a dream, but
+a condition produced by her malady. She saw
+the door leading to the kitchen open, and there
+entered old Gilardoni from Dasio, called "el
+Carlin de Das," father of the Professor and agent
+of the Maironi family, for the estates in Valsolda&mdash;he
+had been dead five-and-twenty years. The
+figure came forward, and said, in a natural voice:
+"Oh, Signora Teresa! Are you quite well?"
+She thought she answered&mdash;"Oh, Carlin! I am
+quite well; and how are you?" But in reality
+she did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got the letter here," the figure continued,
+waving a letter triumphantly. "I've brought it
+here for you!" And he placed the letter on the
+table.</p>
+
+<p>Signora Teresa saw it quite plainly. A letter,
+soiled and yellowed by time, without an envelope,
+and still bearing traces of a little red wafer, lay
+before her and she experienced a sense of lively
+satisfaction. She thought she said: "Thank you,
+Carlin. Are you going to Dasio, now?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
+ "No, Signora," Carlin replied. "I am going to
+Casarico to see my son."</p>
+
+<p>The invalid could no longer distinguish Carlin, but
+she saw the letter on the table, saw it distinctly.
+Still she was not sure it was there; in her sluggish
+brain the vague memory of other past hallucinations
+still endured, the memory of the disease,
+which was her enemy, her cruel master. Her eyes
+were glassy, her breathing laboured and rapid.</p>
+
+<p>The sound of hastening footsteps roused her,
+and recalled her almost completely to herself.
+When Luisa and Franco came swiftly into the
+room from the terrace they did not notice that
+their mother's face was distorted, for the lamp
+was heavily shaded. Kneeling before her they
+covered her with kisses, attributing that laboured
+breathing to emotion. Suddenly the invalid
+raised her head from the chair-back and stretched
+out her hands, pointing to something at which
+she was looking fixedly.</p>
+
+<p>"The letter!" she said.</p>
+
+<p>The young people turned, but saw nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"What letter, Mamma?" Luisa asked. At
+the same moment she noticed her mother's expression,
+and warned Franco by a glance. This was
+not the first time that Signora Teresa had suffered
+from hallucinations since her illness began. At
+the question, "What letter?" everything became
+clear to her. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and withdrawing
+her hands, buried her face in them,
+weeping silently.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
+ Comforted by her children's caresses she soon
+composed herself, kissed them, extended her hand
+to her brother and Signor Giacomo, who did not
+in the least understand what had happened, and
+then motioned to Luisa to go and get something.
+It was a question of a cake and a precious bottle
+of wine from Niscioree, which, together with some
+others, had been sent some time before by the
+Marchese Bianchi, to whom Signora Teresa was an
+object of special veneration.</p>
+
+<p>Signor Giacomo, who was longing to be off,
+began to fidget and puff, and glance towards the
+engineer.</p>
+
+<p>"Signora Luisina," said he, seeing the bride
+about to leave the room. "Pray excuse me, but
+I was just going to take leave of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no!" Signora Rigey exclaimed, with only
+a thread of voice. "Wait a little longer."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa disappeared, and Franco slipped out of
+the room behind his wife. Signora Teresa was
+suddenly assailed by scruples, and signed to her
+brother to call him back.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" said the engineer.</p>
+
+<p>"But Piero!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>The ancient and austere traditions of her house,
+a delicate sense of dignity, perhaps also a religious
+scruple, because the young couple had not yet
+received the benediction of the nuptial Mass,
+would neither allow Signora Teresa to approve
+of their withdrawing together, nor to explain her
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>
+views on the subject. Her reticence and Uncle
+Piero's fatherly benevolence gave Franco time to
+place himself beyond the possibility of recall.
+Signora Teresa did not insist.</p>
+
+<p>"Forever!" she murmured presently, as if
+speaking to herself. "United forever!"</p>
+
+<p>"You and I," said the engineer, addressing his
+colleague in celibacy in the Venetian dialect,
+"you and I, Signor Giacomo, never go in for any
+such nonsense!"</p>
+
+<p>"You are always in good spirits, most worshipful
+engineer!" Signor Giacomo answered, while his
+conscience was telling him that in his time he
+had gone in for far worse "nonsense."</p>
+
+<p>The bride and groom did not return.</p>
+
+<p>"Signor Giacomo," the engineer continued,
+"there will be no going to bed for us to-night."</p>
+
+<p>The unfortunate man writhed, puffed and
+winked hard but did not reply.</p>
+
+<p>Still the bride and groom were absent.</p>
+
+<p>"Piero," said Signora Teresa, "ring the bell."</p>
+
+<p>"Signor Giacomo," the engineer began, composedly,
+"shall we ring the bell?"</p>
+
+<p>"That would seem to be the Signora's wish,"
+the little man replied, steering his course as best
+he could between the brother and sister. "However,
+I express no opinion."</p>
+
+<p>"Piero!" his sister pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, let us have an answer," Uncle Piero
+continued without moving. "What would you do?
+Would you, or would you not ring this bell?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
+ "For pity's sake!" Signor Giacomo groaned.
+"You really must excuse me."</p>
+
+<p>"I will excuse nothing!"</p>
+
+<p>The young people were still absent, and the
+mother growing more and more anxious,
+repeated&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Piero, I tell you to ring!"</p>
+
+<p>Signor Giacomo, who was dying to get away,
+and who could not leave without saluting the
+bride and groom, encouraged by Signora Teresa's
+insistence, made a great effort, turned very red
+and finally pronounced an opinion: "I should
+ring."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Signor Giacomo," the engineer exclaimed,
+"I am surprised, amazed and astonished!"
+Who can say why, when he was in good
+spirits, and had occasion to use one of these
+synonyms, he would always string the three together?
+"However," he concluded, "let us ring."</p>
+
+<p>And he proceeded to ring very gently.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Piero," said Signora Teresa. "Remember
+that when you leave, Franco is to go
+with you. He will return at half-past five for
+the Mass."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh dear me!" Uncle Piero exclaimed. "How
+many difficulties! But after all, are they or are
+they not husband and wife?&mdash;Well, well," he
+added, seeing that his sister was beginning to
+grow excited, "do just as you like!"</p>
+
+<p>Instead of the young couple the maid appeared,
+bringing the cake and the bottle, and told the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
+engineer that Signorina Luisina begged him to
+come out to the terrace for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Now that something good is coming at last,
+you send me outside!" said the engineer. He
+jested with his usual serenity of spirit, perhaps
+because he did not fully realize his sister's serious
+condition, perhaps because of his naturally pacific
+attitude towards all that was inevitable.</p>
+
+<p>He went out to the terrace where Luisa and
+Franco were waiting for him.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Uncle," his niece began. "My husband
+says that his grandmother will surely discover
+everything at once; that he will not be able
+to remain at Cressogno any longer; that if Mamma
+were stronger we might all go to your house at
+Oria, but, unfortunately, that is not possible as
+matters stand at present. So he thinks we might
+arrange a room here&mdash;any way to get it ready
+quickly. We had thought of poor Papa's study.
+What do you say to this plan?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hm!" ejaculated Uncle Piero, who was slow
+to take up with new ideas. "It seems to me a
+very hasty resolution. You will be incurring
+expense and turning the house upside down, for
+an arrangement which can only be temporary."</p>
+
+<p>His one idea was to have the whole family at
+Oria, and this expedient did not suit him. He
+feared that if the young people once settled down
+at Castello they would remain there. Luisa used
+every argument to persuade him that there was
+no other way, and that neither the outlay nor the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
+trouble would be great. On leaving home her
+husband would go directly to Lugano, and bring
+back what few pieces of furniture were absolutely
+indispensable. Uncle Piero asked if Franco could
+not take up his quarters at Oria, remaining there
+until such a time as she and her mother could join
+him. "Oh, Uncle!" Luisa exclaimed. Had she
+known about the bell she would have been still
+more astonished by a similar proposal. But
+sometimes this good man had artless ideas of this
+sort, at which his sister smiled. Luisa had no
+difficulty in finding arguments against his plan
+for banishing Franco, and she used them with
+warmth. "Enough!" said Uncle Piero calmly,
+though he was not convinced; and he arched his
+wide-spread arms with the gesture of the <i>Dominus
+vobiscum</i>, more charitably inclined, more ready
+to enfold poor humanity in a tender embrace than
+before. "<i>Fiat!</i> Oh, by the way," he added,
+turning to Franco, "how about money?"</p>
+
+<p>Franco shivered, much embarrassed.</p>
+
+<p>"You know he is our father!" his wife said.</p>
+
+<p>"Not by any means your father," Uncle Piero
+observed placidly. "Not by any means, but what
+is mine is yours; so I shall line your pockets as
+well as my means will permit."</p>
+
+<p>And he suffered, without returning it, the embrace
+which told of their gratitude, almost as if
+vexed by this unnecessary demonstration, vexed
+that they should not accept more simply an act
+which to him seemed so simple and natural. "Yes,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
+yes!" said he, "now let us go in and drink; it will
+be far more profitable!"</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The wine of Niscioree, clear and red as a ruby,
+at once delicate and strong, flattered and soothed
+the inner-man of the impatient Signor Giacomo,
+who, in those years of <i>oidium</i>, seldom wet his lips
+in undiluted wine, but gloomily sipped the Grimelli
+wine, of watery memory.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Est</i>, <i>est</i>,<a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a> is it not, Signor Giacomo?" said
+Uncle Piero, seeing Puttini gaze with devoted
+eyes into the glass he held. "But here at least,
+there is no danger of expiring like a certain man:
+<i>et propter nimium est dominus meus mortuus est</i>."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
+ "I feel as if I were being resuscitated," Signor
+Giacomo answered, speaking very slowly and almost
+under his breath, his gaze still fixed on the
+glass.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you must give us a toast," the other
+said, rising. "But if you will not speak, why then
+I must do so," and he recited merrily&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Long live he and long live she,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now we'll be off, and leave them free!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Signor Giacomo emptied his glass, puffed
+loudly and winked hard, in consequence of the
+varied sentiments which were running riot in his
+soul, while the last perfume, the last flavour of the
+wine were fading in his mouth. He offered his
+duty to the "most revered" Signora Teresa, his
+devotion to the "most amiable" little bride, his
+respects to the "most accomplished" young husband.
+Then, gesticulating with head and arms,
+he declared himself undeserving of the thanks
+which were being lavished upon him, and taking
+his great hat and his stick, he started&mdash;humble
+and puffing, with mingled feelings of relief and
+regret&mdash;to follow the placid bulk of the "most
+worshipful" engineer.</p>
+
+<p>"And you, Franco?" Signora Teresa enquired
+immediately.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going," he replied.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
+ "Come here," said she. "I received you so
+badly when you returned from church, my poor
+children! You see I had had one of my bad attacks;
+I think you understood. But now I feel so well,
+so peaceful! Lord, I thank Thee! it seems to me
+I have set my house in order, have put out the
+fire and said my prayers; and now I am going to
+sleep, so well satisfied! But not so very soon,
+dear, not at once. I leave you my Luisa, dear;
+I leave you Uncle Piero. I know you will love
+them very much, will you not? But you must
+remember me also. Ah, dear Lord! how sorry I
+am I shall not see your children! That is indeed
+a grief to me! You must give them a kiss every
+day for their poor grandmother ... every day.
+And now go, my son, but you will be back by
+half-past five? Yes, dear.... Good-by ...
+now go."</p>
+
+<p>She spoke caressingly to him, as to a child who
+does not yet understand, and he wept silently,
+with tender emotion, kissing her hands over and
+over again, and glad Luisa was present to witness
+this scene, for in his immense tenderness for the
+mother, there was his immense joy at being one
+with the daughter, and an intense desire to love
+all that his wife loved, and in the same measure.</p>
+
+<p>"Go," Mamma Teresa repeated, fearing her own
+increasing emotion. "Go, go!"</p>
+
+<p>At last he obeyed and went out with Luisa.</p>
+
+<p>On this occasion also Luisa was absent a long
+time, but even the holiest souls have their little
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
+weaknesses, and although the maid was constantly
+coming and going between the kitchen and the
+salon, Signora Teresa, touched by the affection
+which Franco had displayed for her, never once
+ordered her to ring the bell.</p>
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<div class="fn">
+<h4>Footnotes</h4>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_E_5">
+<span class="label">[E]</span></a> <i>Luisina</i>: little Luisa, <i>ina</i> being a diminutive. [<i>Translator's
+note.</i>]</p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_F_6">
+<span class="label">[F]</span></a> <i>Svanziche</i>: a coin varying from 90 to 95 centimes. [<i>Translator's
+note.</i>]</p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_G_7">
+<span class="label">[G]</span></a> <i>Est</i>, <i>est</i>: Canon Johannes Fugger of Augsburg travelling in Italy in
+the twelfth century, directed his steward to precede him, and inscribe
+the word <i>Est</i> on the door of the inn where the best wine was to be had.
+On reaching Montefiascone, the worthy canon found the word <i>Est</i> written
+three times on the tavern door, and indeed, the muscatel of this
+district proved so much to his taste that he never left Montefiascone,
+but ended his days there in the year 1113 or thereabouts, and was buried
+in the church of S. Flaviano, where his tomb may still be seen. His
+steward caused the following inscription to be carved upon the
+sarcophagus:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>Est, Est, Est. Propter nimium est,<br />
+Johannes de Fuc., D. meus, mortuus est.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>It is said that the wine-loving prelate left orders that a barrel of the
+very best muscatel should be spilled over his tomb every year on the
+anniversary of his death, and this ceremony was faithfully performed
+down to the end of the seventeenth century, when it was forbidden by a
+certain Cardinal Barbarigi, of unconvivial memory. The best wine of
+Montescone is still called <i>Est</i>, <i>Est</i>. [<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV<br />
+CARLIN'S LETTER</h2>
+
+<p>Franco went down the hill very, very
+slowly, absorbed in the world of things
+within him, so crowded with thoughts and with
+new sensations. Stopping every now and then
+to contemplate the grey road and the small dark
+fields, he would touch the leaves of a grape-vine
+or the stones of a low wall, in order to feel the
+reality of the external world, to convince himself
+that he was not dreaming. Not until he had
+reached the Contrada dei Mal'ari in Casarico, and
+was standing before the little door of Gilardoni's
+tiny house, did he recall Mamma Teresa's dark
+words concerning the secret Gilardoni had imparted
+to her, and he wondered what this mystery
+could be, which must not be revealed to Luisa.
+To tell the truth the mother's advice had not
+satisfied him entirely. "How could I ever hide
+anything from my wife?" he thought as he knocked
+at the door.</p>
+
+<p>Professor Beniamino Gilardoni, son of "Carlin
+de Dàas," had been educated at the expense of
+old Don Franco Maironi, Marchesa Orsola's husband,
+an eccentric man, capricious and violent,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
+but at the same time, very generous. When
+Carlin died it became apparent that Maironi's
+generosity had not been necessary. Beniamino
+inherited quite a little hoard, and this maddened
+Don Franco, who held him responsible for the
+paternal hypocrisy, turned his back upon him,
+and would have nothing more to do with him for
+the short time he survived his agent. The young
+man chose the career of teacher, was professor
+of Latin at the gymnasium of Cremona, and of
+philosophy at the lyceum of Udine. Of a delicate
+constitution, apprehensive of physical suffering,
+and extremely misanthropical, he resigned his
+professorship in 1842, and came to Valsolda to
+enjoy the modest fortune his father had left him.
+Dasio, his native village, perched just below the
+dolomitic rocks of the Arabione, was too high up
+and inconvenient for him. He sold his possessions
+there, purchased the olive-grove of Sedorgg above
+Casarico, and a small villa on the edge of the lake,
+in Casarico itself. It was so small as to be almost
+a toy villa, and from its shape he called it the
+"Greek <i>II</i> or Pi" in imitation of the "Digamma"
+of Ugo Foscolo. From the Contrada dei Mal'ari
+a short passage led to the little courtyard flanked
+by a tiny portico, open on the lake-side and surrounded
+by tall oleanders. It overlooked six
+miles of water, green, grey or blue, according to
+the hour, as far as Monte S. Salvatore there in
+the distance, stooping, under the burden of its
+melancholy hump, towards the humble hills of
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
+Carona beneath it. On the east of the little house
+there was a kitchen-garden, fabulously large for
+that part of the world, the dimensions of which
+Engineer Ribera was wont to define by means of
+the following surveyor's description: "Large
+field called <i>il Campone</i>, measuring seven <i>tavole</i>."
+Now seven <i>tavole</i> correspond to twenty or twenty-two
+square metres! The Professor cultivated
+it with the aid of his little servant Giuseppe,
+called Pinella, and of a small collection of French
+treatises. He sent to France for the seeds of the
+most highly esteemed qualities of vegetables,
+which sometimes came up in shameless disregard
+of their certificates of baptism, and indeed of any
+honestly baptised family. It would then happen
+that philosopher and servant, stooping over the
+beds, their hands on their knees, would raise their
+eyes from these mocking sprouts, and gaze at each
+other, the philosopher honestly disappointed, the
+servant hypocritically so. In one corner of the
+garden, in a little stable constructed according to
+the most approved principles, dwelt a small Swiss
+cow, which had been purchased after three months
+of diligent study, and had turned out as delicate
+and fleshless as the master himself, who&mdash;in spite
+of the Swiss cow and four Paduan hens&mdash;often
+found it impossible to make himself a cup of custard
+in his own house. In the wall supporting the
+garden on the lake-side, against whose base the
+<i>breva</i> drove the swelling waves, he had made some
+openings in which, following Franco Maironi's
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
+advice, he had planted many American aloes,
+many roses and some caper-bushes, thus binding
+together the substantial contents of his kitchen-garden,
+as he was wont to say, with poetic elegance
+of form. And for the love of the poetic,
+he had left a small corner of his kitchen-garden
+uncultivated. The tallest of reeds had sprung
+up there, and in front of these reeds the Professor
+had erected a sort of belvedere, a lofty, wooden
+platform, very rustic and primitive, where, in
+pleasant weather, he passed many happy hours
+with the mystic books he loved, enjoying the coolness
+of the <i>breva</i>, and the murmuring of reeds and
+waves. At a distance the colour of the platform
+could not be distinguished from that of the reeds,
+and the Professor looked as if he were seated on
+air, book in hand, like any magician. In the
+little salon he kept the small collection of works
+on kitchen-gardening, the mystic books, the
+treatises on necromancy, and gnosticism. The
+writings on hallucinations and dreams he kept
+in a tiny study adjoining his bedroom, a sort of
+ship's cabin, into which lake and sky seemed
+to pour through the window.</p>
+
+<p>After the death of old Maironi the Professor
+had once more taken to visiting the family, but
+the Marchesa did not please him particularly,
+and her son Don Alessandro, Franco's father,
+pleased him still less. So he ended by going there
+only once a year. When the lad Franco entered
+the lyceum his grandmother&mdash;his father had been
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
+dead some time&mdash;begged Gilardoni to give him
+some lessons during the Autumn. Master and
+pupil resembled each other in their easy enthusiasms,
+in their fits of violent but fleeting passion,
+and both were ardent patriots. When the necessity
+for lessons no longer existed they continued
+to meet as friends, though the Professor was some
+twenty years older than Franco. Gilardoni admired
+his pupil's genius, but Franco, on the other
+hand, held the half-Christian, half-rationalist
+philosophy of his master, and his mystical tendencies,
+in small esteem. He laughed at the
+other's passion for books and theories on horticulture
+and landscape gardening, a passion which
+was entirely devoid of all common sense. But nevertheless,
+he loved him sincerely for his goodness,
+his candour, his ardent soul. Franco had been
+the Professor's confidant at the time of his unfortunate
+passion for Signora Rigey, and later,
+Franco, in his turn, confided in the Professor.
+Gilardoni was much affected by the news, and
+told Franco that, his heart being still full to overflowing
+of that unchanging devotion, he should
+feel as if he were, in a way, becoming Franco's
+father, even though Signora Teresa herself would
+have none of him. Franco showed little appreciation
+of this metaphysical paternity. This
+passion for Signora Rigey seemed to him simply
+an aberration, and he was more than ever confirmed
+in his opinion that the Professor's head was
+not worth much, but that his heart was of gold.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>
+ So he knocked at the door, and Beniamino
+himself came to open it, bearing a little oil lamp.
+"Well done," said he. "I was beginning to think
+you were not coming, after all."</p>
+
+<p>Gilardoni was in his dressing-gown and slippers,
+with a sort of white turban on his head, and he
+exhaled a strong odour of camphor. He looked
+like a Turk, like Gilardoni Bey, but the thin,
+sallow face which smiled beneath the turban had
+nothing Turkish about it. Encircled by a short,
+reddish beard, pompously embellished in the
+middle by a fine, big nose, red and pimply, the
+face was lighted up by two beautiful blue eyes,
+still very youthful, and full of simple kindness
+and poetry.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Franco had closed the door behind
+him his friend whispered: "Is it done?" "It is
+done," Franco answered. The other embraced
+him and kissed him in silence. Then he took
+him up stairs to the little study. On the way he
+explained that, <i>secundum</i> Raspail, he had applied
+a compress of some sedative water to his head,
+for he was threatened with a headache. He was
+an apostle of Raspail, and had converted Franco&mdash;who
+often suffered from inflammatory sore throats&mdash;from
+leeches to camphor cigarettes.</p>
+
+<p>In the little study there was another very close
+and long embrace. "So much! So much! So
+much!" Gilardoni exclaimed, meaning a world
+of things.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Gilardoni, his eyes were glistening. He
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
+himself had longed in vain for a happiness similar
+to his friend's! Franco understood and, much
+embarrassed, did not know what to say to him,
+and a silence so significant followed that Gilardoni
+could not stand it, and set about lighting a little
+fire to heat some coffee he had prepared. Franco
+offered to do this for him, and the Professor
+accepted, pleading his headache, and began unrolling
+his turban before a basin of the sedative
+water. "Well," said he, controlling his emotion
+by an effort of his will, "tell me all about it."
+Franco told him everything, from his grandmother's
+dinner-party, to the wedding ceremony
+in the church at Castello, except of course, his
+private talk with Signora Teresa. Professor
+Beniamino, meanwhile, had replaced his turban,
+and now summoned up all his courage. "And&mdash;&mdash;"
+said he, substituting a sort of low groan for
+the beloved name, "how is she?" Upon learning
+of the hallucination he exclaimed: "A letter?
+She thought she saw a letter? But what letter?"
+This Franco did not know. A hissing on the fire
+interrupted the conversation; the coffee was
+boiling hard and bubbling over.</p>
+
+<p>Gilardoni also resembled his young friend in
+that his heart might be read from his face. The
+young friend who was, however, a far cleverer
+and quicker reader of faces than he, at once perceived
+that he had thought of some special letter,
+and inquired, while the coffee was settling, if he
+could explain this hallucination. The Professor
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>
+hastened to say "no," but no sooner had he
+uttered that "no" than he weakened it by adding
+several other negatives, mingled with inarticulate
+grumblings: "Ah, no!&mdash;no indeed!&mdash;I cannot
+say&mdash;certainly not!" Franco did not insist,
+and another extremely significant silence ensued.
+When he had taken his coffee, with many involuntary
+signs of uneasiness, the Professor promptly
+proposed that they go to bed. Franco, who must
+leave before daybreak, preferred not to go to bed,
+but wished his friend to do so, and, after an infinite
+number of protests and ceremonies, after hesitating
+on the very threshold, his basin of sedative
+water in his hand, the Professor suddenly faced
+about, and throwing a "good-night" over his
+shoulder, disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>When he was alone Franco put out the lamp
+and stretched himself in an easy-chair with the
+good intention of going to sleep, seeking sleep in
+some indifferent thought if he could possibly fix
+his mind on such a thought. Not five minutes
+had passed when there was a knock at the door
+and immediately the Professor rushed in, without
+a light, and exclaiming: "Well, here I am again!"
+"What is the matter?" Franco inquired. "I am
+sorry I put out the light." At the same moment
+he felt the arms of the worthy Beniamino about
+his neck, his beard brushed Franco's face, and
+he smelt the camphor and heard the voice. "Dear,
+dear, Don Franco! I have an enormous load on
+my heart! I did not intend to speak now; I
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
+wanted to leave you in peace, but I cannot, I
+cannot!"</p>
+
+<p>"But speak! Calm yourself, calm yourself!"
+said Franco, gently freeing himself from that
+embrace.</p>
+
+<p>Gilardoni let him go, and pressed his hands to
+his forehead, groaning: "Oh, what a stupid fool,
+what a stupid fool, what a stupid fool I am! I
+might have left him alone; I might have waited
+until to-morrow or the next day. But now it
+is done! It is done!"</p>
+
+<p>He seized Franco's hand. "I tell you I had
+begun to undress when a sort of giddiness came
+over me, and then it was all up with me. I must
+needs put on the dressing-gown again, and rush
+in here without a light, like a lunatic. In my
+haste I even tipped over the basin of sedative
+water."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we light the lamp?" Franco asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no, we had better talk in the dark,
+better talk in the dark! See, I am going way over
+there!" And he sat down at his writing-desk,
+to escape the faint glimmer of light which fell
+through the window. Then he began. He always
+spoke in a nervous and disorderly fashion, and
+it may easily be imagined how he spoke now, in
+his present state of agitation.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I begin? Goodness knows what you
+will say, dear Don Franco! These are all useless
+words, but what would you have&mdash;alas! patience&mdash;!
+Well, I will begin&mdash;but where shall I begin? Oh,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
+Lord! just see what a fool I am, not even knowing
+where to begin! Ah, that hallucination! Yes,
+I told you a lie just now; I can easily guess the
+origin of that hallucination. It has to do with a
+letter; a letter I showed Signora Teresa two years
+ago, a letter from Don Franco, your grandfather.
+Well, now let us begin at the beginning.</p>
+
+<p>"During his last days my poor father spoke to
+me of a letter from Don Franco which I should
+find in the strong-box, where all the important
+papers were kept. He told me to read it, to
+preserve it carefully, and, when the time came, to
+act in accordance with the dictates of conscience.
+'But' said he, 'it is almost certain there will be
+nothing to be done.' My poor father passed away.
+I searched the strong-box for the letter, but did
+not find it. I hunted the whole house over, but
+in vain. What could I do? I contented myself
+with reflecting that there was nothing to be done,
+and thought no more about the matter. A fool, was
+I not? A real idiot! Say so freely, I deserve it.
+I have said so to myself so many times! But let
+us continue. Do you know how your grandfather's
+estate was settled? Do you know how
+the affairs of your house were arranged? You
+will forgive me for speaking to you of these
+matters, will you not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know my grandfather died without a will,
+and that I have nothing," Franco replied. "But
+let us pass that over, and proceed."</p>
+
+<p>To Franco it was truly a painful subject. At
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
+old Maironi's death no will had been found. In
+perfect love and harmony, the widow and the son,
+Don Alessandro, had divided the estate equally
+between them. In order to secure this arrangement
+the son had made a very large grant to his
+mother, declaring that he was only carrying out
+the paternal wishes, which had not found a means
+of expression. This depraved young man, a
+spendthrift and a gambler, was already caught in
+the toils of usurers at the time of his father's
+death. In the seven years he survived him he
+managed to spend everything, not leaving a penny
+to his only son, Franco, who found himself reduced
+to some twenty thousand <i>svanziche</i>, the
+fortune of his mother who had died in giving
+him birth.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, let us get on," Gilardoni continued.
+"Three years ago, three years ago, I say, I received
+a letter from you. I remember it was the second
+of November, all Souls' Day. Curious circumstance,
+mysterious circumstance! Very well. That
+night I went to bed, and dreamed a dream. I
+dreamt of your grandfather's letter. Note that
+I had never thought of it again. I dreamt I was
+hunting for it, and that I found it in an old box
+I keep in the attic. I read it, still dreaming. It
+said there was a great treasure in the cellar of Casa
+Maironi at Cressogno and that that treasure was
+to come to you. I awoke in intense excitement,
+convinced that this had been a prophetic dream.
+I got up, and went to look in the box. I found
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
+nothing; but two days later, being about to sell
+certain lands which I owned at Dasio, I got out
+an old deed of purchase, which my father kept in
+the strong-box, and, in turning over the leaves,
+a letter fell out. I glanced at the signature and
+saw: Nobile Franco Maironi. I read the letter.
+It was the one in question! Thus you see, the
+dream...."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Franco, interrupting him, "and
+what did this letter say?"</p>
+
+<p>The Professor rose, took a match half a cubit
+long, ran it in among the live coals in the little
+fireplace, and lit the lamp.</p>
+
+<p>"I have it here," he said with a great, despairing
+sigh. "Read it."</p>
+
+<p>He took from his pocket and handed to Franco
+a small yellowish letter, without an envelope, and
+still showing traces of the little red wafer. The
+yellow-black lines of writing inside showed
+through here and there, almost in relief.</p>
+
+<p>Franco took it, held it near the lamp, and read
+aloud as follows:</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<div class="signature3">"Dear Carlin,&mdash;</div>
+
+<p>"You will find my last will enclosed in this
+letter. I have written it in duplicate. One copy
+I am keeping. This is the other, and I charge you
+to publish it if the first be not forthcoming. Do
+you understand? Very well then; and when we
+meet I forbid you absolutely to worry me with
+your advice, as is your d&mdash;&mdash;d custom. You
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
+are the only person in whom I have confidence,
+but, after all, it is my right to command, and
+your duty to obey. Therefore all advice is useless
+and will not be tolerated. Good-bye.</p>
+
+<div class="signature">
+"Your affectionate master,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />
+"<span class="smcap">Franco Maironi</span>.
+</div>
+
+<div class="signature3">"<span class="smcap">Cressogno</span>, <i>22 Sept., 1828</i>."</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>"Now here is the will," said Gilardoni dolefully,
+handing Franco another yellow document, "but
+don't read that aloud."</p>
+
+<p>The document read as follows:</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>"I, the undersigned, Nobile Franco Maironi,
+desire that my estate be divided in accordance
+with this, my last will and testament.</p>
+
+<p>"Donna Orsola Maironi, born Marchesa Scremin,
+having deigned to accept my homage as well as
+that of many others, I bequeath to her, in proof
+of my gratitude, the sum of ten thousand Milanese
+Lire, to be paid once and for all, and what, to her,
+is the most precious jewel of my household, namely
+Don Alessandro Maironi, duly inscribed in the
+parish-registers of the Cathedral of Brescia as
+my son.</p>
+
+<p>"I bequeath to my said son that part of my property
+which is lawfully due to him, and three
+<i>parpagliole</i><a name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a> a day more, in token of the special
+esteem in which I hold him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
+ "I leave to my agent in Brescia, Signor Grigi,
+should he be still in my employ at the time of my
+death, all that he has stolen from me.</p>
+
+<p>"I leave to my agent in Valsolda, Carlino Gilardoni,
+upon the same condition as above, four
+Milanese Lire a day, during his natural life.</p>
+
+<p>"I desire that, during the life of Donna Orsola
+Maironi Scremin, a Mass be celebrated daily in
+the Cathedral of Brescia, for the good of her soul.</p>
+
+<p>"I name and appoint my grandson, Don Franco
+Maironi, son of Don Alessandro, residuary legatee
+of all the rest of my property.</p>
+
+<p>"As witness my hand, this fifteenth day of April,
+1828.</p>
+
+<div class="signature">"<span class="smcap">Franco Maironi.</span>"
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>Franco read&mdash;and, half dazed and without a
+word, passed the sheet of paper back to the
+Professor. He was shaken, but felt vaguely that
+he must control himself, that he must restrain his
+own agitation, collect his thoughts, and strive to
+get a clear view of this matter and of himself.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you say to that?" the Professor
+exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>At this point Gilardoni's intense excitement
+reached a climax.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did I not speak before, eh?" he continued.
+"The thing is that I can't possibly give
+a clear, precise and positive reason for not having
+done so. Those papers were a horror to me!
+If I myself and my own father and mother had
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
+been involved in such a question, I would rather
+have let a million slip than ask for it with those
+documents in my hand. There! I have been a
+fool again, to have said that! Just forget those
+last words, for in your place ... it is a different
+thing. I was speaking for myself. Good Lord,
+of course I was speaking for myself! Well, I
+thought&mdash;see what an ass I was&mdash;I thought your
+grandmother just doted on you, and that your
+grandfather's property would go to you anyway.
+And with that idea...! After a while I
+consulted Signora Teresa, and showed her the
+letter and the will. She said I should have informed
+you at once, as soon as I had made the
+discovery, but that she could not give me any
+advice because now her daughter was, in a way,
+an interested party. Besides, she said.... But
+that is of no consequence. In short I saw the
+will was a horror to her also. Anyway, I was
+convinced your grandmother would end by accepting
+this marriage, and I did not speak. Tonight
+you come and tell me the Marchesa has used
+threats. Fancy that! Now you understand that
+I could not wait, that I could not keep these
+documents a moment longer. There&mdash;they are
+yours&mdash;take them!"</p>
+
+<p>Franco, absorbed in his own thoughts, heard
+only these last words. "No," said he, "I will not
+take them. I know myself too well. With them
+in my possession I might be led into doing something
+rash, or into acting prematurely. You keep
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
+them for the present." Gilardoni would not hear
+of keeping them, and drove Franco into one of
+his fits of impatience. There was indeed nothing
+so irritating to his nerves as the inconclusive outpourings
+of kind-hearted but brainless persons.
+Gilardoni's opposition angered him, and he gave
+him to understand that this wish to rid himself
+of the documents at all costs, was selfishness pure
+and simple, and that those who have blundered
+must bear the consequences. The words he
+uttered amounted to this, but the angry and harsh
+expression of his face said much more. Gilardoni,
+whose face was crimson, shuddered at the
+accusation of selfishness, but controlled himself
+and putting on a grim frown in his turn, hastily
+pocketed the documents, repeated a string of
+"well, well, well, wells," and abruptly left the
+room. To appease his own conscience Franco at
+once set to work trying to convince himself that
+Signor Beniamino was entirely in the wrong. He
+had done wrong in not having given him the documents
+much sooner, and now he was doing wrong
+in taking offence. As he was quite sure he should
+make his peace with the inconclusive philosopher,
+he thought no more about him, put out the lamp,
+and, returning to his easy-chair, became once more
+engrossed in his previous meditations.</p>
+
+<p>Now he was beginning to see clearly. He could
+not with dignity make use of that will, which,
+both in form and in substance was dishonouring
+to his grandmother, arousing as it did, when the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
+letter was considered, a suspicion of criminal
+suppression. The will also reflected little honour
+upon his father. No, never. He must tell the
+professor to burn both documents.</p>
+
+<p>"Thus, Madam Grandmother, shall I triumph
+over you!" thought Franco, "Making you a free
+gift of the property, and of your honour as well,
+without even taking the trouble to tell you of it!"
+Revelling in this thought Franco felt almost as
+if he were lifted above the earth, and he drew
+a long breath, vastly pleased with himself, his
+soul illumined and soothed by a sentiment of
+mingled generosity and pride. With all his faith
+and his acts of Christian piety, he was very far
+from suspecting that such a sentiment was not
+entirely good, and that a less self-conscious magnanimity
+would have been more noble.</p>
+
+<p>He let himself sink back in his easy-chair,
+more disposed to rest than he had been before,
+thinking quietly of what he had read, of what he
+had heard, as one who has been on the verge of
+embarking upon some perilous speculation, and
+looks back upon the anxiety and the calamities
+from which he has escaped forever. Old memories
+were also beginning to stir in the depths of his
+soul. He recalled a certain tale an old servant
+had told concerning the riches of the house of
+Maironi, which, she said, had been stolen from
+the poor. He was a child then, and the woman
+had not hesitated to speak in his presence. But
+the child had received a deep impression, and this
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
+impression had been re-awakened in his early
+boyhood, by the words of a priest, who had confided
+to him, with an air of great secrecy and
+solemnity, and perhaps not without intention, that
+the Maironi fortune was the fruit of a law-suit
+which had been unjustly won against the Ospedale
+Maggiore of Milan.</p>
+
+<p>"So, through me," thought Franco, "everything
+has gone back to the devil."</p>
+
+<p>It struck him that perhaps it was late, so he
+lighted the lamp once more, and consulted his
+watch. It was half-past three. Now, it would
+be impossible for him to rest. The moment which
+would re-unite him to Luisa was too near at hand,
+his fancy was too greatly excited. One hour and
+a half more! He looked at his watch every two
+minutes; it seemed as if the tedious time would
+never pass. He took a book, but could not read.
+He opened the window; the air was soft, the
+silence profound, the lake was bright over towards
+S. Salvatore, and the heavens were studded with
+stars. At Oria he could see a light. Perhaps
+it would be his fate to live there in Uncle Piero's
+house. Gazing absently at that luminous spot,
+he began to imagine what the future would be,
+and ever-changing phantoms rose before him.
+At about half-past four he heard a bell ring on the
+lower floor, and presently Pinella came with a message
+from his master to the effect that if he wished
+to make the <i>ascent of the Boglia</i> it was time to start.
+The master had a severe headache, and could
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>
+neither rise nor receive him. Franco searched
+on the writing-table for a sheet of paper, and
+wrote:</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Parce mihi, domine, quia brixiensis sum.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>He went out, Pinella accompanying him with
+the light as far as the dark arcade, where the road
+to Castello begins. Then he disappeared.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The Marchesa Orsola rang her bell at half-past
+six, and ordered the maid to bring her chocolate
+as usual. She swallowed more than half of it
+before asking with the utmost composure, at what
+hour Don Franco had returned.</p>
+
+<p>"He has not yet returned, Signora Marchesa."</p>
+
+<p>The old woman must have received an inward
+shock, but not a muscle of her face twitched.
+She placed her lips on the edge of her cup of chocolate,
+looked at the maid, and said calmly:</p>
+
+<p>"Bring me one of those little biscuits we had
+yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>Towards eight o'clock the maid came back to
+say that Don Franco had returned, but only to go
+directly to his room for his passport, coming down
+again immediately, and he had then ordered the
+footman to find a boatman who would take him
+to Lugano. The Marchesa said never a word, but
+later in the day she sent word to her confidant
+Pasotti that she was expecting him. Pasotti
+took in the situation at a glance, and remained
+with her more than half an hour. The lady was
+determined to find out where and how her grandson
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>
+had spent the night. Pasotti had already
+heard some rumours, which he now repeated,
+concerning a nocturnal visit of Don Franco's to
+Casa Rigey; but more reliable and precise information
+was desired. The cunning <i>Tartufo</i>, by
+nature as curious as a hound, that goes about
+following every scent, poking his nose into every
+hole, and rubbing it against every pair of trowsers,
+promised to furnish the Marchesa with such information
+in the course of a day or two, and then
+took himself off, his eyes sparkling, rubbing his
+hands in anticipation of a pleasant chase.</p>
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<div class="fn">
+<h4>Footnotes</h4>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_H_8">
+<span class="label">[H]</span></a> <i>Parpagliota</i>: a small coin then in circulation, and worth about
+twenty centimes (?). [<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER V<br />
+THE ROGUE AT WORK</h2>
+
+<p>The next morning, Pasotti having imbibed
+his coffee and milk, lay pondering the plan
+of the chase until half-past ten, when he summoned
+Signora Barborin, who slept in another room
+because her snoring disturbed the "Controller,"
+as she respectfully called her husband. "He is
+quite right," the poor deaf woman would say, "it
+is a terribly bad habit, this snoring of mine!" She
+was older than Pasotti, whom she had accepted
+as her second husband because her heart was
+very susceptible, and to whom she had brought
+certain moneys which he had long coveted, and
+was now enjoying. The Controller was fond of
+her in his own way; he obliged her to make calls,
+to go on boating excursions, to take long walks
+in the hills, all of which things were torments to
+her. He made fun of her deafness, sent her out
+covered with silks and feathers, and at home made
+her work like any drudge. In spite of all this she
+respected and served him like a slave, in fear and
+trembling it is true, but not without affection.
+When she did not call him "the Controller" she
+called him "Pasotti," but she never allowed herself
+to use a more familiar appellation.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
+ Pasotti, with a face as stern as any satrap,
+ordered her by gestures to go to the drawer for
+a white shirt, to the wardrobe for his second-best
+suit, to a cupboard for a pair of boots. When his
+wife had prepared everything, hunting anxiously
+here and there, continually facing about to
+follow the eyes and gestures of the master who
+several times called her a fool, when she would
+stare open-mouthed at him, striving to catch the
+word she had only seen, Pasotti stuck his legs
+out of bed, and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Here you are!"</p>
+
+<p>Signora Barborin knelt before him, and began
+pulling on his stockings, while the Controller,
+stretching out his arm to the pedestal, took his
+snuff-box, and, having opened it, continued his
+previous meditations, his fingers buried in the
+snuff. He intended to make several visits of discovery,
+but in what order should he arrange them?
+From what his farmer had told him, he judged that
+Signor Giacomo Puttini's Marianna, and perhaps
+even Signor Giacomo himself must know something
+about Don Franco, and certainly something
+must be known in Castello. While Signora Barborin
+was tying the second shoe-lace, Pasotti
+remembered that it was Tuesday. Every Tuesday
+Signor Giacomo, with a few friends, was in the
+habit of going to the market at Lugano, or rather
+to the tavern called "del Lordo," in order to vary
+the daily wine of Grimelli by a weekly glass of an
+undiluted vintage, and he often came home in an
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
+affectionate and communicative frame of mind.
+It would therefore be better to call upon him late
+in the day, say between four and five. In fancy
+Pasotti was already holding him in his hand, and
+managing him as he liked. With a malicious
+smile he raised his fingers from the snuff-box,
+shook the pinch to the proper dimensions by means
+of a few gentle, even raps, enjoyed it at his leisure,
+and then his wife having given him his handkerchief,
+he rewarded her by mumbling with a
+benign expression of countenance, as he rolled the
+handkerchief into a ball: "Poor woman! poor
+creature!"</p>
+
+<p>When, after half an hour's labour he had put on
+and buttoned up his coat, he exclaimed, seriously:
+"What d&mdash;&mdash; hard work!" and went to the glass.
+Then his wife ventured to edge cautiously towards
+the door, saying very timidly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Can I go now?"</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti turned round frowning and imperious,
+and beckoning to her to approach, he drew about
+her head and person certain lines in the air, which
+meant a hat and shawl. She did not understand,
+and stood staring at him, with her mouth open.
+Then she pointed her forefinger at his breast,
+questioning him with her eyes, and her lifted
+eyebrows, as if suspecting he wanted those articles
+for himself. Pasotti answered this questioning
+in the same manner, with three stabs of his forefinger,
+which signified: "you, you, you!" Then,
+making the motions of cutting something with
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
+his open hand, he gave her to understand that she
+was to go out with him. She started several
+times, astonished and protesting, opened her eyes
+extremely wide, and said in that voice of hers
+which seemed to come from the cellar:</p>
+
+<p>"Where?"</p>
+
+<p>The Controller's only answer was a fulminating
+glance and a gesture: "march!" He did not
+intend to give any further information.</p>
+
+<p>Signora Barborin struggled a little longer.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not breakfasted yet," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Her husband took her by the shoulders, drew
+her towards him, and shouted into her face:</p>
+
+<p>"You will breakfast later."</p>
+
+<p>Only at Albogasio Inferiore, in front of the
+Annunziata, did he inform her, by pointing to the
+place with his stick, that they were going to
+Cadate, to that old manor-house planted in the
+lake between Casarico and Albogasio, and generally
+known as "the Palace," where there lived, all
+alone, in the small rooms of the upper story, the
+priest, Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri and his servant
+Maria, called "Maria of the Palace." Pasotti
+knowing well that both were eager listeners, but
+extremely cautious in talking, wished to examine
+them one at a time, without seeming to do so,
+and, if he found any soft spot, he intended to press
+it very gently. He had brought his wife with him
+that she might help him in this delicate matter of
+taking them one at a time, and she, poor innocent,
+trotted on behind him with short, quick
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>
+steps, and followed him down the flight of one
+hundred and twenty-nine steps called the "Calcinera,"
+never suspecting the perfidious part she
+was to act.</p>
+
+<p>The lake was like oil, and Don Giuseppe, a fine,
+pursy priest, short and fat, with white hair, a
+ruddy complexion and small glistening eyes, was
+seated near the fig-tree in his garden, with a black
+straw hat on his head, and a white handkerchief
+round his neck, angling for carp, certain big, fat
+carp, grown old and wary, that might be seen
+moving about very slowly under the water, all
+for love of the figs, and that were as inquisitive
+and, at the same time, as cautious as the priest
+and his servant. This latter was not visible.
+Pasotti finding the street-door open, went in, calling
+out for Don Giuseppe and Maria. As no one
+answered he planted his wife in a chair and went
+down into the garden, making straight for the
+fig-tree, where Don Giuseppe was sitting, who, on
+catching sight of him, went into a fit of ceremonious
+convulsions. He threw down his fishing-rod
+and went towards Pasotti vociferating: "Oh,
+Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, dear me! In this state!
+My dear Controller! Come up-stairs! Come up-stairs!
+My dear Controller! In this state! I
+hope you will excuse me! I hope you will excuse
+me!" But Pasotti would not hear of "going
+up," he was bound to remain where he was. Don
+Giuseppe began bawling for "Maria! Maria!"
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>
+Presently Maria's big face appeared at a window
+in the upper story.</p>
+
+<p>Don Giuseppe called to her to bring down a
+chair. Then the Controller revealed the presence
+of his wife, whereupon the big face disappeared
+and Don Giuseppe had another fit.</p>
+
+<p>"How is this? How is this? Signora Barborin?
+She here? Oh, Lord! Come up-stairs!"
+and he started forward impelled by obsequiousness,
+but Pasotti reduced him to obedience, at
+first catching him by the arm, and then declaring
+that he wished to see him take one or two of those
+monstrous carp; and notwithstanding Don Giuseppe's
+protests: "It is no use! I sha'n't catch
+anything! They're far too cunning, these fish.
+<i>They see!</i>" in the end he was obliged to throw
+his line.</p>
+
+<p>At first Pasotti pretended to watch him, but
+finally he also threw his line.</p>
+
+<p>He began by asking Don Giovanni how long
+it was since he had been to Castello. Upon being
+informed that he had been there the day before
+to see his friend, the curate Intrioni, the good
+Tartuffe, who could not abide Intrioni, burst
+into a perfect panegyric of him. What a jewel,
+this curate of Castello! What a heart of gold!
+And had Don Giuseppe been to Casa Rigey?
+No, Signora Teresa was too ill. More panegyrics
+concerning Signora Teresa and Luisa. What a
+splendid creature! What circumspection, what
+high principles, what sentiment! And the Maironi
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
+affair? It was still going on, was it not?
+Had it gone far?</p>
+
+<p>"I know nothing, nothing, nothing!" Don
+Giuseppe said sharply.</p>
+
+<p>At that hasty denial Pasotti's eyes sparkled.
+He took a step forward. Oh, come now. It was
+not possible that Don Giuseppe did not know
+anything! It was not possible that he had not
+discussed the matter with Intrioni! Was not
+Intrioni aware that Don Franco had spent the
+night at Casa Rigey?</p>
+
+<p>"I know nothing about it, nothing at all!"
+Don Giuseppe repeated.</p>
+
+<p>Then Pasotti declared that by this concealment
+of certain well known circumstances, many were
+led to suspect evil. What the deuce! Don
+Franco had of course gone to Casa Rigey with the
+most honourable intentions, therefore&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"A bite! A bite!" whispered Don Giuseppe
+hurriedly, and he leaned far out over the parapet,
+grasped the end of the pole firmly, and fixed
+his gaze on the water as if a fish were about to
+seize the hook. "A bite!"</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti, much vexed, gazed into the water also,
+but declared he could see nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"He has made off, the wretch! But his mouth
+almost touched the hook. He must have felt
+the prick!" said Don Giuseppe, sighing and
+straightening himself up. He also had felt the
+prick of the hook, and was trying to "make off"
+as the fish had done.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
+ The other renewed his attack, but in vain. Don
+Giuseppe had seen nothing, heard nothing, talked
+of nothing, knew nothing. Pasotti was silent,
+and the priest in turn, threw out a bit of timid
+malice: "They don't bite well to-day,&mdash;there
+must be something in the air."</p>
+
+<p>In the house, meanwhile, the dialogue between
+Maria and Signora Barborin had proceeded most
+unsatisfactorily, after the first affectionate exchange
+of greetings, which had been a great success.
+Maria proposed by gestures that they go
+into the garden, but Signora Pasotti begged with
+clasped hands, to be allowed to remain in her chair.
+Then the big Maria took another chair, and seating
+herself beside her guest tried to talk to her. But
+she found it impossible to make her understand,
+no matter how she shrieked, so gave up in despair,
+and taking her great cat upon her lap, talked to
+him instead.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Signora Barborin, who was quite resigned,
+watched the cat with her great black eyes, dimmed
+by age and grief. Ah! here was Pasotti at last,
+with Don Giuseppe, who at once began to puff
+out his:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, good Lord! My dear Signora Barborin!
+Pray excuse me!" Maria having confessed to the
+<i>Scior Controlor</i> that his wife and she had not been
+able to understand each other, her master&mdash;as a
+mark of respect for Signora Pasotti&mdash;called the
+servant a "block head," and, as she attempted
+to justify herself, he prudently checked her by
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
+an imperious wave of the hand and a string of
+"there, there, there's." Then he signalled to her
+mysteriously with his head, and she left the room.
+Pasotti followed her, and told her that his wife
+really felt obliged to call on the Rigeys, but was
+in doubt as to how she should act, having heard
+certain rumours which were current, and that she
+had greatly hoped to gain some information from
+Maria, for "Maria always knew everything."</p>
+
+<p>"What foolish talk!" said Maria, much flattered.
+"I never know anything; but I can tell you to
+whom your wife must apply. To Signor Giacomo
+Puttini. It is Signor Giacomo Puttini who always
+knows everything."</p>
+
+<p>"Well done!" thought Pasotti, adding these
+remarks to what the farmer had said, and concluding
+he was on the track at last. At the same
+time he shrugged his shoulders incredulously.
+Signor Giacomo might perhaps be aware of what
+was going on in the moon, but that was all; he
+never knew anything else. Maria insisted, and
+the old fox began to press her with questions,
+beating cautiously about the bush; but he found
+her obdurate, and presently he saw that he should
+have his labour for his pains, and that he must be
+satisfied with that one bit of information. He
+became silent, and half satisfied, half preoccupied,
+returned to the room where Don Giuseppe was
+explaining to Signora Barborin, by means of
+appropriate gestures, that Maria was going to
+bring her something to eat. In fact the woman
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
+appeared presently with a square, glass jar, full
+of brandy-cherries, a renowned specialty of Don
+Giuseppe's, who was in the habit of offering them
+solemnly to his guests, in his own peculiar Italian:</p>
+
+<p>"Allow me to offer you something! Will you
+try a few of my cherries? <i>Magara con un tochello
+di pane?</i> Perhaps with a slice of bread?" And
+then, lapsing into dialect once more: "<i>Maria,
+tajee gio un poo de pan</i>&mdash;cut off a bit of bread."</p>
+
+<p>Signora Barborin feasted on bread alone,
+following the advice of her satanic husband, who
+himself took cherries without bread. Then they
+went away together, and she was permitted to
+return to Albogasio, while the Controller set off
+in the direction of Casa Gilardoni.</p>
+
+<p>"That Pasotti is a rogue," said Maria when she
+had bolted the street-door.</p>
+
+<p>"He is not only a rogue, but an extra big rogue!
+A <i>bargnif</i>!" Don Giuseppe exclaimed, remembering
+the hook; and by the application of the
+dialect title of "Bargnif," which means the arch-fiend,
+considered in the light of his great cunning,
+these two mild beings found relief for their feelings,
+and a compensation for so many things given
+unwillingly: courtesies, smiles and cherries.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Professor Gilardoni was reading perched on his
+belvedere in the kitchen-garden, when he caught
+sight of Pasotti coming towards him behind
+Pinella, between the rows of beets and turnips.
+He had little liking for the Controller, with whom
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
+he had exchanged only one or two calls, and who
+had the reputation of being a <i>tedescone</i>, a rank
+German. Nevertheless, being inclined to think
+the best of those with whom he was only slightly
+acquainted, he found no difficulty in extending
+to him the same cordial courtesy which it was his
+habit to show to every one. He went to meet his
+guest, velvet cap in hand, and after a skirmish of
+compliments which proved an easy victory for
+Pasotti, Gilardoni returned to the belvedere
+with him.</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti, on the other hand, felt a lively dislike
+for the Professor, not so much because he knew
+him to be a Liberal, as because, though Gilardoni
+did not go to Mass as often as he himself did, he
+lived like a Puritan, loving neither the table nor
+the bottle, neither tobacco nor certain loose discourses.
+Moreover he did not play <i>tarocchi</i>. One
+evening, when talking in the kitchen-garden with
+Don Franco, of the tremendous bouts of eating
+and drinking which Pasotti and his friends often
+celebrated in the taverns of Bisnago, the Professor
+had said something which was overheard
+by the big curate, one of the gluttons, whose boat,
+in which he himself sat fishing, happened to be
+gliding along very softly, close to the walls.
+"Miserable knave!" the most worthy Controller
+had exclaimed when the words were repeated to
+him, his face wearing the expression of a <i>bargnif
+bilioso</i>, of Satan with a bilious attack. The
+exclamation had been followed by a contemptuous
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
+snarl, after which the Controller spat
+protestingly. This, however, did not prevent
+him from overflowing on the present occasion with
+excuses for having unduly postponed his visit, nor
+from immediately spying out the volume resting on
+the rustic table of the belvedere. Gilardoni saw
+him glance at it and, as the book in question was
+one of those forbidden by the government, he
+took it up almost instinctively as soon as he had
+started the conversation, and rested it on his knee
+in such a manner that Pasotti could not read the
+title. This precaution disturbed Pasotti, who
+was just then praising the little villa and the
+garden in all their particulars, and in the tone
+best adapted to each part; the beets, with amiable
+familiarity, the aloes, with serious and frowning
+admiration. An angry light flashed in his eyes,
+and then disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>"Fortunate man," he sighed. "If my affairs
+would permit it, I myself should like to live in
+Valsolda."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a peaceful spot," said the Professor.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, a peaceful spot; and, besides, nowadays
+those who have served the Government are not
+comfortable in the big towns. People make no
+distinction between a faithful official who attends
+strictly to his own duties, as I have done, and a
+police-spy. We are exposed to many suspicions,
+many humiliations&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The Professor turned red, and was sorry he
+had removed the book from the little table. In
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
+fact, notwithstanding his assumption of humility,
+Pasotti was too proud to act the spy, and, owing
+to this pride, or perhaps to some good strain in
+him, he had never done so. Thus in his words
+there was a grain of sincerity, a grain of gold,
+which sufficed to give them the ring of true metal.
+Gilardoni, touched by this, offered his guest a
+glass of beer, and hastened away in search of
+Pinella, glad of an excuse for leaving the book
+on the little table.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly had the Professor disappeared when
+Pasotti snatched up the volume, and gave it an
+inquisitive glance; then he laid it down on the
+same spot, and stationed himself at the top of the
+steps, toying with the snuff in the box he held open
+in his hand, and smiling a smile half of beatitude,
+half of admiration, at the lake, the hills and the
+sky. The book was a volume of Giusti, pretending
+to have been published in Brussels or rather
+<i>Brusselle</i>, and bearing the title: <i>Italian Poems,
+from manuscripts</i>. Written across one corner of
+the fly-leaf was the name: "Mariano Fornic."
+It needed less keenness than Pasotti possessed to
+perceive at once in that heteroclite, the anagram
+of Franco Maironi.</p>
+
+<p>"How lovely! What a paradise!" said he
+softly, while the Professor was coming up the steps
+followed by Pinella with the beer.</p>
+
+<p>Presently, between two sips of beer, he confessed
+that his visit was not entirely of a disinterested
+nature. He declared that he was in love
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
+with the blossoming wall that upheld the kitchen-garden
+on the lake-side, and that he wished to
+copy it at Albogasio Superiore, where, though the
+lake was wanting, there were plenty of bare walls.
+Where did the Professor get those aloes, those
+roses and caper-bushes?</p>
+
+<p>"Why," the other answered frankly. "Maironi
+gave them to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Don Franco?" Pasotti exclaimed. "Well
+done! I will appeal to Don Franco, who is always
+very kind to me."</p>
+
+<p>And he took out his snuff-box. "Poor Don
+Franco," said he, with all the tenderness of a compassionate
+rogue as he scrutinised and fingered
+the snuff. "Poor young man! He sometimes
+flies into a passion, but, after all, he is a splendid
+fellow. A heart of the best! Poor young man!
+Do you see him often?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, quite often."</p>
+
+<p>"If only his hopes could be realised, poor young
+man! His hopes and hers also, of course. That
+affair is not off, is it?"</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti put this question with the skill of a
+great actor, with affectionate but discreet interest,
+with no more curiosity than was fitting, and with
+the intention of lubricating and softening somewhat
+Gilardoni's closed heart, that it might open
+of itself, little by little. But Gilardoni's heart,
+instead of spreading itself open at that gentle
+touch, contracted and closed tighter than ever.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," the Professor replied, feeling
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
+the colour mounting to his face, and indeed he
+turned scarlet. In his mental note-book Pasotti
+immediately made a note of the embarrassed
+manner, and of the heightened colour. "He
+would be unwise to throw up the game. It is
+only natural that the Marchesa should create
+difficulties for them, but after all, she is a good
+creature, and devoted to him. Poor woman,
+what a fright she had the other night!"</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at the Professor who was frowning
+in uneasy silence, and reflected: You will not
+speak? Then you know. "Just think of it!
+Not to say where he was going! What do you
+think of that?"</p>
+
+<p>"But I know nothing about it, I don't understand."
+Gilardoni exclaimed, frowning more
+darkly still and growing ever more uneasy.</p>
+
+<p>And now Pasotti, who was aware that the Professor
+had long since ceased to visit the Rigeys,
+but was ignorant of the reason why, made a move
+which was worthy only of a novice in roguery.</p>
+
+<p>"You might enquire about it at Castello."
+said he, with a malicious simper.</p>
+
+<p>At this point Gilardoni, who was already boiling
+with rage, overflowed.</p>
+
+<p>"Pray oblige me by dropping this subject,"
+said he, angrily, "oblige me by dropping it."</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti grew sullen. Ceremonious, insinuating,
+and given to adulation though he was, his pride
+would not allow him to suffer an unpleasant word
+calmly, and he took offence at every shadow. He
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
+said no more, and in a few minutes took his leave
+with dignified coolness, and retired through the
+beets and the turnips, nursing his wrath. On
+reaching the top of the Contrada dei Mal'ari, the
+<i>bargnif</i> paused a moment to think, resting his chin
+on his hand, then he started towards the shore of
+Casarico, moving slowly, his head bent low, but
+with glistening eyes, like the poodle that smells
+the hidden truffle in the air. Don Giuseppe's
+frightened denials, Maria's obstinate denials, and
+the Professor's embarrassment and outburst of
+temper, told him that a truffle really existed, and
+that it must be a big one. He had thought of
+going to Loggi where dwelt Paolin and Paolon,
+both of whom were well informed, but then he
+had remembered that it was Tuesday, and that
+probably he would not find them. No, it would
+be better to go directly up to Castello from Casarico,
+and sniff and hunt about in the house of a
+certain Signora Cecca, an admirable woman, all
+heart, and famous for the assiduous watch she
+kept from her window over the entire Valsolda
+by means of a powerful spy-glass. She could tell
+you any day who had gone to Lugano with the
+boatman Pin, or with Panighet; noted the conversations
+the unhappy Pinella held with a certain
+Mochét in front of the church at Albogasio,
+half a mile distant; she knew how many days it
+had taken Engineer Ribera to drink the little cask
+of wine which his boat carried back empty from
+the house at Oria to the cellar at S. Margherita.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>
+If Franco had been to Casa Rigey Signora Cecca
+must surely know it.</p>
+
+<p>In the passage that leads from Casarico to the
+narrow street of Castello, Pasotti heard hurried
+steps behind him, and then some one brushed past
+him in the darkness and he believed he had
+recognised a man nicknamed "légora fugada" or
+the "hunted hare," because of the furious pace
+at which he always walked. This honest man,
+who was even more inquisitive than Pasotti, was
+a most worthy person who loved to know things
+just for the sake of knowing them, and for no
+other reason. He always went about alone, was
+everywhere, appearing and disappearing like a
+flash, sometimes in one place, sometimes in another,
+like certain large, winged insects, which
+pass with a glance, a whirr, a touch, and then,
+hush! they are neither heard nor seen again until
+there comes another glance, another whirr, another
+touch. He had seen the Pasottis enter the
+"Palace," and the unusual hour had caused him
+to suspect something. Lying flat in a small
+field he had seen Signora Barborin turn homewards,
+and the Controller start towards Casarico.
+Then, having followed at a distance, this individual
+had posted himself behind one of the pilasters
+of the portico of Casarico while Pasotti was calling
+on Gilardoni, and now he had slipped past him,
+taking advantage of the dark passage, and hastening
+to reach Castello before him, that he might
+watch his movements from some point of vantage.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
+ In fact he saw him enter Signora Cecca's house.</p>
+
+<p>The old lady, who had the goitre, was in her
+little parlour, holding a small urchin on her left
+arm, while with her free hand she supported a
+very long and slender pasteboard tube, which was
+struck slanting across the window like a wall-gun
+and pointed down at the sparkling lake, at a
+white sail, filled with the <i>breva</i>. On the entrance
+of Pasotti, who came forward with stooping
+shoulders, his face suffused with a most gentle
+gaiety, the kindly and hospitable old dame
+hastened to put down the monstrous pasteboard
+nose, which she was so fond of poking into the
+most distant affairs of others, where her own
+parchment nose, though it was long beyond
+measure, could not reach. She received the
+Controller as she might have received a saintly
+miracle-worker, who had come to remove her
+goitre.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how kind of you! Dear <i>Sior Controlor</i>!
+Oh, how kind! What a pleasure! What a
+pleasure!"</p>
+
+<p>And she made him sit down and nearly suffocated
+him with her offers of hospitality.</p>
+
+<p>"A piece of cake! A bit of nut-candy! Dear
+<i>Sior Controlor</i>! A little wine! A taste of
+<i>rosoho</i>!&mdash;You must excuse me," she added, for
+the youngster had begun to whine. "He is my
+little grandson, you know. My little pet."</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti took a great deal of urging, having not
+only Don Giovanni's cherries, but also Gilardoni's
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
+beer in his stomach, but finally he was obliged to
+yield, and resign himself to gnawing a piece of
+that accursed almond cake, while the urchin clung
+to his grandmother's goitre.</p>
+
+<p>At this the sarcastic rogue said pathetically,
+laughing in his sleeve the while: "Poor Signora
+Cecca! Twice a mother!" When he had enquired
+for her husband and for all her descendants
+even unto the third generation, he brought forward
+Signora Teresa Rigey. How was that
+poor lady? Bad! Really very bad? But since
+when had she been worse? Had there been any
+cause? Some trouble, perhaps? The old troubles
+were well known, but had there been some fresh
+ones? Perhaps on Luisina's account? About
+the marriage? And did Don Franco come to
+Castello? Ah, not in the daytime, but perhaps&mdash;&mdash;?</p>
+
+<p>As the patient who is being questioned and
+examined by the surgeon searching for the painful,
+hidden spot, answers ever more briefly, ever more
+fearfully as the hand draws nearer and nearer to
+the point, and starts and draws back as soon as
+the spot is touched, so Signora Cecca answered
+Pasotti ever more briefly, ever more cautiously,
+until, at that "but" which touched the painful
+spot so delicately, she started, exclaiming&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"A little more cake, <i>Sior Controlor</i>! It is a
+cake light enough for young girls."</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti in his heart cursed the "young girls"
+and their cake, a concoction of honey, chalk and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
+almond oil, but deemed it prudent to swallow
+another mouthful before once more touching, or
+rather pressing the tender spot he had discovered.</p>
+
+<p>"I know nothing! I know nothing! Absolutely
+nothing!" Signora Cecca exclaimed.
+"Try sounding Puttini. Try Signor Giacomo.
+And pray don't ask me anything more." Again!
+Pasotti's face shone at the prospect of getting the
+unlucky Signor Giacomo into his clutches. Thus
+the eyes of a falcon might shine at the joyous
+prospect of snatching a frog, and of holding him
+in his claws, to toy with at pleasure. Presently
+he took his departure well satisfied with everything
+save with the chalky cake, which lay like
+lead in his stomach.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Casa Puttini, which, within its minute, genteel
+appearance, resembled the little old gentleman
+who ruled it, in a black coat and white stock,
+stood just below that stately pile, Casa Pasotti,
+on the road to Albogasio Inferiore. The falcon
+went there in the afternoon, towards five o'clock,
+with a cunning expression on his face. He
+knocked at the door and then listened. He was
+there! The unlucky frog was there! And he
+was quarrelling as usual with the perfidious servant.
+Pasotti knocked louder. "Go down!"
+said Signor Giacomo, but Marianna would not
+hear of going down to open the door. "Go down!
+I am the master!" It was all in vain. Pasotti
+knocked again, knocked like a battering-ram.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
+"Who the devil can it be!" scolded Puttini, and
+he came down puffing: "Apff! apff!" to open the
+door. "Oh, most gracious Controller!" said he
+winking hard, and raising his eyebrows pathetically.
+"Pray excuse me! That awful servant!
+I am quite worn out! You would not believe the
+things that go on in this house!"</p>
+
+<p>"That is a lie!" Marianna cried from above.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold your tongue, you!" And then Signor
+Giacomo began telling his woes, stopping from
+time to time to silence the protests of the invisible
+servant.</p>
+
+<p>"Just fancy! This morning I went to Lugano.
+I got home about three o'clock. On the doorstep&mdash;look
+there&mdash;I saw some splashes. Hold
+your tongue, you! I did not heed them, and
+went straight in. At the head of the kitchen-stairs
+there were more splashes. Be quiet, will
+you?&mdash;What can have been spilled? said I to myself,
+and I stooped and touched the spots with my
+finger. It was something greasy; I smelt it, it
+was oil. Then I followed the splashes, touching
+and sniffing, sniffing and touching. All oil, most
+gracious Controller! So I said to myself again:
+Either it came in, or it went out. If it came in,
+the farmer brought it, and in that case there will
+be splashes outside the door, and they will extend
+upwards, if it went out, that means that this
+accursed.... Hold your tongue, I say!...
+took it to S. Mamette and sold it, and then the
+splashes outside will extend downwards. So
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
+back I went, always following the splashes and
+presently I found myself here at the door. Most
+gracious Controller, those splashes all extended
+downwards! That d&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>At this point the servant's voice rang out like
+the bell on an alarm-clock, and no "hold your
+tongue" was strong enough to stem that shrill
+flow of angry words. Pasotti tried, and not
+succeeding, flew into a passion himself, and
+shouted: "Oh, you cheat!" following up that
+title with a string of insults, at each of which
+Signor Giacomo gave a low grunt of satisfaction.
+"Yes, yes, give it to her! that's right! I am
+much obliged to you. Yes, shout,&mdash;that's right.
+You torment, you!&mdash;I am really greatly obliged
+to you, most gracious Controller! Really greatly
+obliged!"</p>
+
+<p>When Marianna had been overpowered and
+reduced to silence, Pasotti told Signor Giacomo
+that he must speak a few words with him. "I
+am really not up to it," the little man complained.
+"You must excuse me, for I feel quite ill."</p>
+
+<p>"Not up to it, not up to it, indeed!" shouted
+Marianna who had revived. "You had better
+tell us how you wear yourself out going up to
+Castello at night to see the girls!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hold your tongue," Puttini shrieked, while
+Pasotti exclaimed, with a fiendish grin: "What,
+what, what!" Seeing that Puttini was becoming
+furious, he took him by the arm, and
+calming him with peaceful and affectionate language,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>
+dragged him away to his own house where
+he at once summoned his wife, and started a
+game of three-handed <i>tarocchi</i>, with the purpose
+of soothing the poor frog, and getting a firmer grip
+of him.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>If Signora Barborin played badly, Signor
+Giacomo, meditating, pondering and puffing,
+played worse. He was an extremely timid player,
+and never set himself up alone against the other
+two, but to-day at the very first deal, he discovered
+that he held such extraordinary cards
+that he was seized with a fit of courage, and, to
+use the language of the game, he <i>entered</i>. "Goodness
+knows what sort of a hand he has!" Pasotti
+growled.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't say.... I don't say....
+There certainly are several friars who walk in
+slippers."</p>
+
+<p>Signor Giacomo's "I don't say" meant that he
+held marvellous cards, and the friars in slippers,
+in his lingo, were the four kings of the game.
+While he was getting ready to play, feasting his
+eyes upon his cards, and feeling each one in turn,
+Pasotti took the opportunity of opening fire,
+hoping to make him lose the game, into the bargain.
+"Come now," said he, "tell us about it!
+When was it you went to Castello at night?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Don't talk about it,"
+Signor Giacomo replied, growing very red and
+sorting his cards faster than ever.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>
+ "Well, well, play away then. We can talk
+later. I know the whole story any way!"</p>
+
+<p>Poor Signor Giacomo, how could he play with
+that bone in his throat? He sorted and puffed,
+led when he should not have done so, blundered
+in adding up the points, lost two of the friars and
+their slippers as well, and in spite of his splendid
+hand, left several markers in the clutches of Pasotti
+who was grinning with delight, and several more
+on the little plate beside Signora Barborin, who
+kept repeating with clasped hands: "What have
+you done, Signor Giacomo? what have you
+done?"</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti gathered up the cards and began shuffling
+them, casting sardonic glances at Signor
+Giacomo, who did not know where to look.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," said he, "I know everything.
+Signora Cecca told me the whole story. I assure
+you, my dear Political Deputy, you will be called
+upon to answer for this before the Imperial and
+Royal Commissary of Porlezza."</p>
+
+<p>With these words Pasotti passed the cards to
+Puttini, that he might cut. But Puttini, hearing
+that dreaded name, began to groan:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh Lord! Oh Lord! What is that you say?...
+I know nothing.... Oh Lord!
+The Imperial and Royal Commissary?... I
+assure you I can't see what for! ... apff!"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," Pasotti repeated. He was waiting
+for a word that should enlighten him, and by
+pointing first to the door and then to his own
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>
+mouth, he made his wife understand that she was
+to fetch something to drink.</p>
+
+<p>"And that dreadful engineer as well!" Signor
+Giacomo exclaimed, as if speaking to himself.</p>
+
+<p>As the fisherman who, pulling hard on the long,
+heavy line quivering, he fancies, with the weight
+of the one big fish he has been angling for so long,
+finally redoubles his caution and skill, as, with
+a thrill, he sees two great shadowy fishes instead
+of one rising from the depths, so Pasotti, upon hearing
+this allusion to the engineer, was thrilled and
+amazed, and began preparing, with the most
+exquisitely delicate touch, to draw out this secret
+concerning Signor Giacomo and Ribera.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," said he, "you did wrong."</p>
+
+<p>Silence on Signor Giacomo's part.</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"You did very wrong."</p>
+
+<p>But just then Signora Barborin entered, smiling
+genially, and bearing a tray with the bottle and
+glasses. The wine was of a dark red, shot through
+with ruby lights, and Signor Giacomo contemplated
+it if not yet tenderly, at least benevolently.
+This wine had an aroma of austere virtue, and
+Signor Giacomo smelt of it affectionately, gazed
+at it with emotion, and then smelt of it again.
+This wine had that mellow richness which fills
+both palate and soul with its flavour, and indeed it
+possessed exactly that honest and pure tartness
+that its aroma pre-announced, and Signor Giacomo
+sipped it and wished it were not liquid and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
+evanescent, tasted it, smacked his lips over it, and
+rolled it under his tongue. When, from time to
+time, he rested his glass on the little table, neither
+his hand nor his languid gaze were withdrawn
+from it.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Engineer! Poor Ribera!" Pasotti exclaimed.
+"He is a most upright man, but ..."</p>
+
+<p>And as he pulled and pulled the unlucky Signor
+Giacomo began to rise to the hook and the line.</p>
+
+<p>"I myself did not wish it," he said. "'Twas
+he made me go&mdash;'Come along,' said he. 'Why
+do you not wish to go? There will be no harm
+done. The thing is honest.' 'Yes!' I answered,
+'so it seems to me also, but all this secrecy?' 'On
+account of the grandmother,' he replied. 'But
+then,' I asked, 'what sort of a figure shall you and
+I cut?' 'We are just a couple of simpletons!'
+he answered, with that way of his&mdash;honest, old-fashioned
+soul that he is,&mdash;that always gets round
+me. 'I will go,' said I."</p>
+
+<p>Here he paused. Pasotti waited a while, and
+then gave the line a cautious jerk. "The trouble
+is," said he, "that the story leaked out at Castello."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Sir, and I was sure it would. The family
+and the engineer might keep the secret, and of
+course I should never speak, but the priest and
+the sacristan would surely talk."</p>
+
+<p>The priest? The sacristan? Ah! at last Pasotti
+understood. He staggered! He had not
+expected such a tremendous disclosure. He
+filled the unhappy Signor Giacomo's glass, and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>
+had little difficulty in getting all the particulars
+of the wedding out of him. Then he tried to find
+out what plans for the future the young people
+had formed, but in this he did not succeed. He
+began shuffling the cards with the intention of
+continuing the game, but Signor Giacomo looked
+at his watch, and found that it wanted only nine
+minutes to seven, at which hour he was in the
+habit of winding his clock. Three minutes in the
+street, two minutes on the stairs, and there remained
+only four minutes for leave-taking.
+"Reckon it out for yourself, most gracious Controller.
+It is as I say: there is no doubt about it."</p>
+
+<p>Signora Bardorin, noticing this consultation,
+questioned her husband about it. Pasotti raised
+his hands to his mouth, and shouted into her
+face: "He wants to go and see his sweetheart!"
+"What nonsense! What nonsense!" poor Signor
+Giacomo exclaimed, turning all colours; and
+Signora Pasotti, having understood by a miracle,
+opened her mouth enormously wide, not knowing
+whether or no to believe her husband. "His
+sweetheart? Oh, what nonsense. It is foolish
+talk, is it not, Signor Giacomo? Of course you
+might have a sweetheart, I don't deny that.
+You're not old, but...!" Seeing that he
+really intended to be off, she tried to detain him,
+telling him she had some chestnuts from Venegono
+on the fire, which were nearly done, and begging
+him to accept some of them. But neither the
+chestnuts nor Pasotti's reproaches could persuade
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
+Signor Giacomo, and he departed with the spectre
+of the Imperial and Royal Commissary in his
+heart, harassed by unpleasant twinges of conscience,
+and a vague sense of dissatisfaction with
+himself, which he could not explain, and feeling
+instinctively that the perfidious servant's insolence
+was, after all, preferable to Pasotti's cajoleries.</p>
+
+<p>As to the latter, his eyes shone even brighter
+than usual. He intended going to Cressogno at
+once. Being an indefatigable walker he expected
+to get there by eight o'clock. He was
+hugely pleased at the prospect of going to the
+Marchesa with his great discovery <i>in pectore</i>, of
+acting mysteriously, of dropping the most artful
+hints, one by one, and of obliging her to wrest the
+particulars from him. For his own gratification
+he was already preparing a gentle and soothing
+little speech to lay upon the wound of the imperturbable
+old dame, so that she might not be
+able to hide it, and that no one might complain
+of him, not even Franco. He went to the kitchen
+where he got them to light a lantern for him, for
+the night was very dark, and then he set out.</p>
+
+<p>At the door he met his steward who was just
+coming in. The steward greeted him, and carried
+a large basket of fruit into the kitchen, and, having
+helped the maid put it away, he seated himself
+by the fire, and said placidly:</p>
+
+<p>"Signora Teresa of Castello has just passed
+away."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI<br />
+THE OLD LADY OF MARBLE</h2>
+
+<p>The door was opened a little way, very, very
+softly; the maid looked in, and called to
+Franco, who was absorbed in prayer, kneeling by
+a chair near the couch upon which the dead woman
+lay. Franco did not hear, and it was Luisa who
+rose. She went to listen to the woman's whispered
+request, said something in reply, and when
+the maid had withdrawn, stood waiting for some
+one. As no one appeared she pushed the door
+open and said aloud: "Come in, come in." A
+great sob answered her. Luisa stretched out both
+hands and Professor Gilardoni seized them. They
+stood some time thus, motionless, fighting their
+sorrow with tightly pressed lips, he more shaken
+than she. Luisa was the first to move. She
+gently withdrew one hand, and, with the other,
+led the Professor into the chamber of death.</p>
+
+<p>Signora Teresa had passed away in the drawing-room
+in the armchair from which she had never
+been able to rise after the night of the wedding.
+They had made the sofa into a funeral couch, and
+laid her out upon it. The sweet face rested there
+on the pillow, showing waxen in the light of the
+four candles, the lips were slightly parted, and it
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
+was as if a smile shone through the closed eyelids.
+The couch and the clothes were strewn with
+autumn flowers; cyclamen, dahlias and chrysanthemums.
+"See how beautiful she is," said
+Luisa, in a tender, quiet tone that went to the
+heart. The Professor stood leaning upon a chair
+at some distance from the bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you realise it, Mamma," Luisa said softly,
+"how much you are beloved?"</p>
+
+<p>She knelt down, and taking one of the dead
+hands, began kissing it, caressing it, and murmuring
+sweet words over it in a low voice; then
+she was silent, and, replacing the hand, she rose,
+kissed the brow and contemplated the face with
+clasped hands. She recalled her mother's reproofs
+in past years, remembering every one
+since her childhood, for she had always felt them
+deeply. Once more she fell upon her knees, and
+pressed her lips to the icy hand with an impulse
+of affection more ardent than if she had been
+dwelling upon past caresses. Then taking a
+cyclamen from her mother's shoulder, she rose
+and offered it to the Professor. He took it, weeping,
+and going to Franco, whom he now met for
+the first time since that night, he embraced him
+with silent emotion, and felt his embrace returned.
+Then, stepping very softly, he left the room.</p>
+
+<p>It was striking eight o'clock. Signora Teresa
+had died the night before at six; in twenty-six
+hours Luisa had never rested for a moment, and
+had left the room only four or five times for a few
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
+minutes. Franco it was who often went out, and
+remained away a long time.</p>
+
+<p>Summoned in secret he had reached Castello
+just in time to see the poor mother alive, and it
+had fallen to his lot to perform all the sad offices
+which death imposes, for Uncle Piero, in spite of
+his years, had not the slightest knowledge of these
+matters, and was greatly bewildered by them.</p>
+
+<p>Now, hearing it strike eight, he went to his
+wife and gently urged her to take a little rest, but
+Luisa answered him at once in a way that put an
+end to his insistence. The funeral was to take
+place the next morning at nine o'clock. She had
+wished it to be postponed for as long as possible,
+and intended to remain with her mother to the
+last. In her slim person there was an indomitable
+vigour capable of withstanding still greater trials.
+For her, her mother was there still, on that narrow
+couch, among the flowers. She did not think that
+a part of her was elsewhere, did not look out of the
+west window, seeking her among the tiny stars
+that trembled above the hills of Carona. Her
+one thought was that in a few hours, the darling
+mother, who had lived so many years for her
+alone, caring for naught else on earth save her
+happiness, would be laid away to sleep for ever
+under the great walnut-trees of Looch, in the
+shadowy solitude where the little cemetery of
+Castello rests in silence, while she herself would
+continue to enjoy life, the sun, and love. She
+had answered Franco almost sharply as if, in
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>
+some way, affection for the living were an offence
+to the affection for the dead. Then, fearing she
+had hurt him, she repented, kissed him and endeavoured
+to pray, knowing that in this she would
+be pleasing him, and that certainly her mother
+would have expected this of her. She began
+reciting the <i>Pater</i>, the <i>Ave</i> and the <i>Requiem</i> over
+and over again, but without deriving the slightest
+comfort from them, experiencing, rather, a secret
+irritation, an unwelcome drying up of her grief.
+She had always practised religion, but, after the
+ardour of her first Communion had died out, her
+soul had ceased to be associated in religious observance.
+Her mother had lived rather for the
+next world than for this; she had regulated her
+every action, her every word, her every thought
+with that end in view. In her precocious intellectual
+development, Luisa's ideas and sentiments
+had taken another direction, with that
+determined vigour which was one of her characteristics.
+She covered these views, however,
+with certain half-conscious, half-unconscious dissimulations,
+partly for love of her mother, partly
+because some germ of religion, sown by maternal
+precepts, fostered by example, and strengthened
+by habit, had not died out. Since her fourteenth
+year she had been growing ever more inclined to
+look beyond this present life, and at the same
+time not to consider herself; to live for others, for
+the earthly good of others, but always, however,
+according to a strong and fierce sense of justice.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>
+She went to church, performed the external duties
+of her religion, without incredulity, but also without
+the conviction that they were pleasing to
+God. She had a confused conception of a God so
+great, so lofty, that no immediate contact was
+possible between Him and mankind. Sometimes,
+indeed, she feared she might be mistaken, but her
+possible error seemed to her of a nature such as no
+God of infinite goodness might punish. She
+herself did not know how she had come to think
+thus.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened very softly once more, and a
+low voice called, "Signor Don Franco." When
+Luisa was alone she ceased to pray, and resting
+her head upon her mother's pillow, she pressed
+her lips to the dear shoulder, closed her eyes and
+let the flood of memories flow over her that sprung
+from that touch, from that familiar odour of
+lavender. Her mother's dress was of silk, her
+best, and had been a present from Uncle Piero.
+She had worn it only once, some years before, on
+the occasion of a visit to the Marchesa Marioni.
+The odour of the lavender brought back this
+memory also, and with it came scalding tears,
+acrid with tenderness and with another sentiment
+that was not actually hatred, that was not actually
+anger, but that held the bitterness of both.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Franco could not at once account for the shudder
+that shook him when he heard his name called.
+Early that morning Uncle Piero had written to the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
+Marchesa, announcing his sister's death in simple
+but most respectful language, and had enclosed
+a note from Franco himself, which ran as follows:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Grandmother</span>,&mdash;I have not time to
+write to you because I am here, but I will tell you
+all by word of mouth to-morrow evening. I hope
+you will listen to me as my father and mother
+would have listened."</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>No answer had as yet come from Cressogno, but
+now a man from Cressogno had brought a letter.
+Where was this man?&mdash;Gone; he would not stop
+a minute. Franco took the letter and read the
+address: "<i>Al. preg. Signor Ingegnere Pietro Ribera</i>."
+At the same time he recognised in the
+writing, the hand of the agent's daughter. He
+went up to Uncle Piero's room at once. The
+engineer, who was worn out, had gone to bed.</p>
+
+<p>When Franco brought him the letter he showed
+neither surprise nor curiosity, but said, calmly:</p>
+
+<p>"Open it."</p>
+
+<p>Franco placed the light on the chest of drawers,
+and opened the letter, keeping his back to the bed.
+As he stood, he seemed turned to stone; he neither
+breathed nor moved.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" said the uncle.</p>
+
+<p>Silence.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand," the old man added. Then
+Franco let the letter fall, and stretching his hands
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
+above his head, he uttered a long "Ah!" deep and
+hoarse, and laden with amazement and horror.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come!" Uncle Piero repeated, "what
+about this letter?"</p>
+
+<p>Franco roused himself, and hastened to embrace
+him, hardly able to restrain his sobs.</p>
+
+<p>The placid man bore this storm calmly and
+patiently for a time, but presently he began to
+defend himself, and demanded the letter. "Let
+me see it, let me see it," said he, and he muttered,
+"What can that blessed woman have written?"</p>
+
+<p>Franco brought the light and the letter, which
+he handed to Uncle Piero. His grandmother had
+written never a word, never a syllable; she had
+simply returned the engineer's letter and Franco's
+note. It was some time before the uncle could
+grasp this. He was never quick to understand
+things, and this thing was utterly incomprehensible
+to him! When at last he did make it
+out, he could not help saying: "Certainly this
+is very hard!" Then, seeing how beside himself
+Franco was, he added, with the big solemn voice
+he used when judging human actions <i>toto corde</i>,
+"Listen. It is, I should say&mdash;&mdash;" (and he
+searched for the right word, in his own peculiar
+fashion puffing out his cheeks, and emitting a sort
+of rattling sound)"&mdash;&mdash;an injustice! But I am
+by no means so extremely astonished as you are.
+Not all the wrong is on her side, my dear fellow,
+and so&mdash;&mdash;However, I am sorry for you two, who
+will have to eat plain food and live in this miserable
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
+little town; but how about me? For my
+part, I gain by all this, and I may even say, I
+feel inclined to thank your grandmother. You
+see I have never founded a family of my own; I
+have always counted upon this family. Now my
+poor sister is dead, and if your grandmother had
+opened her arms to you, I should have been of no
+more use than an old cabbage stock. So you
+see&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Franco was careful not to let his wife know
+about this matter, and although she was aware
+that the letters had been sent to Cressogno, she
+did not ask if his grandmother had answered, until
+after the funeral, until some hours after the funeral.
+The little drawing-room, the little terrace,
+the little kitchen, had been full of people all day
+long, from nine o'clock in the morning until nine
+in the evening. At ten Luisa and Franco left
+the house without a lantern, turned to the right,
+went very slowly and silently through the darkness
+of the village, and, passing the bright and
+windy turning to which rises the deep roar of the
+river of S. Mametti, stood among the shadows
+and the pungent odours of the walnut-trees of
+Looch. Shortly before they reached the cemetery,
+Luisa said softly to her husband: "Have
+you heard nothing from Cressogno?" He would
+have liked to hide at least part of the truth from
+her, but he could not. He said his note had been
+returned to him; and then Luisa wanted to know
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
+if his grandmother had sent a word of condolence
+to Uncle Piero. Franco's "no" was almost timid,
+and so uncertain that, after they had gone on a
+few steps a suspicion flashed across Luisa's
+mind, and she suddenly stopped, and seized her
+husband's arm. Before she had uttered a word
+Franco understood and embraced her as he had
+embraced Uncle Piero, only still more impetuously,
+telling her to take his heart, his soul, his
+life, to seek for nothing else in this world. He
+felt she was trembling violently in his arms, but
+neither then nor afterwards did a word on this
+subject pass between them. At the gate of the
+cemetery they knelt together. Franco prayed
+with the fervour of faith. Luisa, with eager eyes,
+pierced the earth where it had been disturbed
+near the entrance; pierced the coffin, and, in
+thought, fixed her gaze on her mother's mild and
+serious face; once more, in thought, but with an
+impulse so violent that the bars of the gate shook,
+she bent forward, lower and lower, pressed her
+lips to the lips of the dead woman, imprinting
+upon them a violence of affection, stronger than
+all the insults, than all the baseness of this world.</p>
+
+<p>Towards eleven o'clock she tore herself reluctantly
+away from the spot. Going slowly
+down the slippery and stony path beside her
+husband there suddenly arose before her mind's
+eye a vision of a future meeting with the Marchesa.
+She stopped, drawing herself up and
+clenching her fists, and from her handsome, intelligent
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
+face there shone forth such fierceness
+that, could the old lady of marble have seen her
+thus, have met her at that moment, she might
+not have surrendered, perhaps, but she would
+certainly have hastened to put herself on the
+defensive.</p>
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p>
+<h1>Part Second</h1>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<h2>CHAPTER I<br />
+FISHERMEN</h2>
+
+<p>Dr. Francesco Zérboli, Imperial and
+Royal Commissary of Porlezza, landed at
+the Imperial and Royal <i>Ricevitoria</i>&mdash;the custom-house&mdash;at
+Oria, on the tenth day of September,
+1854, just as a truly imperial and royal sun was
+rising above the ponderous bastions of Galbiga,
+glorifying the little pink custom-house and the
+oleanders and beans of Signora Peppina Bianconi,
+and summoning to his office, in accordance with
+the regulations, Signor Carlo Bianconi, her husband,
+that same Receiver of Customs who had
+scented conspiracy in manuscript music. Bianconi,
+whom his wife called <i>el mè Carlascia</i>,&mdash;"my
+big Charley"&mdash;and the people, <i>el Biancon</i>,
+a tall man, fat and solid, with a clean-shaven
+chin, a grey moustache, and the large dull eyes
+of a faithful mastiff, went down to meet that other
+clean-shaven Imperial and Royal one, of higher
+rank. There was no resemblance between the
+two, save in the Austrian nudity of their chins.
+Zérboli, dressed in black and carefully gloved,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
+was short and stout, and wore a pair of fair
+moustaches flattened against his sallow face, out
+of which peered two small, sarcastic, and scornful
+sparks of eyes. His hair grew so low on his forehead
+that he was in the habit of shaving off a
+strip, and at times a shade showed there, that gave
+him the appearance of some strange beast. Quick
+in his movements, in his glance, in his speech, he
+spoke, with easy courtesy, a nasal Italian, having
+the modulations of the province of Trento. He
+now informed the Receiver that he had come to
+hold a <i>convocato</i>&mdash;the communal council of those
+days&mdash;at Castello, and that he had preferred to
+come early and climb the hill while it was cool,
+from Oria rather than from Casarico or Albogasio,
+that he might have the pleasure of greeting the
+Receiver.</p>
+
+<p>The big, faithful mastiff did not at once understand
+that the Commissary had a second end in
+view, and poured forth his thanks in a medley of
+obsequious phrases, and short, silly laughs,
+rubbing his hands and offering coffee, milk, eggs,
+and the open air of the little garden. The other
+accepted the coffee, but declined the open air
+with a motion of his head and a wink so eloquent,
+that Carlascia, after shouting upstairs, "Peppina!"
+ushered him into the office where, feeling himself
+transformed (such was his double nature) from
+a receiver of customs into a police-officer, he composed
+himself, and put on an expression of austerity,
+as if about to enter into a sacramental
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>
+union with the monarch himself. This office was
+a miserable hole on the ground floor, with iron
+gratings at the two small windows; an infectious
+and primitive cell, that already stunk of the great
+empire. The Commissary seated himself in the
+middle of the room, looking at the closed door
+that led from the landing-stage to the ante-room,
+the one leading from the ante-room to the office
+having been left open by his orders.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me something of Signor Maironi," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"He is still watched," Bianconi answered, and
+continued in the Italian of Porta Tosa. "By the
+way&mdash;wait a moment&mdash;I have a report here that is
+nearly finished." And he began hunting and
+fumbling among his papers, in search of the report
+and of his glasses.</p>
+
+<p>"You will send it in, you will send it in!" exclaimed
+the Commissary, who had a dread of the
+big mastiff's prose.</p>
+
+<p>"Meanwhile speak. Tell me everything."</p>
+
+<p>"He is as ill-intentioned as ever. We knew
+before he was ill-intentioned, but now it is very
+evident," the eloquent Receiver continued. "He
+has begun to wear that beard&mdash;you know&mdash;that
+midget&mdash;that <i>moschetta</i>&mdash;that pointed tuft, that
+filthy&mdash;&mdash;"<a name="FNanchor_I_9" id="FNanchor_I_9"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_I_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a></p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me," said the Commissary, "you see
+I am new to the place. I have my instructions
+and I have received some information, but as yet
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>
+I have no exact knowledge of the man and his
+family. You must describe them to me as
+minutely as you can. Let us begin with him."</p>
+
+<p>"He is a proud man, violent and overbearing.
+He has quarrelled here at least fifty times over
+questions of duty. He will never give in, and he
+wants to teach me and the guard also. His eyes
+flash as if he were going to eat the custom-house.
+But it is no use being overbearing with me, even
+if he&mdash;&mdash;For indeed he knows almost everything,
+and that is a fact! He knows law, finance, music,
+flowers, fish, and the devil knows what all else."</p>
+
+<p>"And she?"</p>
+
+<p>"She? Oh, she is a sly puss, but when she
+shows her claws they are worse than his; much
+worse! When he is angry he turns red and makes
+a great row, she turns pale and is devilish insolent.
+Of course I never tolerate her insolence, but&mdash;well,
+you understand. She is a talented woman,
+I can tell you. My Peppina is devoted to her.
+She is a woman who makes friends everywhere.
+Here in Oria they often send for her instead of
+sending for the doctor. If there is a quarrel in a
+family, they send for her. If an animal has the
+stomach-ache, she must come. All the children
+run after her, and she even makes little dolls for
+them at Carnival time. You know, those little
+puppets. Moreover this woman can play on the
+spinet, and knows French and German. I am
+so unfortunate as not to speak German, so I
+have been to her several times to get German
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
+documents explained, when such come to the
+office."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! So you go to the Maironis' house?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sometimes, for that purpose."</p>
+
+<p>In truth the big mastiff also went there to get
+Franco to explain certain enigmatical passages in
+the customs-tariff to him, but he did not say so.</p>
+
+<p>The Commissary continued his examination.</p>
+
+<p>"And how is the house furnished?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, very well. Fine Venetian floorings,
+painted ceilings, sofas heavily draped, a spinet, a
+splendid dining-room all hung with portraits."</p>
+
+<p>"And the Engineer-in-Chief?"</p>
+
+<p>"The engineer is a jolly, old-fashioned, kind
+man; he resembles me, though he is older. But
+he is not here much. He comes for two weeks
+about this time of the year, and two weeks more
+in the Spring, and he pays a few short visits in
+between. Just leave him alone, and let him have
+his milk in the morning, his milk at night, his
+flask of Modena for dinner, his game of <i>tarocchi</i>,
+and his <i>Milan Gazette</i>, and Engineer Ribera is
+perfectly happy. But to return to Signor Maironi's
+beard. There is something even worse!
+I discovered yesterday that the gentleman has
+planted a jasmine in a wooden box painted red!"<a name="FNanchor_J_10" id="FNanchor_J_10"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_J_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a></p>
+
+<p>The Commissary, a man of parts, and probably
+in his secret heart, indifferent to all colours save
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>
+that of his own complexion and his own tongue,
+could not refrain from slightly shrugging his
+shoulders. Nevertheless, he presently asked&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Is the plant in blossom?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. I will ask the woman."</p>
+
+<p>"Ask whom? Your wife? So your wife goes
+to Casa Maironi also?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, from time to time."</p>
+
+<p>Zérboli fixed his two little scornful eyes on
+Bianconi's face, and put the following question,
+enunciating every syllable very distinctly.</p>
+
+<p>"Does she, or does she not, go there from good
+motives?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, as to that, it depends! She imagines
+she goes as a friend of Luisina's, to talk about the
+flowers, their sewing, and for little bits of gossip,
+and they chatter and chirp away as women will;
+you know the way. But I get out of her&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Tè ch́, tè ch́!</i> Behold, behold!" Signora
+Peppina Bianconi exclaimed in her Porta Ticinese
+dialect, as she came forward with the coffee,
+smiling pleasantly. "The Commissary! What a
+pleasure it is to see you! I am afraid the coffee
+isn't very good, but any way it is fresh made. It
+is a great nuisance not being able to have it from
+Lugano!"</p>
+
+<p>"Tut, tut, tut!" grumbled her husband crossly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what harm is that? I only said so in
+fun. You understood, didn't you, <i>Sür Commissari</i>?
+That blessed man there never understands
+anything. I never get any coffee for myself,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
+anyway. I am taking mallow-water now
+for a dizzy head."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't talk so much, don't talk so much!" her
+husband interpolated, and the Commissary, setting
+down the empty cup, told the good woman
+that he was coming to see her flowers presently,
+and this gallantry was like the act of one who, at
+a café, throws the money upon the tray, that the
+waiter may take it and be gone.</p>
+
+<p>Signora Peppina understood, and awed by the
+ferocious eyes of her Carlascia, withdrew in haste.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, listen, listen," the Commissary exclaimed,
+covering his brow with his left hand, and
+pressing his temples. "Oh!" he ejaculated, suddenly
+remembering, "I have it! I wanted to
+inquire if Engineer Ribera is in Oria at present."</p>
+
+<p>"He is not here now, but I believe he is coming
+very shortly."</p>
+
+<p>"Does Engineer Ribera spend much money on
+this Maironi family?"</p>
+
+<p>"He certainly must spend a great deal. I
+don't believe Don Franco has more than three
+<i>svanziche</i> a day of his own, and she&mdash;&mdash;" The
+Receiver blew across the palm of his hand. "So
+you see&mdash;&mdash;! They keep a servant. They have
+a little girl about two years old, and so they must
+needs keep a maid to look after the child. They
+send away for flowers, books, music, and all sorts
+of things. Of an evening they play cards, and
+there is always a bottle of wine. It takes a good
+many <i>svanziche</i> to live in this way, you know."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>
+ The Commissary reflected a moment with a
+clouded brow, and eyes rolled up to the ceiling, and
+then, in short, disjointed sentences that sounded
+like fragments of an oracle, he let it be understood
+that Engineer Ribera, an Imperial and Royal
+official, recently favoured by the Imperial and
+Royal government with a promotion <i>in loco</i>, should
+exert a better influence over his nephew's family.
+Then with further questionings and further observations
+touching the engineer's present weaknesses,
+he intimated to Bianconi that his paternal
+attention should be directed with special secrecy
+and delicacy towards their Imperial and Royal
+colleague, in order that&mdash;should this become
+necessary&mdash;they might be able to enlighten their
+Superiors concerning certain acts of tolerance
+which would be scandalous. He ended by inquiring
+if Bianconi was aware that the lawyer
+V. from Varenna and another individual from
+Loveno were in the habit of visiting the Maironis
+quite often. The Receiver knew this, and had
+learned from his Peppina that they came to make
+music. "I don't believe it," the Commissary
+announced, with sudden and unusual asperity.
+"Your wife does not understand at all. If you
+go on like this, my dear Bianconi, they will lead
+you by the nose. Those two are a couple of
+rascals, who would be better off at Kufstein.<a name="FNanchor_K_11" id="FNanchor_K_11"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_K_11" class="fnanchor">[K]</a>
+You must seek for more information, and when
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
+you have obtained it, you will pass it on to me.
+And now let us go into the garden. By the way,
+when anything comes from Lugano for the Marchesa
+Maironi&mdash;&mdash;" Zérboli finished the sentence
+with a gesture of amiable munificence, and started
+forward, followed by the deeply mortified mastiff.</p>
+
+<p>Signora Peppina allowed them to find her in
+the garden watering the flowers aided by a small
+boy. The Commissary looked, admired, and
+found a means of giving the subaltern police-officer
+a little lesson. By praising her flowers he
+easily led Signora Bianconi to mention Franco,
+but, as if quite indifferent to that gentleman, he
+did not dwell a moment upon him, but stuck
+to the flowers, declaring that Maironi could not
+possibly have finer ones. Little cries, groans, and
+ejaculations broke from the humble Signora
+Peppina, who was really embarrassed by such a
+comparison. But the Commissary insisted. How?
+Even the Casa Maironi fuchsias were finer? The
+heliotrope and the <i>pelargonia</i> also? How about
+the jasmine?</p>
+
+<p>"The jasmine!" Signora Peppina exclaimed.
+"Why, Signor Maironi has the finest jasmine in
+the whole Valsolda, my dear sir!"</p>
+
+<p>Thus, in the most natural way possible, did the
+Commissary presently discover that the famous
+jasmine had not yet blossomed. "I should like to
+see Don Franco's dahlias," said he. The ingenuous
+creature offered to accompany him to
+Casa Ribera that very day. "They will be so
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>
+delighted!" But the Commissary expressed his
+desire to wait the coming of the Imperial and
+Royal Engineer-in-Chief, that he might have an
+opportunity of greeting him, whereupon Signora
+Peppina said approvingly: "That is right." Meanwhile
+the mastiff, humiliated by that superior
+skill, and wishing to show in some way that, at
+least, he was zealous, seized the boy with the
+watering-pot by the arm, and presented him:</p>
+
+<p>"My nephew. Son of a sister of mine, married
+to an Imperial and Royal doorkeeper, at the
+police station in Bergamo. He has the honour
+to bear the names, <i>Francesco Giuseppe</i>&mdash;Francis
+Joseph&mdash;bestowed upon him by my express desire.
+Of course, you see, it would not be respectful to
+use these names ordinarily&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"His mother calls him Rat́, and his father calls
+him Ratù, fancy that!" Aunt Peppina put in.</p>
+
+<p>"Be quiet!" said his uncle. "I call him Francesco.
+He is a well-behaved boy, I must say; a
+very well-behaved boy. Now tell us, Francesco,
+what are you going to do when you are a
+man?"</p>
+
+<p>Rat́ rattled off his answer as if he were reciting
+his catechism.</p>
+
+<p>"When I am a man I shall always comport
+myself as behooves a faithful and devoted subject
+of His Majesty our Emperor, and a good Christian;
+and I hope, with the help of the Lord, to become
+some day, an Imperial and Royal Receiver of
+Customs like my uncle, that I may, at last, enter
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
+Paradise, and be duly rewarded for my virtuous
+actions."</p>
+
+<p>"Well done, well done, well done!" said Zérboli,
+caressing Rat́. "Always walk in the path of
+virtue."</p>
+
+<p>"You be quiet, <i>Sür Commissari</i>," Peppina once
+more burst out. "This morning the little villain
+ate half the sugar out of the sugar-basin!"</p>
+
+<p>"What, what, what?" Carlascia exclaimed,
+forgetting his part in his astonishment. He remembered
+himself at once however, and declared:
+"It was your own fault. Things should be put
+away. Is not that true, Francesco?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perfectly," Rat́ answered; and the Commissary
+vexed at this wrangle, and at the twist his
+paternal admonition had received, took himself
+off without ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly had he disappeared when Carlascia
+scolded angrily: "You take the sugar again if you
+dare, you!" and hit Francis Joseph a formidable
+knock on the side of the head. This worthy had
+expected quite different treatment, and ran off
+to hide among the beans. Then Bianconi had it
+out with his wife, scolding her roundly, and
+swearing that in the future he would look after
+the sugar himself; and upon her daring retort:
+"What business is it of yours, after all?" he flung
+out: "Everything is my business, everything is
+my business!" and turning his back upon her,
+strode off, puffing and tingling, to the spot where
+his attentive wife had prepared the fishing-rod
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>
+and the <i>polenta</i>, and began to bait the two great
+hooks he used in catching tench. In the olden
+days that little world was even more completely
+isolated from the great world than at present, and
+was, even more than at present, a world of silence
+and of peace, in which the functionaries of both
+State and Church, and, following their venerable
+example, many faithful subjects as well, dedicated
+several hours a day to edifying contemplation.
+Seated first on the West, the Receiver cast two
+hooks attached to a single line, two tempting
+mouthfuls of <i>polenta</i>, as far out from the shore as
+possible; when the line was stretched tight, when
+the float seemed firmly anchored in quiet expectation,
+the Imperial and Royal personage placed
+the short rod delicately upon the low wall, and
+sat down to contemplate. To the east of him
+the <i>sedentario</i>, as the customs-guard was then
+called, crouching on the humble landing-stage in
+front of another float, smoked his pipe and contemplated.
+A few steps beyond old, half-starved
+Cüstant, a retired white-washer, sacristan and
+churchwarden, one of the patricians of the village
+of Oria, sat in contemplation, on the prow of his
+boat, a lofty, prehistoric, tall hat on his head, the
+magic wand in his hand, his legs dangling above the
+water, and his soul concentrated on his own
+particular float. Seated on the edge of a small
+field, in the shade of a mulberry-tree and a large,
+black, straw hat, the puny, thin, be-spectacled
+Don Brazzova, parish-priest of Albogasio, was
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
+lost in contemplation, his image reflected in the
+clear water. In a kitchen-garden of Albogasio
+Inferiore, between the banks of the Ceron and that
+of Mandroeugn, another patrician in a jacket and
+high boots, the churchwarden Bignetta, called
+<i>el Signoron</i>, the <i>fine gentleman</i>, sitting stiff and
+solemn, upon an eighteenth century chair, with
+the famous rod in his hand, watched and contemplated.
+Under the fig-tree at Cadate, Don
+Giuseppe Costabarbieri sat in contemplation. At
+S. Mamette the doctor, the grocer, and the shoemaker
+were hanging over the water and contemplating
+most diligently. At Cressogno the Marchesa's
+florid cook was contemplating. Opposite Oria,
+on the shady deserted shore of Bisgnago, a
+dignified arch-priest from lower Lombardy was
+in the habit of leading a life of contemplation for
+forty days every year. All alone he sat, with
+three rods resting at his feet, while with the air
+of a bishop, he contemplated the three floats
+belonging to these rods&mdash;two with his eyes, one
+with his nose. If some one, passing far out on
+the lake could have seen all these brooding figures
+without perceiving the rods, the lines, and the
+floats, he would have thought himself in a country
+inhabited by hermits and ascetics, who, weary of
+the earth, were contemplating the sky in this
+liquid mirror, simply for the sake of greater
+convenience.</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, all these ascetics were fishing
+for tench, and no mystery the future of humanity
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
+might contain could be of more importance to
+them than those mysteries at which the little
+float secretly hinted, when, as if possessed by a
+spirit, it showed signs of growing unrest, and, at
+last, even of mental derangement; for, after
+dipping and jerking, now forward, now backward,
+it would at last, in the utter confusion of its ideas,
+choose the desperate course of plunging head foremost
+into the depths. These phenomena, however,
+occurred only at rare intervals, and some
+of the contemplators would pass whole half-days
+without noticing the slightest movement in their
+floats. Then each one, removing his eyes from
+the bit of cork, would follow a line of thought
+running parallel with the line attached to the rod.
+Thus it sometimes happened that the arch-priest
+would land an episcopal see, the "fine gentleman,"
+a wood that had once belonged to his ancestors,
+the cook, a tench from the hills, rosy and fair, and
+Cüstant, an order from government to whitewash
+the peak of Cressogno. As to Carlascia, his second
+line was usually of a political nature, and the
+reason of this will be more readily grasped if we
+reflect that the main line, the one attached to the
+rod, often awoke in his big, dull head certain
+political considerations which the Commissary
+Zérboli had suggested to him. "You see, my
+dear Receiver," Zérboli had once said, when
+discoursing weakly about the events which had
+taken place on the sixth of February in Milan,
+"you who fish for tench, can easily understand
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
+this matter. Our great monarchy is fishing with
+a line. The twin baits are Lombardy and the
+Venetian provinces; two round and tempting
+morsels, with iron inside. Our monarchy has
+cast them there at its feet, opposite the lurking-place
+of that foolish little fish, Piedmont. In
+1848 it grabbed at the bait Lombardy, but eventually
+succeeded in spitting it out and making
+off. Milan is our float. When Milan moves, it
+means that the little fish is just beneath. Last
+year the float moved a wee bit, but the dear little
+fish had only sniffed at the bait. But wait, some
+day there will be a violent movement, and we
+shall give a jerk; there will be some struggling,
+some floundering, but we shall land our little
+fish, and never let it escape again, the little white,
+red, and green pig!"</p>
+
+<p>Bianconi had laughed heartily at this, and
+often when he sat down to fish, he would amuse
+himself by ruminating on this graceful simile,
+from which would generally arise other subtle and
+profound political musings. That morning the
+lake was quiet and most favourable to contemplation.
+The tallest grass of the precipitous bottom
+could be seen standing erect, a sign that
+there was no under-current. The baited hook
+cast far out, sunk straight and slowly, the line
+stretched evenly and smoothly below the float
+which sailed behind it a little way, surrounded by
+a series of tiny rings, that told of the ticklings of
+small carp, and then sunk into repose, a sign that
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
+the bait was resting on the bottom, and that the
+carp no longer worried it. The fisherman placed
+the short rod on the low wall, and fell to thinking
+of Engineer Ribera.</p>
+
+<p>Though he was not aware of it Bianconi had a
+large dose of meekness in one corner of his heart
+which God, without informing him of it, had
+made with a false bottom. The world had proof
+of this in 1859, when the dear little fish, having
+swallowed the bait Lombardy, with the hook,
+the line, the rod, the Commissary, and everything
+else, Bianconi took to planting national and constitutional
+cabbages at Precotto. In spite of
+this hidden meekness, as he now laid down his rod
+and reflected that poor, old Engineer Ribera was
+to be fished for, he experienced a singular satisfaction,
+neither in his heart, nor his head, nor in
+any of the usual senses, but in a particular sense
+of his own, purely Imperial and Royal! Indeed
+he had no consciousness of himself as distinct
+from the Austrian governing organism. Receiver
+at a small frontier customs-house, he considered
+himself the point of the nail on a finger of
+the state; then, as a police-agent, he considered
+himself a microscopic eye under that nail. His
+life was that of the monarchy. If the Russians
+tickled the skin of Galicia, he felt the itching at
+Oria. The greatness, the power, the glory of
+Austria inflated him with unbounded pride. He
+would not admit that Brazil was vaster than the
+Austrian Empire, or that China was more thickly
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>
+populated, or that the Archangel Michael could
+take Peschiera, or the Almighty Himself take
+Verona. His real Almighty was the Emperor;
+he respected the One in Heaven as an ally of the
+one at Vienna.</p>
+
+<p>So, although he had never suspected that
+Engineer Ribera was an unfaithful subject, the
+Commissary's words&mdash;gospel truth to him&mdash;had
+carried conviction with them, and the idea of
+getting hold of this untrustworthy servant fired
+the zeal of the royal eye and the imperial finger
+nail. He called himself an ass for not having
+seen through this man before. Oh, but there
+was still time to catch him and hold him fast,
+fast, fast! "You just leave it to me! Just
+leave it to me, Signor Comm&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He broke off suddenly and seized the rod.
+Gently, almost without moving, the float had
+printed a ring on the water, the sign of a tench.
+Bianconi clutched the rod tight, holding his
+breath. Another dip of the float, another and
+larger ring; the float moved slowly, slowly upon
+the water, and then stopped. Bianconi's heart
+was beating violently; the float moved still a
+little further on the surface, and then went under;
+zag! Bianconi gave a jerk, and the rod bowed
+with the tugging on the line of a hidden fish.
+"Peppina, I've got him!" shouted Carlascia,
+losing his head. "The <i>guadèll</i>, the <i>guadèll</i>!" The
+customs-guard turned round enviously: "Have
+you got him, <i>Scior Reciṭr</i>?" Cüstant, consumed
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
+with envy, gave no sign, not even turning his tall
+hat. Rat́ and Signora Peppina came rushing up,
+the latter bringing the <i>guadèll</i>, a long pole with a
+large net at the end of it, used for bagging the
+tench in the water, for it would be a desperate
+risk to lift it up by the line. Bianconi took the
+line and began drawing it in very slowly. The
+tench was not yet visible, but must surely be
+enormous. The line came in smoothly for a few
+feet, and then was jerked violently back; then it
+began to come in again, nearer, ever nearer, until,
+far down below the surface, underneath the very
+noses of the three personages, something yellow
+flashed, a monstrous shadow! "Oh, the beauty!"
+said Signora Peppina under her breath. Rat́
+exclaimed: "<i>Madone, Madone!</i>" But Bianconi
+spoke never a word, and only pulled and pulled
+cautiously. It was a fine, big fellow, short and
+fat, with a dark back and a yellow belly, this fish
+that was coming up from the depths, nearly exhausted
+and moving crosswise with evident reluctance.</p>
+
+<p>The three faces did not please the fish, for it
+suddenly turned tail upon them, and once more
+dived furiously towards the depths. At last,
+however, completely exhausted, it followed the
+line, and appeared at the foot of the wall, its gilded
+belly uppermost. Signora Peppina, almost upside
+down on the parapet, plunged her rod as far
+as it would go, seeking in vain to bag the unhappy
+fish. "By the head!" shouted her husband.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>
+"By the tail!" piped Rat́. At the noise, at
+sight of that terrible net, the fish struggled and
+dived. Peppina worked harder than ever, but
+could find neither head nor tail. Bianconi pulled
+and the tench rose to the surface once more, coiled
+itself up, and with a mighty jerk, snapped the line,
+and shot off amid the foam. "<i>Madone!</i>" exclaimed
+Rat́, while Peppina continued to hunt
+about in the water with her rod. "Where is
+that fish? Where is that fish?" Bianconi, who
+had sat as one petrified, still grasping the line,
+now faced about in a rage; he kicked Rat́, caught
+his wife by the shoulder, and shook her like a bag
+of nuts, loading her with reproaches. "Has it
+made off, <i>Scior Reciṭr</i>?" asked the customs-guard
+mellifluously. Cüstant turned his tall hat
+just a little, glanced towards the scene of the
+disaster, and then, returning to the contemplation
+of his own placid float, mumbled in an indulgent
+tone: "<i>Minga pratich!</i> Not skillful!"</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the tench had returned to its native
+grass-grown depths, melancholy but free, like
+Piedmont after Novara. It is, however, doubtful
+if the poor Engineer-in-Chief will be equally
+fortunate.</p>
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<div class="fn">
+<h4>Footnotes</h4>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_I_9" id="Footnote_I_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_I_9">
+<span class="label">[I]</span></a> A short, pointed beard, called <i>la mosca</i>, and worn by patriots in
+those days. [<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_J_10" id="Footnote_J_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_J_10">
+<span class="label">[J]</span></a> Box, red; leaves, green; flower, white. The Italian colours, so the
+worthy Receiver scents sedition. [<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_K_11" id="Footnote_K_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_K_11">
+<span class="label">[K]</span></a> Box, red; leaves, green; flower, white. The Italian colours, so the
+worthy Receiver scents sedition. [<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER II<br />
+THE MOONSHINE AND CLOUD SONATA</h2>
+
+<p>The sun was sinking behind the brow of
+Monte Brè and darkness was rapidly covering
+the precipitous shores and the houses of Oria,
+stamping the purple and gloomy profile of the hill
+on the luminous green of the waves, which were
+running obliquely towards the west, still high,
+but foamless in the tired <i>breva</i>. The lights in
+Casa Ribera had been the last to go out. Standing
+against the steep vineyards of the mountainside
+dotted with olives, it spanned the narrow
+road that follows the coast-line, its modest façade
+rising from the clear water, and flanked on the
+west, towards the village, by a little hanging-garden,
+divided into two tiers, on the east, towards
+the church, by a small terrace raised on pillars,
+which framed a square of church ground. In
+this façade there was a small boathouse where
+at that time the boat belonging to Franco and
+Luisa lay rocking on the jostling waves. Above
+the boathouse a slender gallery united the hanging-garden
+on the west and the terrace on the east, and
+looked out upon the lake by means of three windows.
+They called it a loggia, perhaps because
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
+it really had been one in olden times. The old
+house bore incrusted here and there several of
+these venerable, fossil names, which had survived
+through tradition, and represented, in their apparent
+absurdity, the mysteries of the religion of
+domestic walls. Behind the loggia was a spacious
+hall, and there were two rooms more behind that.
+On the west was the small dining-room, its walls
+covered with little, illustrious, paper men, each
+under his own glass and in his own frame, each
+in a dignified attitude, like the illustrious in flesh
+and blood, looking as if his colleagues did not
+exist at all, and the world was gazing at him
+alone. On the east was the alcove-room, where
+next to her parents, in her own little bed, slept
+Signorina Maria Maironi, born in August, 1852.</p>
+
+<p>From the great rococo chests to the bed-rooms,
+the kitchen cupboard, the black clock in the little
+dining-room, the sofa in the loggia, with its brown
+cover, sprinkled with red and yellow Turks; from
+the straw-bottomed chairs to the armchairs with
+disproportionately high arms, the furniture of the
+house all belonged to the epoch of the illustrious
+men, most of whom wore the wig and pigtail.
+Even though it did appear to have just descended
+from the garret, it seemed, nevertheless, to have
+regained in the light and air of its new surroundings
+certain lost habits of cleanliness, a decided interest
+in life, and the dignity of old age. Thus a collection
+of disused words might to-day be composed
+by the breath of some aged and conservative
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
+poet, and reflect his serene and graceful senility.
+Under the mathematical and bureaucratic rule of
+Uncle Piero, chairs and armchairs, tables large and
+small, had lived in perfect symmetry, and the
+privilege of immobility had been extended to the
+very mats themselves. The only piece of furniture
+which might have been called <i>movable</i>, was
+a grey and blue cushion, an abortive mattress,
+which the engineer, during his short visits at
+Oria, carried with him when he moved from one
+easy-chair to another. When he was absent the
+caretaker respected all relics of him to such an
+extent as never to dare touch them familiarly, or
+dust the less visible parts. This caused the
+housekeeper to fly into a rage, regularly, every
+time they returned to Valsolda. The master,
+vexed that a little dust should cause so much
+scolding of a poor peasant, would reprimand her,
+and suggest that she do the dusting herself; and
+when the woman&mdash;by way of a scornful retort&mdash;would
+demand, wrathfully, if she was to kill herself
+with dusting the house every time they came,
+he would answer good-naturedly: "If you kill
+yourself once, that will be sufficient."</p>
+
+<p>The cultivation of the little garden as well as of
+a kitchen-garden he owned to the east of the
+church grounds, he left entirely to the caprice of
+the caretaker. Only once, two years before
+Luisa's marriage, arriving at Oria at the beginning
+of September, and finding six stalks of maize
+growing on the second terrace of the little garden,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>
+did he allow himself to say to the man: "Look
+here, my friend. Couldn't you really get along
+without those six stalks of Indian corn?"</p>
+
+<p>Those liberal poets, Franco and Luisa, had
+breathed upon things and changed their aspect.
+Franco's poetry was more ardent, fervid and
+passionate; Luisa's more prudent. Thus Franco's
+sentiments always flamed out in his eyes, his face,
+his words, while Luisa's seldom burst into flames,
+and only tinged the depths of her penetrating
+glance, and her soft voice. Franco was conservative
+only in matters of religion and art; he was
+an ardent radical as far as the domestic walls
+were concerned, always planning transformations
+of ceilings, walls, floors, and drapery. Luisa began
+by admiring his genius, but as nearly all the funds
+came from her uncle, and there was little margin
+for extraordinary undertakings, she persuaded
+him, very gently and little by little, to leave the
+walls, the ceilings, and the floors as they were, and
+to study how best to arrange the furniture without
+seeking to transform it. And she would make
+suggestions without appearing to do so, letting
+him believe the ideas were his own, for Franco
+was jealous of the paternity of ideas, while
+Luisa was quite indifferent to this sort of maternity.
+Thus, together, they arranged the hall as a
+music-room, drawing-room, and reading-room; the
+loggia as a card-room, while the terrace was
+sacred to coffee and contemplation. This small
+terrace became in Franco's hands the lyric poem
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>
+of the house. It was very tiny and Luisa felt that
+here a concession might be made, and an outlet
+provided for her husband's enthusiasms. It was
+then that the king of Valsoldian mulberry-trees
+fell from his throne, the famous and ancient mulberry
+of the churchyard, a tyrant that deprived
+the terrace of the finest view. Franco freed himself
+from this tyrant by pecuniary means; then
+he designed and raised above the terrace an airy
+context of slim rods and bars of iron which
+formed three arches surmounted by a tiny cupola,
+and over this he trained two graceful passion-flower
+vines, that opened their great blue eyes
+here and there, and fell on all sides in festoons and
+garlands. A small round table and some iron
+chairs served for coffee and contemplation. As
+to the little hanging-garden, Luisa would have
+been willing to put up even with maize, with that
+tolerance of the superior mind which loves to
+humour the ideas, the habits, the affections of
+inferior minds. She felt a sort of respectful pity
+for the horticultural ideals of the poor caretaker,
+for that mixture of roughness and gentleness he
+had in his heart, a great heart, capable of holding
+at once, reseda and pumpkins, balsam and carrots.
+But Franco, generous and religious though he
+was, would not have tolerated a carrot or a
+pumpkin in his garden for love of any neighbour.
+All stupid vulgarity irritated him. When the
+unfortunate kitchen-gardener heard Don Franco
+declare that the little garden was a filthy hole,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>
+that everything must be torn up, everything
+thrown away, he was so dazed and humiliated as
+to excite pity; but when, working under his master's
+orders, tracing out paths, bordering them
+with tufa-stones, planting flowers and shrubs, he
+saw how skilful Franco himself was with his hands,
+and how many terrible Latin names he knew, and
+what a surprising talent he possessed for imagining
+new and beautiful arrangements, he conceived,
+little by little, an almost fearful admiration for
+him, which soon&mdash;in spite of many scoldings&mdash;developed
+into devoted affection.</p>
+
+<p>The little hanging garden was transformed in
+Franco's own image and likeness. An <i>olea fragrans</i>
+in one corner spoke of the power of gentle
+things over the hot, impetuous spirit of the poet;
+a tiny cypress, not over-acceptable to Luisa,
+spoke in another corner of his religiosity; a low,
+brick parapet, in open-work pattern, ran between
+the cypress and the <i>olea</i>, supporting two parallel
+rows of tufa-stones, between which blossomed a
+smiling colony of verbenas, petunias, and wall-flowers,
+and spoke of the singular ingenuity of
+its author; the many rose-bushes scattered everywhere
+spoke of his love of classic beauty; the
+<i>ficus repens</i> which decked the walls towards the
+lake, the twin orange-trees between the two tiers,
+and a vigorous carob-tree, revealed a chilly temperament,
+a fancy turning always towards the
+south, insensible to the fascination of the north.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa had worked far harder than her husband,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
+and still continued to do so, but whereas he was
+proud of his labours and glad to speak of them,
+Luisa, on the contrary, never mentioned hers, nor
+was she in the least proud of them. She laboured
+with the needle, the crochet, the iron, the scissors,
+with a wonderful, calm rapidity; working for
+her husband, her child, the poor, herself, and for
+the adornment of her house. Each room contained
+some creation of hers; dainty curtains, rugs,
+cushions, or lamp-shades. It was also her duty
+to arrange the flowers in the hall and the loggia;
+no flowers in pots, for Franco did not have many,
+and did not wish them shut up in rooms; no
+flowers from the little garden, for to gather one
+of those was like tearing it out of Franco's heart.
+But the dahlias, the gladioles, the roses, and the
+asters of the kitchen-garden were at Luisa's disposal.
+These, however, were not sufficient, and
+as the village loved "Sciora Luisa" best after the
+Almighty, St. Margherita, and St. Sebastian, at
+a sign from her, its children would bring her wildflowers
+and ferns, and ivy to festoon between the
+great bunches, stuck in metal rings on the walls.
+Even the arms of the harp that hung from the
+ceiling of the hall, were always entwined with
+long serpents of ivy and passion-flower.</p>
+
+<p>If they wrote to Uncle Piero of these innovations
+he would answer little or nothing. At most he
+would caution them not to keep the kitchen-gardener
+too busy, but to leave him time for his
+own work. The first time he came to Oria after
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>
+the transformation of the little garden he paused
+and contemplated it as he had contemplated the
+six stocks of maize, and murmured under his
+breath: "Oh dear me!" He went out to the
+terrace, looked at the little cupola, touched the
+iron bars, and pronounced an "Enough!" that
+was resigned, but full of disapproval of so much
+elegance, which he considered above the position
+of his family and himself. But when he had examined
+in silence all the nosegays and bunches of
+flowers, the pots and the festoons of the hall and
+the loggia, he said, with his good-natured smile:
+"Look here, Luisa! Don't you think it would be
+better to keep a couple of sheep with all this
+fodder?"</p>
+
+<p>But the housekeeper was delighted that she no
+longer need kill herself for dust and cobwebs, and
+the kitchen-gardener was for ever praising the
+wonderful works of "Signor Don Franco," so
+that Uncle Piero himself soon began to grow
+accustomed to the new aspect his house had assumed,
+and to look without disapproval upon the
+little cupola, which, indeed, afforded a most
+grateful shade. At the end of two or three days
+he asked who had made it, and he would sometimes
+pause to examine the flowers in the garden,
+to inquire the name of one or another. At the
+end of eight or ten days, standing with little
+Maria at the door leading from the hall to the garden,
+he would ask her: "Who planted all those
+beautiful flowers?" and teach her to answer:
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>
+"Papa!" He exhibited his nephew's creations
+to an employé of his who one day came to visit
+him, and listened to his expressions of approval
+with a fine assumption of indifference, but with
+the greatest satisfaction. "Yes, yes, he is clever
+enough." Indeed he ended by becoming one of
+Franco's admirers, and would even listen, in the
+course of conversation, to other projects of his.
+And in Franco, admiration and gratitude were
+growing for that great and generous bounty that
+had vanquished conservative nature, and the old
+aversion for elegance of every description; for
+that same bounty that at all such opposition rose
+silently and even higher behind the uncle's resistance,
+until it surmounted all, covered all in a
+broad wave of acquiescence, or at least with the
+sacramental phrase: "However, <i>fate vobis</i>; do
+as you like." One innovation only Uncle Piero
+had not been willing to accept&mdash;the disappearance
+of his old cushion. "Luisa," said he,
+gingerly lifting the new, embroidered cushion from
+the easy-chair, "Luisa, take this away." And
+he would not be persuaded. "Will you take it
+away?" When Luisa, smiling, brought him the
+little abortive mattress he sat down upon it with
+a satisfied, "That's it!" as if he were solemnly taking
+possession of a lost throne.</p>
+
+<p>At the present moment, while the violet dusk
+was invading the green of the waves and running
+along the coast from village to village, eclipsing,
+one after another, the shining white houses, the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
+engineer was seated upon his throne holding
+little Maria on his knees, while out on the terrace
+Franco was watering the pots of pelargonia, his
+heart and his face as full of affectionate satisfaction
+as if he had been slaking the thirst of Ishmael
+in the desert. Luisa was patiently untangling a
+fishing-line belonging to her husband, a frightful
+snarl of string, lead, silk, and hooks. She was
+talking, meanwhile, with Professor Gilardoni, who
+always had some philosophical snarl to untangle,
+but who greatly preferred a discussion with
+Franco, who always contradicted him, right or
+wrong, believing him to possess an excellent heart,
+but a confused head. Uncle Piero, his right knee
+resting on his left, held the child on this elevation,
+and for the hundredth time at least, was repeating
+a little scrap of verse to her, with affected
+slowness, and a slight distortion of the foreign
+name&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Proud shade of the river,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of Missipiṕ&mdash;&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>As far as the seventh word the child would
+listen, motionless and serious, with earnest eyes;
+but when he reached "Missipiṕ," she would
+burst out laughing, pound hard with her little legs,
+and clap her tiny hands over the uncle's mouth,
+who would also laugh merrily, and after a short
+pause he would begin again, speaking slowly,
+slowly, in the same approved tone:</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Proud shade of the river&mdash;&mdash;</span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The child did not resemble either father or
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
+mother; she had the eyes, the delicate features of
+Grandmother Teresa. She exhibited a strange
+impetuous tenderness for the old uncle, whom
+she so seldom saw. Uncle Piero did not use sweet
+words to her; indeed, when necessary, he would
+even chide her gently, but he always brought her
+toys, often took her out to walk, danced her upon
+his knee, laughed with her, and repeated comic
+verses to her&mdash;the one beginning with the "Missipiṕ,"
+and that other, ending with the words:</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Answered so promptly young Barucabà!</span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Who may this Barucabà have been, and what
+had they been asking him? "<i>Toa Bà! Toa Bà!</i>
+Barucabà again! Barucabà again!" and once
+more the uncle would recite the poetic tale to the
+child, but there is no one now to repeat it to me.</p>
+
+<p>This is what Professor Gilardoni was discussing
+in his timid, gentle voice with Luisa; the Professor,
+grown just a little older, just a little more
+bald, just a little more sallow. "Who knows,"
+Luisa had said, "if Maria will resemble her grandmother
+in soul as she does in face." The Professor replied
+that it would indeed be a miracle
+to find two such souls in the same family, and
+separated by so short an interval of time. Then
+wishing to explain to how rare a species he conceived
+the grandmother's soul to have belonged,
+he gave voice to the following tangle: "There
+are souls," said he, "that openly deny a future
+life, and live according to their opinions, solely
+for the present life. Such are few in number.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>
+Then there are souls that pretend to believe in
+a future life, and live entirely for the present.
+These are far more numerous. There are souls
+that do not think about the future life, but live
+so that they may not run too great a risk of losing
+it if, after all, it should be found to exist. These
+are more numerous still. Then there are souls
+that really do believe in the future life, and divide
+their thoughts and actions into two categories,
+which are generally at war with each other; one
+is for heaven, the other for earth. There are very
+many such. And then there are souls that live
+entirely for the future life, in which they believe.
+These are very few, and Signora Teresa was one
+of them."</p>
+
+<p>Franco, who hated psychological disquisitions,
+passed frowning, with his empty watering-pot,
+on his way to the little garden, and thought:
+"Then there are those souls that are bores!"
+Uncle Piero who, by the way, was slightly deaf,
+was laughing with Maria. When her husband had
+passed, Luisa said softly: "Then there are souls
+that live as if there were only the future life, in
+which they do not believe. And of such there
+is one." The Professor started, and looked at her
+in silence. She was hunting in the tangle of the
+line for a double thread with a ring that must be
+drawn through, and though she did not see his
+glance, still she felt it, and quickly nodded towards
+her uncle. Had she really been thinking of him
+when speaking those words? Or had there been
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
+in her some occult complication? Had she alluded
+to her uncle without conviction, simply
+because she dare not name, even in thought, another
+person to whom her words might more
+justly apply? The Professor's silence, his searching
+glance which she had felt without meeting,
+revealed to her that he suspected her. It was for
+that reason she had hastily nodded towards
+Uncle Piero.</p>
+
+<p>"Does he not believe in a future life?" the
+Professor asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I should say not," Luisa answered, and then at
+once her heart was filled with remorse, for she
+felt that her reasons for affirming this were not
+sufficient, that she had no right to answer thus.
+In fact her uncle had never taken the trouble to
+meditate on religion. In his conception of honesty
+were included the continuation of the ancient,
+family practices and the profession of the inherited
+faith, accepted carelessly, as it stood.
+His was a good-natured God like himself, who,
+again like himself, cared little for genuflections
+and rosaries; a God well pleased to have honest,
+hearty men for His ministers, as Uncle Piero was
+well pleased to have such for his friends, even
+though they might be merry eaters and drinkers,
+life-long devotees of <i>tarocchi</i>, open tellers of spicy
+but not filthy stories, as a lawful outlet for that
+prurient hilarity which is in all of us. Certain
+joking remarks of his, certain aphorisms uttered
+thoughtlessly upon the relative importance of
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
+religious practices and the absolute importance
+of honest living, had struck her, even as a child,
+especially as they greatly vexed Signora Teresa,
+who would entreat her brother not to "talk
+nonsense." She suspected that he went to church
+simply because it was fitting to do so. Perhaps
+this was not true; one must overlook the aphorisms
+of a man who had grown old in self-sacrifice
+and self-abnegation, and who was wont to say:
+<i>Charitas incipit a me.</i> Besides, even if her
+uncle did hold religious practices in slight esteem,
+there was a vast difference between that and
+denying a future life. Indeed, as soon as Luisa
+had uttered her opinion and had heard how it
+sounded, she felt it was false, saw more clearly
+within herself and realised that she had been
+seeking in her uncle's example, a prop and a
+comfort for herself.</p>
+
+<p>The Professor was greatly moved by this
+unexpected revelation.</p>
+
+<p>"This one soul," said he, "that lives as if thinking
+only of a future life in which it does not
+believe, is indeed in error, but nevertheless, we are
+bound to admire it as the most noble, the greatest
+of all. It is something sublime!"</p>
+
+<p>"But are you then sure that this soul is in
+error?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, yes!"</p>
+
+<p>"And you yourself, to which category do you
+belong?"</p>
+
+<p>The Professor really believed he was of the few
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>
+who rule their actions entirely according to an
+aspiration towards a future life, but he would
+have been embarrassed had he been called upon
+to demonstrate that his earnest study of Raspail,
+his zeal in the preparation of sedative water and
+camphor cigarettes, his horror of dampness and of
+draughts, were proofs of slight attachment to the
+present life. However, he would not answer, but
+said that though he did not belong to any church,
+he nevertheless, believed firmly in God and the
+future life, and that he could not judge of his own
+conduct.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Franco, watering the little garden,
+had discovered that a new verbena had blossomed,
+and setting down his watering-pot, had
+come to the door of the loggia and was calling to
+Maria, to whom he wished to point it out. Maria
+let him call, and demanded "Missipiṕ" again,
+whereupon the uncle put her down, and himself
+led her to her father.</p>
+
+<p>"But, Professor," Luisa said, emerging by
+means of the living word from a course of occult
+ponderings, "do you not think one may believe
+in God and still be in doubt concerning the future
+life?"</p>
+
+<p>Speaking thus she had dropped the tangled maze
+of net, and was looking the Professor straight in
+the face, with an expression of lively interest, and
+a manifest desire that he might answer yes. As
+Gilardoni did not speak she added&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"It seems to me some one might say: What
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>
+obligation is God under to give us immortality?
+The immortality of the soul is an invention of
+human selfishness, which, after all, simply wishes
+to make God serve its own convenience. We
+want a reward for the good we do to others, and a
+punishment for the evil others do to us. Let us
+rather resign ourselves to complete death, which
+comes to every living thing, being just with ourselves
+and with others as long as we live, without
+looking for future reward, but simply because God
+wishes it, as he wishes every star to give light, and
+every tree to give shade. What do you think
+about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"What can I say?" Gilardoni answered. "It
+seems to me a thought of great beauty! I cannot
+say: a great truth. Indeed I do not know.
+I have never thought about it, but it is very
+beautiful! I will say that Christianity has never
+had, has never even imagined a Saint so sublime
+as this <i>some one</i>! It is very beautiful, very
+beautiful!"</p>
+
+<p>"And besides," Luisa continued after a short
+silence, "it might also be maintained that this
+future would not mean perfect happiness. Can
+there be happiness if we do not know the reasons
+of all things? If we may not explain all mysteries?
+And will this longing to know all things
+be satisfied in the future life? Will there not
+always remain one impenetrable mystery? Do
+they not teach us that we shall never understand
+God perfectly? Therefore, in our longing to
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>
+know, shall we not end by suffering as at present,
+perhaps even more, because in a higher life that
+longing must become stronger? I can only see
+one way of arriving at a knowledge of everything,
+and that would be to become God&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! You are a pantheist!" the Professor exclaimed,
+interrupting her.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" said Luisa. "No, no, no, I am a
+Catholic Christian. I am only repeating what
+others might say."</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me, but there is a pantheism&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Philosophy still?" exclaimed Franco, coming
+in with the little one in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, misery!" grumbled Uncle Piero behind
+him.</p>
+
+<p>Maria held a beautiful white rose in her hand.
+"Look at this rose, Luisa," said Franco. "Maria,
+give Mamma the flower. Look at the shape of
+this rose, its pose, its shading, the veins in its
+petals; look at that red stripe, and inhale its
+perfume. Now drop philosophy."</p>
+
+<p>"You are an enemy of philosophy?" the Professor
+said, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"I am a friend of that simple and sure philosophy
+which even roses can teach me," Franco
+answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Philosophy, my dear Professor," Uncle Piero
+put in solemnly, "is all contained in Aristotle.
+You can get all you want from that source."</p>
+
+<p>"You are jesting," the Professor said, "but you
+yourself are a philosopher."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>
+ The engineer placed a hand on his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, dear friend! My philosophy could all
+be put into eight or ten glasses."</p>
+
+<p>"Mercy on us! Eight or ten glasses!" grumbled
+the housekeeper, who had caught her most temperate
+master's words of boastful intemperance,
+as she came in. "Eight or ten fiddlesticks!"</p>
+
+<p>She had come to announce Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri,
+whose hollow but jolly voice was just
+then heard in the hall, saying heartily, "<i>Deo
+gratias</i>." Then the red and wrinkled face, the
+lively eyes, and the grey hair of the gentle priest
+appeared.</p>
+
+<p>"We are discussing philosophy, Don Giuseppe,"
+said Luisa when greetings had been exchanged.
+"Come here and let us have your valuable opinion."</p>
+
+<p>Don Guiseppe scratched his head, and then
+turning it slightly towards the engineer, with the
+expression of one who desires something for which
+he hardly dares to ask, gave utterance to this
+flower of his philosophical opinions.</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't a little game of primero be better?"</p>
+
+<p>Franco and Uncle Piero, who were only too glad
+to escape from Gilardoni's philosophy, sat
+merrily down to the little table with the priest.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as he and Luisa were alone, the Professor
+said softly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"The Marchesa left yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa, who had taken Maria upon her lap,
+pressed her lips to the child's neck passionately.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps," continued Gilardoni, who had never
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
+known how to read in the human heart, or to touch
+its chords correctly, "perhaps sometime&mdash;it is
+only three years, yet&mdash;perhaps the day may come
+when she will yield."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa raised her face from Maria's neck. "Perhaps
+<i>she</i> may yield!" said she. The Professor
+did not understand, and giving way to the evil
+genius that invariably suggested to him the worst
+word at the worst moment, he persisted instead
+of breaking off. "Perhaps, if she could see Maria!"
+Luisa pressed the little girl to her breast, and
+looked at him so fiercely that he was confused, and
+stammered, "I beg your pardon!" Maria, in
+this close embrace, raised her eyes to her mother's
+strange face, grew very red, pressed her lips tight
+together, cried two great tears, and began to sob.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, dear!" Luisa murmured tenderly to
+her, "be quiet, be quiet! You shall never see her,
+never!"</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the child was comforted the Professor,
+distressed at the mistake he had made, at
+having offended this Luisa, who seemed to him a
+superhuman being, wished to explain, to justify
+himself, but Luisa would not allow him to speak.
+"Pardon me, but that will do," said she, rising.
+"Let us go and watch the game."</p>
+
+<p>But, as a matter of fact, she did not go near the
+players. She sent Maria to amuse herself in the
+church-grounds with her little nurse, Veronica,
+and herself went to carry a piece of pudding to an
+old villager who had a voracious appetite and a
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
+small voice, with which he would every day
+promise his benefactress the same precious recompense,
+"Before I die, I will give you a kiss."</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the Professor was filled with scruples
+and remorse for the unfortunate step he had
+taken. Not knowing whether to go or to remain,
+whether the lady would or would not return,
+whether it would or would not be indiscreet to go
+in search of her, after having looked out towards
+the lake as if seeking advice from the fishes, towards
+the hills to see if she or some one of whom he
+could inquire about her happened to be at one of
+the windows, he finally went to watch the game.</p>
+
+<p>Each one of the players kept his eyes fixed on
+the four cards he held in his left hand, placed one
+upon the other in such a way that the second and
+third projected above the others just enough to be
+recognisable, while the fourth remained carefully
+hidden.</p>
+
+<p>The Professor reflected that he also held a
+secret card, a trump, and he was undecided
+whether to play it or not. He held old Maironi's
+will. A few days after Signora Teresa's death,
+Franco had told him to destroy it, and never
+breathe a word about it to Luisa. He had obeyed
+only so far as keeping silence was concerned.
+The document still existed, though of this Franco
+was ignorant, because its custodian had determined
+to await the development of events, to see
+if Cressogno and Oria would come to terms, or if,
+in consequence of prolonged hostilities, Franco
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>
+and his family would be reduced to want, in which
+case he himself intended to do something.
+What he should do, he did not really know. He
+was nurturing the germs of several foolish plans
+in his head, and trusted that one or other of them
+would have ripened before the time for action
+arrived. Now, as he watched Franco play, he
+wondered how that man, so engrossed in his desire
+to win a pasteboard king, could ever have refused
+that other precious card, not even wishing
+to inform his wife of its existence. He attributed
+this silence to modesty, to a desire to hide a
+generous action, and although he had suffered
+more than one sharp rebuff from him, and felt that
+Franco esteemed him lightly, still he looked upon
+him with a respect full of humble devotion.</p>
+
+<p>"Give me the cards! Give me the cards!" the
+priest exclaimed, and he shuffled them eagerly.
+Then the game, symbol of the universal struggle
+between the blacks and the reds, began once more.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The lake now lay sleeping, covered and encircled
+by shadows. Only on the east the great,
+distant mountains of the Lario were still in a
+glory of purple and rich, yellow gold. The first
+breath of the evening breeze out of the north,
+moved the tender branches of the passion-flowers,
+ruffled, in spots, the surface of the grey waters
+towards the upper lake, and wafted a perfume
+of cool woods.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>
+ When Luisa returned the Professor had been
+gone some time.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, here is <i>Sciora</i> Luisa!" said Don Giuseppe,
+who was feeling quite satisfied, having had his fill
+of primero, and he gently stroked the modest
+rotundity of his ribs and belly. Then this little
+personage of the world of long ago remembered
+the second object of his visit. He had wished to
+speak a little word to Signora Luisa. The engineer
+had gone out to take his usual short walk
+as far as the Tavorell hill, which he jokingly called
+the St. Bernard, and Franco, after a glance at
+the moon which was just then sparkling above
+the black brow of the Bisgnago, and below, in the
+undulations of the water, began improvising on the
+piano outpourings of ideal sorrow, that floated out
+of the open windows upon the deep sonorousness of
+the lake. His musical improvisations were more
+successful than his elaborate poems because in music
+his impulsive feelings found a mode of expression
+more facile, more complete, and the scruples, the
+uncertainties, the doubts which rendered the labour
+of language most wearisome and slow, did not torment
+his fancy at the piano. There he would
+give himself up, body and soul, to the poetic
+rage, and quivering to the roots of his hair, his
+clear, speaking eyes reflecting every little shade
+in the musical expression, while his face worked
+with the continuous movement of inarticulate
+words, his hands, though neither very agile nor
+very supple, would make the piano sing ineffably.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
+ At the present moment he was passing from
+one tone to another, breathing hard, and putting
+all the strength of his intellect into those passages,
+eviscerating the instrument, as it were, with his
+ten fingers, and almost with his glowing eyes as
+well. He had begun to play under the spell of
+the moonshine, but as he played, sad clouds had
+arisen from the depths of his heart. Conscious
+that as a youth he had dreamed of glory and that
+later he had humbly laid aside all hope of attaining
+it, he said, almost to himself, with his sad and
+passionate music, that in him there was indeed
+some glow of genius, some of the fire of creation
+seen only by God, for not even Luisa exhibited
+that esteem for his intellect which he himself
+lacked, but which he could have wished to find in
+her; not even Luisa, the heart of his heart. She
+praised his music and his poetry in measured
+terms, but she had never said: "Follow this path,
+dare, write, publish." He was thinking of this as
+he played on in the dark hall putting into a tender
+melody the lament of his love, the timid, secret
+lament he would never have dared to put into
+words.</p>
+
+<p>Out on the terrace in the quivering light-and-shade
+formed by the breath of the north wind and
+the passion-flower vines, by the moon and its
+reflection in the lake, Don Giuseppe was telling
+Luisa that Signor Giacomo Puttini was angry
+with him on account of Signora Pasotti, who had
+repeated to him the false report that he, Don
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>
+Giuseppe, was going about preaching the necessity
+of a marriage between Puttini and Marianna.
+"May I be struck dead," the poor priest protested,
+"if I ever breathed a single word! Not a single
+word! It is all a lie!" Luisa would not believe
+poor Barborin guilty, but Don Giuseppe declared
+he had it straight from the Controller himself.
+Then she understood at once that the cunning
+Pasotti was indulging in a joke at the expense of
+his wife, Signor Giacomo, and the priest, and
+declining to interfere in the matter as Don
+Giuseppe wished her to do, she advised him to
+speak to Signora Pasotti herself. "She is so
+terribly deaf!" said the priest, scratching his
+head; and he finally departed, dissatisfied, and
+without saluting Franco, whom he did not wish to
+interrupt. Luisa went towards the piano on tiptoe,
+and stopped to listen to her husband, to hear
+the beauty, the richness, the fire of that soul which
+was hers, and to which she belonged for ever.
+If she had never said to Franco, "Follow this
+path, write, publish!" it was perhaps because in
+her well-balanced affection she believed, and with
+reason, that he would never be able to produce
+anything superior to mediocrity, but it was above
+all, because, although she had a fine feeling for
+music and poetry, she did not really esteem either
+of much account. She did not approve of a man's
+dedicating himself wholly to either, and she had
+an ardent longing that her husband's intellectual
+and material activity should flow in a more manly
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>
+channel. Nevertheless, she admired Franco in
+his music more than if he had been a great master;
+she found in this almost secret expression of his
+soul something virginal, something sincere, the
+light of a loving spirit, most worthy to be loved.</p>
+
+<p>He did not perceive her presence until two arms
+brushed his shoulders and he saw two little hands
+hanging on his breast. "No! no! Play, play!"
+Luisa murmured, for Franco had grasped the
+hands; but, without answering, his head thrown
+back, he sought her, sought her lips and her eyes,
+and she kissed him and then raised her face,
+repeating, "Play." He drew the imprisoned wrists
+still farther down, silently praying for the sweet,
+sweet mouth: then she surrendered, and pressed
+her lips upon his in a long kiss, full of understanding,
+and infinitely more exquisite, more exhilarating
+than the first. Then she once more whispered,
+"Play."</p>
+
+<p>And in his happiness he played the music of
+triumph, full of joy and of cries. For at that
+moment it seemed to him he possessed the soul of
+this woman in its entirety, whereas sometimes,
+even though convinced that she loved him, he
+seemed to feel in her that lofty reason, towering
+serene and cold, above love itself, and far beyond
+the reach of his enthusiasms. She would often
+place her hands upon his head, and from time to
+time kiss his hair softly. She was aware
+of her husband's doubts, and always protested
+that she was all his, but in her heart she knew he
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
+was right. There was in her a tenacious, fierce
+sense of intellectual independence which withstood
+love. She could judge her husband calmly,
+recognising his imperfections, but she felt he was
+not capable of doing the same, felt how humble
+he was in his love, in his boundless devotion.
+She did not think she was unjust to him, she felt
+no remorse, but she was touched with loving pity
+when she pondered these things. Now she guessed
+the meaning of this joyous musical outpouring,
+and, deeply moved, she embraced Franco and the
+piano became suddenly silent.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Uncle Piero's slow, heavy step was heard on
+the stairs; he was returning from his St. Bernard.</p>
+
+<p>It was eight o'clock, and the usual <i>tarocchi</i>-players,
+Signors Giacomo and Pasotti, had not yet
+arrived, for in September Pasotti himself became a
+regular visitor at Casa Ribera, where he pretended
+to be in love with the engineer, with Luisa, and even
+with Franco. Franco and Luisa suspected some
+duplicity, but Pasotti was an old friend of the
+uncle's, and must be tolerated out of respect to
+him. As the players failed to appear Franco proposed
+to his wife that they should go out in the
+boat to enjoy the moon. First, however, they
+went to see Maria, who was asleep in her little
+bed in the alcove, her head drooping towards her
+right shoulder, one arm under her pillow, and the
+other resting across her breast. They looked at
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>
+her and kissed her smiling, and then the silent
+thoughts of both flew to Grandmamma Teresa,
+who would have loved her so dearly. With serious
+faces, they kissed her once more. "My poor
+little one!" said Franco. "Poor, penniless,
+Donna Maria Maironi!"</p>
+
+<p>Luisa placed her hand upon his mouth. "Be
+quiet!" said she. "We are fortunate, we who
+are the penniless Maironis."</p>
+
+<p>Franco understood, and did not answer at once,
+but presently, when they were leaving the room
+to go to the boat, he said to his wife, forgetting one
+of his grandmother's threats, "It will not always
+be thus."</p>
+
+<p>This allusion to the old Marchesa's wealth displeased
+Luisa. "Do not speak of it to me," she
+said. "I would not soil my fingers by touching
+that money."</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking of Maria," Franco observed.</p>
+
+<p>"Maria has us. We can work."</p>
+
+<p>Franco was silent. Work! That was one of
+the words that chilled his heart. He knew he
+was leading a life of indolence, for were not music,
+books, flowers, and a few verses now and then,
+merely vanities and a waste of time? And he was
+leading this life almost entirely at the expense of
+others, for how could he possibly have managed
+with only his one thousand Austrian lire a year?
+How could he have maintained his family? He had
+taken his collegiate degree, but without deriving
+the slightest profit from it. He doubted his own
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>
+ability, felt himself too much of an artist, too
+foreign to forensic wiles, and he was well aware
+that the blood of earnest labourers did not flow in
+his veins. His only hope was in a revolution, a
+war, in the freedom of his country. Ah! When
+Italy should be free, how well he would serve her,
+with what great strength, what joy! This poetry
+he had indeed in his heart, but he lacked the
+energy, the constancy to prepare himself by
+study for such a future.</p>
+
+<p>While he was rowing away from the shore in
+silence, Luisa was wondering how it was that her
+husband could pity the child because she was poor.
+Did not this sentiment stand in contradiction to
+Franco's faith, to his Christian piety? She recalled
+Professor Gilardoni's categories. Franco
+believed firmly in a future life, but in practice he
+clung passionately to all that is beautiful and
+good in this earthly life, clung to all its lawful
+pleasures, including cards and dainty dinners.
+One who obeyed the precepts of the Church so
+scrupulously, who was so careful to abstain from
+flesh on Fridays and Saturdays, to listen to a
+sermon every Sunday, should conform his daily
+life far more strictly to the evangelical ideal. He
+should rather fear than desire riches.</p>
+
+<p>"A pleasant sail to you!" Uncle Piero called
+out from the terrace, catching sight of the boat
+and Luisa seated in the prow in the moonlight.
+Opposite black Bisgnago all Valsolda, from Niscioree
+to Caravina lay spread out in the glory of
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>
+the moon; all the windows of Oria and of Albogasio,
+the arches of Villa Pasotti, the tiny
+white houses of the most distant villages, Castello,
+Casarico, S. Mamette, Drano, seemed to be gazing
+as if hypnotised, at the great, motionless eye of the
+dead orb in the heavens.</p>
+
+<p>Franco drew the oars into the boat. "Sing,"
+said he.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa had never studied singing, but she possessed
+a sweet mezzo-soprano voice and a perfect
+ear, and had learned many operatic airs from her
+mother, who had heard Grisi, Pasta, and Malibran,
+during the golden days of Italian opera.</p>
+
+<p>She began the air from <i>Anne Boleyn</i>:</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Al dolce guidami<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Castel natio.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The song of the soul which at first descends,
+little by little, and finally, in greater sweetness
+gives itself up to its love, to rise again, locked in
+his embrace, in an impulse of desire towards some
+distant light which shall complete its happiness.
+She sang, and Franco, carried away, fancied that
+she longed to be united to him in that lofty region
+of the soul from which she had, until now, excluded
+him; that in this perfect union, she longed
+to be guided by him towards the goal of his ideals.
+A sob rose in his throat, and the rippling lake,
+the great tragic mountains, those eyes of things
+fixed upon the moon, the very light of the moon
+itself, everything, was filled with his indefinable
+sentiment. And so, when beyond the broken
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>
+image of the orb, silver lights flashed for a moment
+as far as Bisgnago, and even into the shadowy
+gulf of the Doi, he was moved, as if they had been
+mysterious signals concerning him, which lake
+and moon were exchanging, while Luisa finished
+the verse:</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ai verdi platani,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Al cheto rio<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Che i nostri mormora<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sospi ancor.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Pasotti's voice called from the terrace&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Brava!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>And Uncle Piero shouted&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Tarocco!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>At the same moment they heard the oars of a
+boat coming from Porlezza, and a bassoon mimicked
+the air of <i>Anne Boleyn</i>. Franco, who
+had seated himself in the stern of his boat, started
+to his feet, crying delightedly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Who goes there?" A fine, big, bass voice
+answered him&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Buona sera<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Miei signori,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Buona sera,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Buona sera.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>They were his friends from the Lake of Como,
+the lawyer V. of Varenna and a certain Pedraglio
+of Loveno, who were in the habit of coming to
+make music openly, and discuss politics in secret;
+this was known only to Luisa.</p>
+
+<p>They called from the terrace&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
+ "Well done, Don Basilio!&mdash;Bravo, bassoon!"
+And in the interval the voice could be heard of
+some one who was begging to be excused from
+<i>tarocco</i>: "No, no, most gracious Controller, it is
+late! The time is too short; really too short.
+Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Indeed you must excuse
+me. I cannot, I cannot. Most worshipful Engineer,
+I appeal to you!"</p>
+
+<p>But they made the little man play, promising
+that they would not go beyond two games. He
+puffed very hard, and sat down to the little table
+with the engineer, Pasotti, and Pedraglio. Franco
+seated himself at the piano, and the lawyer
+placed himself beside him with the bassoon.</p>
+
+<p>Between Pasotti and Pedraglio, two terrible
+quizzers, poor Signor Giacomo passed a short half-hour
+which was full of tribulation. They did not
+leave him alone a minute. "How goes it, <i>Scior
+Zacomo</i>?&mdash;Badly, badly! <i>Scior Zacomo</i>, are there
+no friars walking about in slippers?&mdash;Not one.
+And the bull, how is the bull, <i>Scior Zacomo</i>?&mdash;Stop,
+stop&mdash;A most accursed beast, eh?&mdash;Yes,
+indeed, Sir. And the servant, <i>Scior Zacomo</i>?"
+"Hush!" exclaimed Pasotti at this impertinent
+question of Pedraglio's. "Be prudent. On this
+point Signor Giacomo is having a great deal of
+trouble, through the indiscretion of certain individuals."
+"Let us not discuss it, most gracious
+Controller, let us not discuss it!" Signor Giacomo
+exclaimed, writhing all over, and the engineer
+advised him to send his tormentors to the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>
+devil. "But how is this, <i>Scior Zacomo</i>," Pasotti
+went on, undaunted, "don't you call that little
+priest indiscreet?" "I call him an ass!" Signor
+Giacomo answered angrily. Then Pasotti, smiling
+and triumphant, because this joke was really
+of his own making, ordered Pedraglio to be quiet,
+and started the game afresh, although Pedraglio
+was bursting with curiosity to hear the story.</p>
+
+<p>Franco and the lawyer were studying a
+new composition for piano and bassoon, continually
+making mistakes and beginning over again.
+Presently Signora Bianconi came in on tiptoe
+that she might not interrupt the melody. No
+one noticed her entrance save Luisa, who
+made her sit down beside her on the little sofa
+near the piano.</p>
+
+<p>Signora Peppina with her cordial good-nature,
+her long tongue, and her foolishness was irritating
+to Franco, but not to Luisa. Luisa liked her,
+but she was careful on account of Carlascia. From
+her garden Peppina had heard that "lovely song,"
+and then the bassoon and the greetings; she had
+imagined there was going to be music, and she was
+"so madly fond of music, you know!" There
+was that lawyer who "blows into that shiny
+thing," to say nothing of Don Franco with those
+fingers of his "that seem bewitched." To hear
+the piano played with such precision was as good
+as hearing a barrel-organ, and she was "so awfully
+fond" of barrel-organs! She added that she had
+been afraid she should disturb them, but that
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
+her husband had encouraged her to come. And
+she asked if that other gentleman from Loveno
+did not play also; if they were going to stay long;
+and observed that both must be passionately fond
+of music.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be even with you, you rascal of a Receiver,"
+thought Luisa, and she proceeded to stuff his wife
+with the most ridiculous tales of the melomania of
+Pedraglio and the lawyer, inventing more and
+more as she grew more and more angry with those
+odious persons against whom one was obliged to
+defend one's self by lying. Signora Peppina swallowed
+all the stories scrupulously down to the
+very last, accompanying them with gentle notes
+of pleased wonder: "Oh, how strange!&mdash;Just
+fancy!&mdash;Just think of that!" Then, instead of
+listening to the diabolical dispute going on between
+the piano and the bassoon, she began to talk of the
+Commissary, saying he intended to come and see
+Don Franco's flowers.</p>
+
+<p>"He may come," said Luisa, coldly.</p>
+
+<p>Then Signora Peppina, taking advantage of the
+storm Franco and his friend were raising, risked a
+little private speech, which would have cost her
+dear had her Carlascia overheard it, but fortunately
+that faithful mastiff was asleep in his
+own bed, his night-cap drawn well down over his
+ears.</p>
+
+<p>"I am so devoted to these dear flowers!" she
+began. It was her opinion the Maironis would
+do well to pet the Commissary a little. He was
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>
+one of the Marchesa's intimates, and it would be
+awful if he should take it into his head to cause
+them trouble. He was a terrible man, this Commissary!
+"Now my Carlo barks a little, but he is
+a good creature; the other one doesn't bark, but&mdash;you
+understand?" She herself knew nothing
+about it, had not heard anything, but if, for
+example, that lawyer and the other gentleman
+had come for something else than music, and the
+Commissary should find it out&mdash;&mdash;! Then the
+Lord have mercy on us!</p>
+
+<p>The moon was dragging its splendour across the
+lake towards the western waters; the game had
+come to an end, and Signor Giacomo was preparing
+to light his little lantern, in spite of Pasotti's
+remonstrances. "A light, <i>Scior Zacomo</i>? You
+are mad! A light with such a moon!" "At
+your service," Puttini replied. "In the first
+place there is that accursed Pomodoro to cross,
+and then&mdash;<i>cossa vorla</i>&mdash;the moon nowadays!
+Besides I must tell you it is the August moon, for
+although we are in September, still the moon
+belongs to August. Well, once upon a time, my
+dear sirs, August moons were fine and big, as
+large as the bottom of a cask at least; now they
+are no better than moonlets, good-for-nothing
+moons&mdash;&mdash;no, no, no." And his lantern lighted,
+he departed with Pasotti, the impertinent Pedraglio
+accompanying them as far as the gate of
+the little garden, with his usual fire of antiphones
+about the bull and the servant. Then the little
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>
+man turned towards the cavernous streets of Oria,
+greatly comforted by Pasotti's exclamations:
+"Ill-bred people, <i>Scior Zacomo</i>! Vulgar people!"
+exclamations uttered in a tone calculated to reach
+the others, and add to their amusement.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>A loud gape from the engineer put Signora
+Peppina to flight. A few minutes later, having
+drunk his cup of milk, Uncle Piero took leave of the
+company in verse&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tall laurel trees and myrtle sweet upon Parnassus grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May night upon you, worthy Sirs, great happiness bestow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The two guests also asked for a little milk, but
+Franco, who understood their Latin, went for an
+old bottle of the wine from the small but excellent
+vineyard of Mainé.</p>
+
+<p>When he returned Uncle Piero was no longer
+present. The dark, bearded lawyer, the picture
+of strength and placidity, raised both hands
+silently, summoning Luisa and Franco, one to
+either side of him. Then he said softly, in his
+voice like a violoncello, warm and deep&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Great news!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" ejaculated Franco, opening his eager
+eyes wide. Luisa turned pale, and clasped her
+hands in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed!" said Pedraglio calmly and
+seriously, "we have succeeded!"</p>
+
+<p>"Speak out! Speak out!" Franco begged.
+The lawyer answered him:</p>
+
+<p>"We have Piedmont allied with France and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
+England! To-day war with Russia, to-morrow
+with Austria! Are you satisfied?"</p>
+
+<p>With a sob Franco sprang to embrace his friends.</p>
+
+<p>The three stood clinging to one another in
+silence, pressing close in the intoxication of the
+magic word: War! Franco forgot that he still
+held the bottle. Luisa took it from him. Then
+he tore himself impetuously from the other two,
+rushed between them, and seizing each round the
+waist, dragged them into the hall like an avalanche,
+repeating: "Tell all, tell all, tell all!"</p>
+
+<p>There, when they had prudently closed the
+glass door leading to the terrace, the lawyer and
+Pedraglio disclosed their precious secret. An
+English lady, spending her holiday at Bellagio,
+who was a devoted friend of Italy, had received
+a letter (of which the lawyer possessed a translation)
+from another lady, a cousin of Sir James
+Hudson, English Minister at Turin. The letter
+stated that secret negotiations were being carried
+on in Turin, Paris, and London, to obtain the
+armed co-operation of Piedmont in the Orient;
+that the matter was looked upon as settled by the
+three cabinets, but that there still remained a few
+formal difficulties to arrange, as Count Cavour
+demanded the greatest consideration for the
+dignity of his country. At Turin they were
+confident the official and open invitation from the
+Western powers to accede to the treaty of the
+tenth of April, 1851, would come to hand not
+later than December. It was even affirmed that
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
+the troops forming the contingent would be under
+the command of the Duke of Genoa.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer read, and Franco held his wife's
+hand tight. Then he wanted to read the letter
+himself, and after him Luisa read. "But," said
+she, "war with Austria? How is that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Most certainly," said the lawyer. "Do you
+suppose Cavour is going to send the Duke of
+Genoa with fifteen or twenty thousand men to
+fight the Turks unless he already holds the war
+with Austria in his hand? You may believe me,
+Madam, it will come about before a year is
+passed."</p>
+
+<p>Franco shook his fists in the air, his whole body
+quivering.</p>
+
+<p>"Hurrah for Cavour!" whispered Luisa.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" the lawyer exclaimed, "Demosthenes
+himself could not have praised Cavour with
+greater efficacy."</p>
+
+<p>Franco's eyes were filling with tears. "I am
+a fool!" he said. "I don't know what to say!"</p>
+
+<p>Pedraglio asked Luisa where the deuce she had
+hidden the bottle. Luisa smiled and went out,
+returning again immediately with the wine and
+glasses.</p>
+
+<p>"Count Cavour!" said Pedraglio in a low tone.
+All raised their glasses repeating: "Count Cavour!"
+Then they drank, even Luisa, who never
+took wine.</p>
+
+<p>Pedraglio refilled the glasses and again rose to
+his feet.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>
+ "War!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>The three others sprang up, clutching their
+glasses in silence, too deeply moved to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"We must all go!" said Pedraglio.</p>
+
+<p>"All!" Franco repeated. Luisa kissed him
+impetuously on the shoulder. Her husband
+seized her head in both hands, and imprinted a kiss
+upon her hair.</p>
+
+<p>One of the windows towards the lake was open.
+In the silence that followed the kiss, they heard
+the measured dip of oars.</p>
+
+<p>"The customs-guards," whispered Franco.
+While the guards' long-boat was passing beneath
+the window, Pedraglio said: "D&mdash;&mdash; hogs!" in
+such a loud tone, that the others hushed him.
+The long-boat floated past. Franco looked out
+of the window.</p>
+
+<p>It was cool; the moon was sinking towards the
+hills of Carona, streaking the lake with long,
+gilded stripes. What a strange sensation it gave
+him to contemplate that quiet solitude, with a
+great war so near at hand! The dark, sad
+mountains seemed to be thinking of the formidable
+future. Franco closed the window, and the
+conversation began again in low tones round the
+little table. Each one had his own suppositions
+concerning future events, and all spoke of these
+events as of a drama, of which the manuscript
+was lying quite ready, down to the very last verse,
+with all its stops and commas in place, in Count
+Cavour's writing-desk. V., who was a Bonapartist,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>
+saw clearly that Napoleon intended to
+avenge his uncle, overthrowing one after another,
+the parties to the Holy Alliance; to-day Russia,
+to-morrow Austria. But Franco, on the other
+hand, who was mistrustful of the emperor, attributed
+the Sardinian alliance to the good-will of
+England, but acknowledged that as soon as this
+alliance would be proclaimed, Austria, sacrificing
+her own interests to principles and hatred, would
+cast in her lot with Russia, and therefore Napoleon
+would be obliged to fight her. "Listen," said
+his wife, "I am afraid Austria will come over to the
+side of Piedmont," "Impossible!" said the lawyer.
+Franco felt alarmed, and admired the
+acuteness of the observation, but Pedraglio
+exclaimed: "Nonsense! Those blockheads are too
+great asses to think out a trick like that!" This
+argument appeared decisive, and no one save
+Luisa gave the possibility another thought. They
+began discussing plans for the campaign, plans for
+insurrections, but here they could not agree. V.
+knew the men and the mountains of the Lake of
+Como from Colico to Como and Lecco, better perhaps
+than any one else. And everywhere all
+along the lake, in Val Menaggio, in Vall 'Intelvi,
+in Valsassina, in the Tre Pievi, he knew those who
+were devoted to the cause, and even ready to
+strike the blow at a sign from the <i>Scior Avocât</i>.
+He and Franco considered any insurrectional
+movement useful that might serve to distract part
+of the Austrian forces even for a moment. But
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>
+Luisa and Pedraglio were of opinion that all the
+able-bodied men should hasten to swell the Piedmontese
+battalions. "We women will make the
+revolution," said Luisa, with her mock gravity.
+"I, for my part, will pitch Carlascia into the
+lake!"</p>
+
+<p>They still conversed in an undertone, with an
+electric current in their veins that flashed from
+their eyes, and made their nerves tingle; enjoying
+this hushed talk behind closed doors and windows,
+the danger of being in possession of that letter,
+the glowing life they felt in their blood, and those
+intoxicating words they were always repeating:
+Piedmont, War, Cavour, Duke of Genoa, Victor
+Emmanuel, Cannon, <i>Bersaglieri</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know what time it is?" said Pedraglio,
+consulting his watch. "It is half-past twelve!
+Let us go to bed."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa went for the candles, and lighted them,
+standing the while, but no one moved, so she also
+sat down again. When he saw the candles lighted,
+even Pedraglio himself lost his desire to go to
+bed.</p>
+
+<p>"A fine kingdom!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>"Piedmont," said Franco, "Lombardy-Venice,
+Parma, and Modena."</p>
+
+<p>"And the Legations!"<a name="FNanchor_L_12" id="FNanchor_L_12"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_L_12" class="fnanchor">[L]</a> V. added.</p>
+
+<p>More discussions followed. All wished for the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>
+Legations, especially the lawyer and Luisa, but
+Franco and Pedraglio were afraid to touch them,
+fearing to stir up difficulties. They grew so warm
+that Pedraglio entreated his companions to
+"scream" in an undertone. "Scream softly,
+children!" Then it was V.'s turn to propose going
+to bed. He took his candle in his hand but did
+not rise.</p>
+
+<p>"Body of Bacchus!" said he, not knowing
+whether he meant it as a conclusion or an exhortation.
+Indeed he had a terrible desire to
+talk, and to hear others talk, but could find nothing
+new to say. "Body of Bacchus it is indeed!"
+Franco exclaimed, who was in much the same state
+of mind. A long silence ensued. At last Pedraglio
+said, "Well?" and rose. "Shall we go?"
+said Luisa, leading the way. "And the name?"
+the lawyer asked. They all stopped. "What
+name?" "The name of the new Kingdom!"
+Franco set down his candle at once. "Well done!"
+said he, "the name!" as if it had been a point that
+must be settled before going to bed. Fresh discussions
+followed. Piedmont? <i>Cisalpino?</i> Upper
+Italy? Italy?</p>
+
+<p>Luisa also was quick to put down her candle,
+and as the others were not willing to accept his
+"Italy," Pedraglio set his down also. But finding
+the debate promised to be a long one, he resumed
+it, and ran away, repeating: "Italy, Italy, Italy,
+Italy!" heedless of the "hushes" and admonitions
+of the others, who were following on tiptoe.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>
+They all stopped once more at the foot of the
+stairs that Pedraglio and the lawyer must ascend
+to reach their room, and exchanged good-nights.
+Luisa entered the neighbouring alcove-room;
+Franco waited to watch his friends upstairs.
+"Look here!" he suddenly exclaimed. He had
+been going to speak to them from the foot of the
+stairs, but finally decided it was better to go up to
+them. "And what if we are defeated?" he
+whispered.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer simply uttered a contemptuous
+"Nonsense!" but Pedraglio turning like a hyena,
+seized Franco by the throat. They struggled
+gaily there on the landing, and then once more
+said good-night. Pedraglio rushed upwards, while
+Franco flung himself downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>His wife was waiting for him, standing in the
+centre of the room, her eyes fixed on the door.
+When she saw him enter she moved gravely towards
+him, and folded him in a close embrace.
+When, after a few moments had elapsed, he
+moved as though to draw away, she silently
+pressed him closer. Then Franco understood.
+She was embracing him now as she had kissed him
+before, when they had talked of all going to the
+war. He pressed her temples between his hands,
+kissed her again and again on the hair, saying
+gently: "Dearest, think how great she will be
+afterwards, this Italy!" "Yes, yes!" said she.
+She raised her face to his, and offered him her
+lips. She was not crying, but her eyes were
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
+moist. To feel himself gazed upon like this, to
+be kissed thus, was indeed worth a few years of
+life, for never, never before had her tenderness
+towards him contained this humility.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said she, "we shall no longer live in
+Valsolda. You will be obliged to assume the duties
+of a citizen, will you not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, certainly!"</p>
+
+<p>They began to talk eagerly, both he and she,
+about what they should do after the war, as if to
+banish the thought of a terrible possibility. Luisa
+let down her hair, and went to look at Maria in
+her little bed. The child had probably been
+roused some time before, and had put a tiny
+finger in her mouth, which, little by little, as sleep
+returned, had slipped out. Now she was sleeping
+with her mouth open, and the little finger resting
+on her chin. "Come here, Franco," said her
+mother. Both bent over the bed. Maria's small
+face held the sweetness of paradise.</p>
+
+<p>Husband and wife lingered over her in silence,
+and then rose, deeply moved. The interrupted
+conversation was not resumed.</p>
+
+<p>When they were in bed and the light put out,
+Luisa murmured, on her husband's lips&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"If that day should come, you will go; but I
+shall go also."</p>
+
+<p>And she would not allow him to answer.</p>
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<div class="fn">
+<h4>Footnotes</h4>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_L_12" id="Footnote_L_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_L_12">
+<span class="label">[L]</span></a> The Legations were provinces of the Roman state, governed by a
+legate from Rome. The Marches, Romagna and Umbria. [<i>Translator's
+note.</i>]</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER III<br />
+THE GLOVED HAND</h2>
+
+<p>To make his joke more complete Pasotti
+reproached his wife for having repeated to
+Signor Giacomo Don Giuseppe's speech concerning
+the necessity of a marriage. The poor deaf
+woman was thunderstruck; she knew nothing
+either of a speech or of a marriage, and protested
+that this was a calumny, entreating her husband
+not to believe it, and was nearly beside herself
+because the Controller still appeared to harbour
+a suspicion. This malicious man was preparing
+a treat for himself; he was going to tell Signor
+Giacomo and Don Giuseppe that his wife wished
+to make amends for the harm she had done, and
+bring about a truce; in this way he would get all
+three together at his house, and from behind a
+door would enjoy the delicious scene that must
+ensue between the wrathful Signor Giacomo, the
+terrified Don Giuseppe, and the deaf and distracted
+Barborin. But his plan failed, for his
+wife could not wait, and ran off to the "Palace"
+to clear herself.</p>
+
+<p>She found Don Giuseppe and Maria in a state
+of the most extraordinary agitation. Something
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
+tremendous had happened to them, something that
+Maria wished to tell, and Don Giuseppe did not.
+However, the master yielded on condition that
+she should not shout, but should convey her news
+by signs. Meeting with opposition on this point
+also, he, in his prudence, became furious, and the
+servant did not insist.</p>
+
+<p>A rumour had spread of a case of cholera at
+Lugano, the victim being a man who had come
+there from Milan, where the disease had broken
+out; so Don Giuseppe had arranged to have all
+provisions for the kitchen come from Porlezza
+instead of Lugano, and had entrusted the commission
+to Giacomo Panighet, the postman, who
+brought the letters to Valsolda, not three times
+a day, as at present, but twice a week, as was the
+comfortable custom in the little world of long ago.
+Now, not five minutes before Signora Pasotti's
+arrival, Giacomo Panighet had brought the usual
+basket, and in the bottom of that basket, beneath
+the cabbages, they had discovered a note addressed
+to Don Giuseppe. It ran as follows:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>"You, who play at primero with Don Franco
+Maironi, should warn him that the air of Lugano
+is far better than the air of Oria.</p>
+
+<div class="signature">"<span class="smcap">Tivano.</span>"
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>Maria silently exhibited the basket, which was
+still full, to Signora Pasotti, and by clever acting
+illustrated the manner of discovery of the letter,
+which she gave her to read.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>
+ As soon as the deaf woman had finished reading,
+a strange, indescribable pantomime began between
+the three. Maria and Don Giuseppe, by
+dint of gesticulations and rollings of their eyes,
+expressed their surprise and terror; Barborin,
+half frightened, half dazed, stared open-mouthed,
+from one to the other, the letter still in her hand,
+as if she had understood. As a matter of fact she
+had made out only that the letter must be terrible.
+Presently a thought struck her. She held the
+letter out to Don Giuseppe with her left hand,
+while with her right forefinger she pointed to the
+word <i>Franco</i>; then she crossed her wrists with a
+questioning gesture; and as the others, recognising
+that the sign meant handcuffs, nodded their
+heads violently in confirmation, she became half
+frenzied, so great was her affection for Luisa, and
+forgetting the matter that had brought her
+there, she explained by signs, as if both the
+others had been deaf also, that she would go
+straight to Oria, see Don Franco, and give him
+the letter.</p>
+
+<p>She started to rush away, cramming the letter
+into her pocket, and with hardly a word of leave-taking
+to Don Giuseppe and Maria, who, greatly
+distressed, were trying in vain to get hold of her,
+to detain her and recommend all possible precautions.
+But she slipped through their fingers,
+and her great, tall bonnet quivering, her old grey
+skirt dragging, set off at a trot towards Oria,
+where she arrived quite out of breath, with her
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>
+head full of gendarmes, inspections, scenes of
+terror and of grief.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>She went up the stairs of the little Ribera
+garden, making straight for the hall, where she
+saw there were visitors. She recognised the
+Receiver and the Imperial and Royal Commissary
+of Porlezza, and was terrified, believing
+they were come for the terrible blow, but then she
+perceived Signora Bianconi and Signor Giacomo
+Puttini, and once more breathed freely.</p>
+
+<p>The Commissary, seated in the post of honour
+on the large sofa, next to the Engineer-in-Chief,
+talked a great deal, with much fluency and
+brilliancy, looking oftenest at Franco, as if he
+were the only person present upon whom it was
+worth while to waste breath and wit. Franco,
+lounging in an armchair, was mute and sullen,
+like one who, in the house of another, perceives a
+bad odour which good manners forbade him either
+to flee from or curse. They were discussing the
+Crimean campaign, and the Commissary was
+praising the plan of the allied powers to attack the
+colossus in that vital point, his ambition. He
+spoke of the Russian barbarities, and of the autocrat
+himself in such terms as to cause Franco to
+tremble in his dread of an Anglo-Franco-Austrian
+alliance, and Carlascia to open his eyes wide, for
+he still held the views of 1848, and looked upon
+the Czar as a good friend of the family. "And
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>
+you, Signor First-Political-Deputy, what do you
+think of it?" said the Commissary, turning his
+sarcastic smile upon Signor Giacomo. Puttini
+winked his little eyes very hard, and having felt
+his knees all over, replied: "Most respected
+Signor Commissary, I know little about Russia,
+France, or England, and I care still less. I let
+them settle their own affairs. But, to speak the
+truth, I am sorry for that poor dog 'Papuzza.'
+He was as quiet as a young chicken until they
+worried him, then when he called for help, fifty
+rushed to his aid, and now they are all upon him,
+devouring everything they can grab; and whether
+poor 'Papuzza' win or lose, he will have nothing
+left but his shirt."</p>
+
+<p>This nickname "Papuzza,"&mdash;a Venetian distortion
+of <i>Babbuccia</i> slippers&mdash;Signor Giacomo
+applied to the Turk. "Papuzza" personified
+Turkey in the form of one ideal Turk, with a huge
+turban, a long beard, a big belly, and slippers.
+Puttini, the peaceful, half free-thinker, had a
+weakness for the lazy, placid, easy-going "Papuzza."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't worry," the Commissary laughed.
+"Your friend 'Papuzza' will come out all right.
+We are his friends also, and will not allow him to
+be mutilated or bled."</p>
+
+<p>Franco, frowning sternly, could not refrain
+from grumbling.</p>
+
+<p>"Nevertheless, that would be a great injustice
+towards Russia."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>
+ The Commissary was silent, and Signora Peppina,
+displaying unusual tact, proposed going out
+to see the flowers.</p>
+
+<p>"A good idea!" said the engineer, who was
+very glad to have the discussion interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>While passing from the hall to the little garden
+the Commissary took Franco's arm familiarly, and
+whispered in his ear: "You are right, you know,
+about the injustice; but there are certain things
+we government officials may not say." Franco,
+who was greatly astonished at this utterance,
+felt as if the touch of the Imperial and Royal
+hand were burning him. If this man had had
+a more Italian face he would have believed him,
+but with that Kalmuc countenance he did not
+believe him, and allowed the subject to drop.
+But his companion resumed it in a low tone, as
+he leaned over the parapet above the lake, and
+pretended to examine the <i>ficus repens</i> that covered
+the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"You yourself should avoid certain expressions,"
+said he. "There are fools who might place
+false interpretations upon them." And he gave
+a slight nod in the direction of the Receiver.
+"Be careful, be careful!" "Thank you," Franco
+replied, dryly, "but I hardly think I shall need to
+be careful." "We can never be sure, never be
+sure, never be sure!" the Commissary murmured,
+and, followed by Franco, he moved away towards
+the spot where the Receiver and the engineer were
+discussing the subject of tench, near the few steps
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
+leading down to the second terrace of the little
+garden.</p>
+
+<p>Close at hand stood the famous red box with the
+jasmine.</p>
+
+<p>"That red does not look well, Signor Maironi,"
+said the mastiff, <i>ex abrupto</i>, and he threw up his
+hand with a gesture that meant, "Away with it!"
+Just then Luisa looked into the garden from the
+hall, and called her husband. The Commissary
+turned to his zealous acolyte, and said sharply,
+"Drop that!"</p>
+
+<p>Signora Pasotti was leaving, and wished to
+salute Franco. He would have shown her out
+through the garden, but she, anxious to avoid
+going through so many ceremonies with those
+other gentlemen, preferred to go down by the inside
+stairs, and Franco escorted her as far as the street-door,
+which stood open. To his great surprise
+Signora Pasotti, instead of passing out, closed the
+door, and began an excited and perfectly unintelligible
+pantomime, accompanying it with short
+sighs and rollings of the eyes; after this she took
+a letter from her pocket and offered it to him.</p>
+
+<p>Franco read, shrugged his shoulders, and put
+the letter in his pocket. Then as Signora Pasotti
+kept on recommending flight, flight&mdash;Lugano,
+Lugano, in despairing pantomime, he smiled and
+reassured her by a gesture. She once more
+seized his hands, and once more the lofty bonnet
+(which had a tipsy inclination towards the right),
+and the long black curls, trembled in earnest
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>
+supplication. She strained her eyes wide, pushed
+out her lips as far as possible, and laid her forefinger
+against her nose to indicate silence. "With
+Pasotti also!" she said; and these were the only
+words she spoke during the whole interview.
+Then she trotted away.</p>
+
+<p>Franco went upstairs again, thinking about his
+position. This might be a false alarm, just as it
+might also be a serious matter. But why should
+they arrest him? He tried to remember if he had
+anything of a compromising nature in the house,
+and could recall nothing. It flashed across his
+mind that his grandmother might have been
+guilty of some perfidy, but he at once banished the
+thought, reproaching himself, and postponed a
+decision until he should have spoken to his
+wife.</p>
+
+<p>He returned to the little garden, where the
+Commissary, as soon as he caught sight of him,
+asked him to point out the dahlias Signora Peppina
+had been praising. Upon learning that they
+were in the kitchen-garden he proposed going
+there with Franco. They could go alone, for
+indeed all the others were ignorant on the subject
+of dahlias. Franco accepted.</p>
+
+<p>The conduct of this little police-spy in gloves
+puzzled him, and he sought to discover if it could
+in any way be connected with the mysterious
+warning.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Signor Maironi," the Commissary began
+resolutely, when Franco had closed the gate
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>
+of the kitchen-garden behind him. "I wish to
+say a word to you."</p>
+
+<p>Franco who was descending the few steps leading
+from the threshold of the gate, stopped with a
+clouded brow. "Come here," the Commissary
+added imperiously. "What I am about to do is
+perhaps not in accordance with my duty, but I
+shall do it, notwithstanding. I am too good a
+friend of the Marchesa, your grandmother, not to
+do it. You are in great danger."</p>
+
+<p>"I?" Franco inquired, coldly. "In danger of
+what?"</p>
+
+<p>Franco was endowed with a rapid and sure
+intuition of the thoughts of others. The Commissary's
+words agreed perfectly with the message
+Barborin had brought; still, at that moment
+he felt that the little police-spy harboured treachery
+in his heart.</p>
+
+<p>"In danger of what? Of Mantua!" was Zérboli's
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>Franco did not flinch upon hearing the awful
+word, synonym of incarceration and the gibbet.</p>
+
+<p>"I need not fear Mantua," said he. "I have
+done nothing to deserve Mantua."</p>
+
+<p>"Nevertheless&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>
+
+<p>"Of what am I accused?" Franco repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"You will soon find out if you remain here,"
+the Commissary replied, laying stress upon the
+last words. "And now let us examine these
+dahlias."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
+ "I have done nothing!" Franco once more repeated.
+"I will not leave."</p>
+
+<p>"Let us see these dahlias, let us see these
+dahlias," the Commissary insisted.</p>
+
+<p>Franco felt that he should thank this man, but
+he could not. He showed him his flowers with
+just that amount of civility that was indispensable,
+and with perfect composure. Then he conducted
+him from the kitchen-garden to the house, talking
+of some obscure Professor Maspero, and of his
+secret method of combating <i>oidium</i>.</p>
+
+<p>In the hall they were discussing another and far
+worse form of <i>oidium</i>. Signora Peppina was
+harassed by a terrible fear of cholera. She
+recognised that cholera served as a warning to
+every good Christian to make his peace with God,
+and that when we are at peace with God, it is indeed
+a blessing to be called to the next world,
+"but still, this body of ours, you know! This
+precious body! And when you reflect that we
+have only one!"</p>
+
+<p>"The cholera," said Luisa, "might do no end of
+good, if it had any sense, but it has not. You
+see," she whispered to Signora Peppina as Bianconi
+rose and went towards the Commissary, who
+had returned with Franco, "the cholera is quite
+capable of taking you, and leaving your husband."
+At this extraordinary remark the terrified Peppina
+started violently, exclaiming: "<i>Jesusmaria!</i>" and
+then, perceiving she had betrayed her true feelings,
+that she had not exhibited that tenderness for
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
+Carlascia of which she was always prating, she
+clutched her neighbour's knee, and bending forward,
+said in an undertone, her face as red as a
+poppy: "Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!"</p>
+
+<p>But Luisa was no longer thinking of her. A
+glance from Franco had warned her that something
+had happened.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>When all the visitors had departed, Uncle Piero
+sat down to read the <i>Milan Gazette</i>, and Luisa said
+to her husband: "It is three o'clock. Let us go
+and wake Maria."</p>
+
+<p>When he and she were alone in the alcove-room,
+instead of at once opening the shutters, she inquired
+what had happened. Franco told her
+everything, from Signora Pasotti's letter to the
+Commissary's strange communication.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa listened with a serious face, but without
+exhibiting any sign of fear. Then she examined
+the mysterious note. Both she and Franco were
+aware that among the government agents at
+Porlezza there was one honest man, who, in 1849
+and 1850 had saved several patriots by a timely
+warning. But they were also aware that this
+honest man was ignorant of the rules of orthography
+and grammar, and the note Barborin had
+brought was perfectly correct. As to the Commissary,
+it was well known that he was one of the
+most malicious and treacherous of the government's
+tools. Luisa approved of the answer her
+husband had made him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>
+ Franco himself was well aware of all this, but he
+could find no plausible explanation for this persecution.
+Luisa, however, had one in mind which
+contempt for the grandmother had suggested to
+her. This Commissary was a good friend of the
+grandmother's, he himself had said so, thereby
+displaying, so he thought, the refinement of cunning.
+In the Commissary's glove there was the
+talon of the Marchesa. She meant to strike not
+Franco alone, but all the others as well, and they
+were to be reached through him who maintained
+the family with the fruit of his labours, out of the
+kindness of his generous heart. She knew from
+speeches which had been repeated to her by the
+usual hateful gossips, that the grandmother hated
+Uncle Piero because Uncle Piero had made it
+possible for her grandson to rebel against her, and
+to live comfortably enough in rebellion. Now
+they were seeking for a pretext to strike him.
+The flight of the nephew would be a confession,
+and, for a government like the Austrian, a good
+pretext to strike the uncle. Luisa did not say so
+at once, but she let him see that she had an idea,
+and little by little, her husband drew it from her.
+When she had told him, though in his heart he
+believed she was right, he nevertheless protested
+in words, defending his grandmother against an
+accusation which seemed too monstrous, and
+which rested on so slight a foundation. At all
+events husband and wife agreed perfectly in their
+resolve not to flee, but to await further developments.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>
+They therefore wasted no time in making
+or discussing suppositions. Luisa rose and went
+to open the shutters, and standing in the full
+light, she turned to look smilingly at her husband,
+stretching out her hand to him. He pressed
+it and shook it, his heart aflame, but his tongue
+speechless. They felt like soldiers, who, conscious
+of the distant roar of cannon, are being led along
+a quiet road, towards what fate God only knows.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV<br />
+THE HAND WITHIN THE GLOVE</h2>
+
+<p>The Engineer-in-Chief noticed nothing, and
+two days later, the term of his leave having
+expired, he went away peacefully in his boat,
+wrapped in his great, grey travelling cloak, and
+accompanied by Cia, the housekeeper. Ten days
+passed without further developments, and Franco
+and Luisa concluded that a trap had been set for
+them, and that, after all, the police would not
+appear. On the evening of the first of October
+they played <i>tarocchi</i> merrily with Puttini and
+Pasotti, and then, their guests having left early,
+they went to bed. When Luisa kissed the child,
+who was sleeping, she noticed that her flesh was
+hot. She felt of her hands and legs. "Maria is
+feverish," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Franco took up the candle and looked at her.
+Maria was sleeping with her little head drooping
+towards her left shoulder as usual. The lovely
+little face which always wore a frown when she was
+asleep, was slightly flushed, and the breathing
+rather quick. Franco was alarmed, and at once
+thought of scarlet fever, the measles, gastric, and
+brain fever. Luisa, who was more calm, thought
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>
+of worms, and prepared a dose of santonine,
+which she placed ready on the pedestal. Then
+both father and mother went noiselessly to bed,
+put out the light and lay listening anxiously to
+the little one's short, quick breathing. At last
+they dozed, but towards midnight they were
+aroused by Maria, who was crying. They lighted
+the candle and Maria became quiet and took the
+santonine. Then presently she began to cry
+again, and wanted to be taken into the big bed,
+between mamma and papa, and finally went to
+sleep there; but her sleep was uneasy and often
+interrupted by sobs.</p>
+
+<p>Franco kept the candle burning that he might
+watch her more closely. He and his wife were
+bending over their darling when two knocks
+sounded in quick succession on the street-door.
+Franco started up in bed. "Did you hear?"
+said he. "Hush!" said Luisa, grasping his arm,
+and listening. Two more knocks sounded, louder
+still, and Franco exclaimed: "The Police!" and
+sprang to the floor. "Go, go!" Luisa begged in a
+low tone. "Don't let them take you! Go by the
+little courtyard! Climb over the wall!" He did
+not answer, but hastily threw on some clothes and
+rushed from the room, heedless of danger, and
+determined never of his own free will to leave his
+Luisa and his sick child.</p>
+
+<p>He dashed down the stairs. "Who is there?"
+he inquired, without opening the door. "The
+Police!" some one answered. "Open at once."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>
+ "At this hour I open to no one I do not see."</p>
+
+<p>A short dialogue ensued in the street. The
+voice he had heard first said: "You speak to him,"
+and the voice that spoke next was very familiar
+to Franco.</p>
+
+<p>"Open, Signor Maironi."</p>
+
+<p>It was the Receiver. Franco threw the door
+open. A gentleman, dressed in black and wearing
+spectacles, entered, and was followed by the mastiff;
+after the mastiff came a gendarme with a
+lantern, then three other armed gendarmes, two
+of whom were subalterns while the other was of
+higher rank, and carried a large leathern bag.
+Some one remained outside.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you Signor Maironi?" said the man in
+spectacles, a police-adjunct, or detective from
+Milan. "Come upstairs with me." And the
+whole party started upstairs, with the thud of
+heavy steps and the rattling of military trappings.</p>
+
+<p>They had not yet reached the first floor when a
+light fell on the stairs from above, and sobs and
+groans were heard on the second floor.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that your wife?" asked the detective.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you fancy it is?" Franco retorted ironically.
+The Receiver murmured: "It is probably
+the servant." The detective turned and
+gave an order; two gendarmes started forward
+and went rapidly up to the second floor. More
+sharply than before the adjunct asked Franco:
+"Is your wife in bed?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>
+ "Of course."</p>
+
+<p>"Where? She must get up."</p>
+
+<p>The door of the alcove-room was thrown open,
+and Luisa appeared in her dressing-gown, with
+flowing hair, and bearing a candle in her hand.
+At the same moment a gendarme leaned over the
+banisters on the upper floor, and said that the
+servant had nearly fainted away, and could not
+come down. The detective ordered him to leave
+his companion with the woman, and to descend.
+Then he saluted the lady, who did not reply. In
+the hope that Franco had fled, she had hastened
+to leave the room in order to detain and, if possible,
+deceive the police. She now saw her husband
+and shuddered, her heart beating wildly,
+but she composed herself at once.</p>
+
+<p>The detective stepped forward to enter the
+room. "No!" Franco exclaimed. "Some one
+is ill in there." Luisa clutched the handle of the
+closed door, looking the man straight in the face.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is ill?" asked the detective.</p>
+
+<p>"A little girl."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what harm do you suppose we shall do
+her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me," said Luisa almost defiantly, and
+giving the handle a nervous shake, "must you all
+go in?"</p>
+
+<p>"All of us."</p>
+
+<p>At the sound of voices and the rattling of the
+door-handle little Maria had begun to cry in a
+weary and forlorn voice that was heart-rending.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>
+ "Luisa," said Franco, "let these <i>gentlemen</i> do
+their work."</p>
+
+<p>The detective was a fashionably-dressed young
+man, with a refined but cruel face. He threw
+Franco a sinister glance. "Obey your husband,
+Signora," said he, glad of an opportunity to
+retaliate. "I think he is prudent."</p>
+
+<p>"Less prudent than you are, who bring a whole
+army as escort," Luisa retorted, opening the door.
+He glanced at her, shrugged his shoulders, and
+passed in, followed by the others.</p>
+
+<p>"Open everything here," said he roughly, in a
+loud voice, pointing to the writing-desk. Franco's
+big, blue eyes flashed. "Speak softly!" said he.
+"Do not frighten my child."</p>
+
+<p>"Silence, you!" the detective thundered, bringing
+his fist down upon the desk. "Open!"</p>
+
+<p>At that noise the child began to sob violently.
+Franco, who was furious, flung the key upon the
+desk.</p>
+
+<p>"Open it yourself," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"You are under arrest!" cried the detective.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well."</p>
+
+<p>While Franco was answering thus, Luisa, who
+had bent low over her baby, trying to pacify her,
+raised her face impetuously.</p>
+
+<p>"I also have a right to that honour," said she,
+in her fine, ringing voice.</p>
+
+<p>The detective did not deign to reply, but ordered
+a gendarme to open all the drawers of the writing-desk,
+and he himself searched them, removing all
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>
+the letters, examining them rapidly, throwing
+some on the floor, and tossing others into the
+great leathern bag. After the writing-desk it
+was the turn of the chests of drawers, where everything
+was turned upside down. Then Maria's
+little bed was inspected. The detective ordered
+Luisa to remove the child from the big bed, which
+he also intended to examine.</p>
+
+<p>"Then put the little bed in order for me,"
+Luisa replied, quivering with rage. Up to this
+moment, the mastiff, Carlascia, had stood silent
+and stiff behind his moustaches, as if this operation,
+which he had perhaps desired in the abstract,
+were proving not entirely to his taste, now
+that it was being put into practice. He came
+forward and began arranging the mattresses and
+sheets of the little bed with his great ugly paws.
+Luisa placed the child in it, and then the large bed
+was torn to pieces and examined, but without
+any result. Maria had stopped crying, and was
+staring at the scene of confusion with wide eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Now follow me, both of you," said the adjunct.
+Luisa, who believed she was to be led
+away with her husband, demanded that the servant
+be summoned, that she might give the child
+into her care. At the idea that Luisa was under
+arrest, that the sick child was to be deprived of
+her mother also, Franco, beside himself with rage
+and grief, uttered a protesting cry&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"This is not possible! Say it is not so!"</p>
+
+<p>The detective did not vouchsafe a reply, but
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>
+ordered that the servant be brought in. The
+maid, half dead with fright, entered between two
+gendarmes, groaning and sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>"Fool!" Franco muttered between his teeth.</p>
+
+<p>"The woman will stay here with the child,"
+said the adjunct. "Both of you will come with
+me. You must be present when the rest of the
+house is searched." He sent for some lights, left
+a gendarme in the alcove-room, and went into the
+hall, followed by the other gendarmes, Bianconi,
+Franco, and Luisa.</p>
+
+<p>"Before continuing the search," said he, "I
+will ask you a question I should have asked before
+had your conduct been more correct. Tell me
+whether you have any weapons, or seditious publications,
+or papers either printed or in manuscript,
+which are hostile to the Imperial and Royal
+Government."</p>
+
+<p>Franco answered, in a loud tone&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"That is what we shall see," said the detective.</p>
+
+<p>"Do as you like."</p>
+
+<p>While the adjunct was causing furniture to be
+moved away from the wall, and was searching and
+peering everywhere, Luisa remembered that eight
+or ten years before her uncle had shown her in the
+chest of drawers of a room on the second floor, an
+old sabre that had lain there ever since 1812. It
+had belonged to another Pietro Ribera, a lieutenant
+of cavalry, who had fallen at Malojaroslavetz.
+No one ever slept in that room above the kitchen
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>
+and it was seldom entered; it was as if it did not
+exist. Luisa had completely forgotten the old
+sabre of the Empire. Oh, God! now she recalled
+it! What if her uncle had forgotten it also?
+What if he had not given it up in 1848, after the
+war, when orders had been issued to deliver up all
+weapons, under pain of death? Had her uncle
+grasped the fact, in his patriarchal simplicity,
+that this heir-loom that had lain for six-and-thirty
+years at the bottom of a drawer, had now
+become a dangerous and forbidden object? And
+Franco, Franco who knew nothing! Luisa was
+resting her hands on the back of a chair; it
+creaked sharply under her convulsive pressure.
+She withdrew her hands, frightened, as if the
+chair had spoken.</p>
+
+<p>In fancy she saw the adjunct pass from room to
+room with his gendarmes, and arrive at that door,
+open the drawer, and discover the sabre. She
+made every effort to recall the exact position in
+which she had seen it, to find some way out of this
+danger; and she was silent, mechanically following
+with her eyes the candle which a gendarme,
+in obedience to his chief's gestures, held close,
+now to an open drawer or cupboard, now to a
+picture which the detective had lifted, that he
+might look behind it. No, she could think of no
+remedy. If her uncle had failed to remove the
+sabre, she could only trust they would not visit
+that room.</p>
+
+<p>Franco, leaning against the stove, was following
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>
+every motion of the searchers with a clouded brow.
+When they plunged their hands into the drawers,
+his rage was visible in the silent working of his
+jaws. Nothing was heard save, now and then, a
+sharp order from the detective, and a low-toned
+reply from the gendarmes. Nothing moved
+around them, save their great shadows wavering
+on the walls. The silence of the Receiver, of
+Franco and Luisa, was like the silence of those
+who have risked great sums in a secret gaming-house,
+and stand about the players who, from
+time to time, speak some brief word. The sinister
+face and voice of the detective never changed,
+although he had not discovered anything. To
+Luisa he seemed a man sure of achieving his purpose.
+And not to be able to do anything, not even
+warn Franco! But perhaps it was better he did
+not know; perhaps his ignorance would save
+him.</p>
+
+<p>Having searched the hall and the loggia the
+detective entered the salon. He took the candle
+from the gendarme's hands and swiftly examined
+the little, illustrious men.</p>
+
+<p>Seeing the portraits of Gouvion Saint-Cyr,
+Marmont, and other generals of Napoleon, he
+said: "The Engineer-in-Chief Ribera would have
+done far better to hang the portrait of His Excellency
+Field-Marshal Radetzky on his walls.
+Is it here?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Franco.</p>
+
+<p>"A nice government official!" said the other
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>
+contemptuously, and with indescribable arrogance.</p>
+
+<p>"Are government officials bound," Franco
+burst forth, "to hang the portraits&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not here to argue with you," the detective
+said, interrupting him.</p>
+
+<p>Franco was about to answer. "Be quiet, you
+with your tongue a yard long!" said the Receiver,
+brutally.</p>
+
+<p>The detective passed from the drawing-room
+into the corridor leading to the stairs. Would he
+go up or not, Luisa wondered. He went up, and
+she followed him, not trembling, but imagining
+with a dizzy rapidity, the many different things
+that might happen. All the possibilities of the
+moment, both disastrous and favourable, were
+whirling, as it were, in her head. If she lingered
+upon the first, horror carried her with a bound to
+the second; if she dwelt upon these, fancy returned
+with perverse eagerness to the first.</p>
+
+<p>Before they had set foot in the corridor of the
+second floor they heard Maria crying. Franco
+begged the adjunct to allow his wife to go down
+to the child, but she protested that she wished to
+remain. The idea of not being with him when
+the weapon was discovered, terrified her. Meanwhile
+the detective had entered a small room
+where there were some books, and finding a
+volume printed at Capolago, and bearing the
+title, Literary Writings of a Living Italian, he
+said: "Who is this living Italian?" "Padre
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>
+Cesari," Franco replied boldly. The other, deceived
+by his prompt answer and the priestly
+name, assumed the air of a man of culture, saying:
+"Ah! I am acquainted with his works." Replacing
+the book, he inquired where the Engineer-in-Chief
+slept.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa was too completely dominated by the one
+great dread to sense anything else, but Franco,
+when he saw the police-agent and his band enter
+the uncle's room, which was so clean, so neat, so
+full of his dear, calm spirit, when he reflected what
+a blow to the poor old man the news of all this
+would be, was completely overcome, and could
+have wept with rage. "It seems to me," he said,
+"that this one room at least should be respected."</p>
+
+<p>"Keep your observations to yourself," the
+adjunct retorted, and began by ordering the
+blankets and mattresses stripped from the bed.
+Then he demanded the key to the chest of drawers.
+Franco had it, and went down to his room for it,
+accompanied by a gendarme. The uncle had entrusted
+it to him before leaving, telling him that
+in case of need he would find a small amount of
+<i>cum quibus</i> in the top drawer. They opened it.
+It contained a roll of <i>svanziche</i>, a few letters and
+papers, some pocket-books, old note-books, compasses,
+pencils, and a small wooden bowl in which
+were several coins.</p>
+
+<p>The detective examined everything carefully,
+discovering among the coins in the little bowl a
+five-franc piece of the time of Carlo Alberto, and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>
+a forty-franc piece of the Provisory Government
+of Lombardy. "The Engineer-in-Chief has preserved
+these coins with extraordinary care,"
+said the detective; "henceforth we will preserve
+them." He closed the drawer, and, without
+opening the others, returned the key to Franco.</p>
+
+<p>Then he went out into the corridor and paused,
+undecided. The Receiver thought he intended to
+go down, and as the corridor was nearly dark, and
+the stairs were not visible, he, who was acquainted
+with the house, started towards the right in the
+direction of the stairs, saying: "This way."
+The room where the sabre lay was on the left.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait," said the adjunct. "Let us look in
+here, also." And turning, he pushed open the
+fatal door. Luisa, who had been the last in the
+procession, pressed forward, now that the supreme
+moment had arrived. Her heart, which had beat
+furiously while the adjunct hesitated, now became
+quiet as by a miracle, and she was cool,
+daring, and ready.</p>
+
+<p>"Who sleeps here?" the detective asked her.</p>
+
+<p>"No one. My uncle's parents used to occupy
+this room, but they have been dead these forty
+years, and no one has slept here since."</p>
+
+<p>The room contained two beds, a sofa, and a
+chest of drawers. This the detective signed to
+the gendarmes to open. They tried it, but it
+was locked. "I think I have the key," said
+Luisa with the utmost indifference. She went
+down, accompanied by a gendarme, and returned
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>
+immediately with a little basket of keys
+which she offered to the detective.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not know the key," she said. "It is
+never used. It must be one of these."</p>
+
+<p>He tried them all, but in vain. Then the Receiver
+tried, and then Franco. The right one was
+not there.</p>
+
+<p>"Send to S. Mamette for the lock-smith," said
+Luisa, calmly. The Receiver looked at the detective
+as if to say: "It seems to me unnecessary,"
+but the detective turned his back upon him and
+exclaimed to Luisa: "This key must be somewhere!"</p>
+
+<p>The chest of drawers, a piece of <i>rococo</i> furniture,
+had metal handles to each drawer. One
+of the gendarmes, the strongest, tried to force the
+drawers open. He did not succeed either with the
+top one or with the second. Just at that
+moment Luisa remembered that she had seen the
+sabre in the third drawer, together with a roll of
+drawings. The gendarme seized the handles of
+the third. "This one is not locked," said he. In
+fact it opened easily. The detective took the
+light and bent over to examine it.</p>
+
+<p>Franco had seated himself on the sofa, his eyes
+fixed on the rafters of the ceiling. When his wife
+saw the drawer pulled open she sank down beside
+him, took his hand, and pressed it spasmodically.</p>
+
+<p>She heard some papers rustle, and the Receiver
+murmured, in a benign voice: "Drawings."
+Then the detective exclaimed: "Ah!" and the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>
+satellites all leaned forward to see. She had the
+strength to rise and inquire; "What is it?"
+The detective was holding a long pasteboard case,
+curved and slim, and bearing a label with an
+inscription. He had already read the inscription
+to himself; he now read it aloud with an accent
+of ineffable sarcasm and satisfaction. "The
+sabre of Lieutenant Pietro Ribera, killed at
+Malojaroslavetz in 1812." Franco started to his
+feet, astounded and incredulous, and at the same
+moment the adjunct opened the case. From
+where he stood Franco could not see it, and he
+glanced at his wife, who could. Her lips were
+white and he thought it was with fright, although
+this did not seem possible.</p>
+
+<p>But her lips were white with joy, for the case
+contained only an empty scabbard. Luisa suddenly
+drew back into the shadow and sank upon
+the sofa, struggling with a violent inward trembling,
+vexed with herself and ashamed of her
+weakness, which however, she soon conquered.
+Meanwhile the detective, who had removed the
+scabbard and examined it on all sides, asked
+Franco where the sabre was. Franco was about
+to answer that he did not know, which was perfectly
+true, but reflecting that this might seem
+like self-justification, he said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"In Russia."</p>
+
+<p>The sabre was not in Russia, but fast in the mud,
+at the bottom of the lake, where Uncle Piero had
+secretly flung it rather than give it up.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>
+ "But why did they write sabre?" inquired the
+Receiver, wishing to show he also was zealous.</p>
+
+<p>"The writer is dead," said Franco.</p>
+
+<p>"Hand over that key at once!" the detective
+scolded angrily. And this time Luisa found it,
+and the two other drawers were opened. One
+was empty, the other contained some blankets
+and a little lavender.</p>
+
+<p>The search ended here. The adjunct went
+down to the drawing-room, and ordered Franco
+to make ready to follow him in fifteen minutes.
+"You had better arrest all of us then!" Luisa
+exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>The man shrugged his shoulders, and repeated
+to Franco: "In fifteen minutes. You may go
+to your room, now, if you wish to." Franco
+dragged Luisa away entreating her to be silent,
+to resign herself for love of Maria. He seemed
+like another man, exhibiting neither grief nor
+anger, and there was in his voice a ring of serious
+sweetness, of manly calm.</p>
+
+<p>He put some linen into a bag, together with a
+volume of Dante and an <i>Almanach du Jardinier</i>,
+which were on the table, bent over Maria for a
+moment but did not kiss her, for she had gone to
+sleep, and he feared to wake her. He kissed
+Luisa, however, but as they were being observed
+by the gendarmes stationed at either door of the
+room, he quickly freed himself from her embrace,
+saying, in French, that they must not provide a
+spectacle for those gentlemen. Then he took up
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>
+his bag, and went to place himself at the detective's
+orders.</p>
+
+<p>The police-adjunct had a boat waiting not fifty
+paces from Casa Ribera, towards Albogasio, at
+the landing called <i>del Canevaa</i>. Upon issuing
+from the portico spanned by his house, Franco
+heard a shutter being thrown open above his head,
+and saw the light from his bedroom flash against
+the white façade of the church. He turned
+towards the window, saying&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Send for the doctor to-morrow morning.
+Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>When the gendarmes reached the Canevaa with
+their prisoner, the adjunct ordered them to stop.</p>
+
+<p>"Signor Maironi," said he, "you have had your
+lesson. This time you may return to your home,
+and I advise you to learn to respect the Authorities."</p>
+
+<p>Amazement, joy, and indignation welled up in
+Franco's heart. He controlled himself, however,
+biting his lips, and started homewards at a leisurely
+pace. He had not yet turned the corner of the
+church when Luisa recognised his step, and called,
+"Franco!"</p>
+
+<p>He sprang forward, and she saw him. Then
+her shadow vanished from the window. He
+rushed into the house, flung himself up the stairs,
+crying, "Free! Free!" while his wife came
+flying down, exclaiming wildly, "How! How!
+How!" They sought each other with eager arms,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
+clung together, pressing close, without further
+speech.</p>
+
+<p>But afterwards, in the loggia, they talked
+incessantly for two hours, of all they had heard,
+seen, and experienced, always coming back to the
+sabre, the papers, the coins, dwelling upon many
+trifling details, on the detective's Venetian accent,
+on the dark-haired gendarme, who seemed a good
+fellow, and the fair-haired gendarme, who must be
+a regular cur. From time to time they would
+cease speaking, enjoying in silence their sense of
+security, the sweetness of home, but presently they
+would begin again. Before going to bed they
+stepped out on the terrace. The night was dark
+and warm, the lake motionless. The sultriness,
+the gloom, the vague and monstrous shapes of
+the mountains, seemed to their imagination
+heavy with the mortal weight of Austria. The
+very air itself seemed full of it. Neither Franco
+nor Luisa was sleepy, but they must go to bed on
+account of the servant who was watching with
+Maria. They entered the room on tiptoe. The
+child was sleeping, her breathing almost normal.</p>
+
+<p>They also tried to sleep, but could not. They
+could not refrain from talking, especially Franco.
+He would ask softly: "Are you asleep?" and
+upon her answering, "No," the coins, the papers,
+the sabre, or the bully with his Venetian accent
+would be discussed once more. By this time
+there was nothing new to be said on these subjects,
+and, as Maria began to be restless, and to show
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>
+signs of waking, towards dawn, Luisa answered,
+"Yes," the next time Franco inquired softly,
+"Are you asleep?" and after that he kept quiet,
+as if he really believed it.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The day after the search at Casa Ribera, Oria,
+Albogasio, and S. Mamette were full of whisperings.
+"Have you heard?&mdash;Oh, dear Lord!&mdash;Have you
+heard?&mdash;Oh, holy Madonna!" But the loudest
+whisperings were of course those that communicated
+the news to Barborin Pasotti. Her husband
+shouted into her face: "Maironi! Police! Gendarmes!
+Arrest!" The poor woman concluded an
+army had swept her friends away, and began to
+puff&mdash;"oh! oh!"&mdash;like an engine. Then she
+groaned and wept, and questioned Pasotti about
+the child. Pasotti, who was determined not to
+allow her to go down to Oria and exhibit her
+affection for the Maironis under these circumstances,
+replied with a gesture like the sweep of a
+broom. Gone! Gone! She also!&mdash;But the servant?
+The servant must surely be there still.
+The crafty man made another sweeping gesture
+in the air, and then Barborin grasped the fact
+that His Imperial and Royal Austrian Majesty
+had had the servant carried off as well.</p>
+
+<p>But the most malicious whisperings were uttered
+at a great distance from Valsolda, in a room
+in the Maironi Palace, at Brescia. Ten days
+after the search the Chevalier Greisberg di S.
+Giustina, a cousin of the Maironis, who had been
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
+attached to the government of Field-Marshal
+Radetzky in Verona until 1853, and had then
+accompanied his master to Milan, alighted at the
+door of Casa Maironi from the carriage of the
+Imperial and Royal Delegate of Brescia, whose
+guest he had been for some days. The Chevalier,
+a handsome man of about forty, perfumed, and
+smartly dressed, did not look particularly happy
+as he stood very erect in the centre of the reception
+room, examining the ancient stucco-work
+of the ceiling, and waiting for the Marchesa, who
+was of the same period. Nevertheless, when the
+door opposite him, pushed open by a servant's
+hand, admitted Madam's big person, marble
+countenance, and black wig, the Chevalier was at
+once transformed, and kissed the old lady's
+wrinkled hand with fervour. A Lombard gentlewoman
+devoted to Austria was a rare animal, and
+extremely precious to the Imperial and Royal
+government. Every loyal functionary owed her
+the most obsequious gallantry. The Marchesa
+received the homage of her cousin the Chevalier
+with her usual unruffled dignity, and having invited
+him to be seated, enquired after his family
+and thanked him for his call, all in the same
+guttural and sleepy tone. Finally, slightly out
+of breath from the fatigue of uttering so many
+words, she crossed her hands over her stomach,
+and let it be seen that she was now waiting for
+what her cousin might have to say.</p>
+
+<p>She expected he would speak about Engineer
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>
+Ribera and the search. She had on previous
+occasions expressed to him her displeasure that
+Franco should be under the influence of his wife
+and Ribera, and her surprise that the government
+should retain in its service one who in 1848 had
+openly played the Liberal, and whose family&mdash;especially
+that artful young woman&mdash;professed
+the most impudent Liberalism. The Chevalier
+Greisberg had assured her that her wise observations
+should be given due consideration. Then
+the Marchesa had instigated the Commissary
+Zérboli against the poor Engineer-in-Chief, and it
+had been through Zérboli that she had heard of
+the search. Therefore, when Greisberg appeared
+she concluded he had come to speak of that.
+Now, she was quite willing to make the government
+serve her own private rancour, but, as a
+matter of principle, she never recognised a debt
+of gratitude toward any one. By thus subjecting
+a doubtful functionary to examination, the Austrian
+government had been working in its own
+interests. She had not asked for anything; it
+was not for her to ask, it was for the Chevalier to
+speak first. But the Chevalier, cunning, sly, and
+proud, did not understand his rôle in this way.
+The old woman wanted a favour, and in order to
+obtain it she must bow down and kiss the beneficent
+claws of government.</p>
+
+<p>He remained silent for some time, to collect
+his thoughts, and in the hope that the other would
+yield. Seeing that she remained mute and unbending,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
+he himself became suddenly smiling and
+gracious, told her that he had come from Verona,
+and proposed that she guess what route he had
+taken. He had passed through such a sweet town,
+had seen such a charming villa, so splendid, a
+real paradise! The Marchesa was not good at
+guessing; she asked if he had been in Brianza.
+No, he had not come from Verona to Brescia by
+way of Brianza. He once more described the
+villa, and this time so minutely that the Marchesa
+could not help recognising her own estate of
+Monzambano. Then the Chevalier proposed that
+she guess why he had gone to see the villa. She
+guessed at once, guessed the whole plot of the
+comedy that was being acted for her benefit, but
+her dull face said nothing of this. The Delegate
+had once before sounded her to ascertain if she
+would be willing to let the villa to His Excellency
+the Marshal, but she&mdash;having been secretly
+threatened with fire and death by the Liberals
+of Brescia&mdash;had found some polite excuses. She
+now perceived in Greisberg's words the tacit offer
+of a bargain, and stood on her guard. She confessed
+to her cousin that she was unable to guess
+even this. Indeed she felt she was growing more
+and more stupid every day. The effect of years
+and grief! "I have had a great grief very lately,"
+she said. "I am told that the Police have searched
+my grandson's house at Oria."</p>
+
+<p>Greisberg, feeling that this elderly hypocrite
+was slipping through his fingers, now pulled off
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
+his glove, and seized her with his talons. "Marchesa,"
+said he, in a tone which admitted of no
+rejoinder, "you must not speak of grief! Through
+the Commissary of Porlezza and myself, you have
+furnished precious information to the government,
+of which service it is not unmindful. Not a hair
+of your grandson's head was touched, nor will be,
+if he is judicious. But, on the other hand, I
+regret that we may perhaps not be able to adopt
+severe measures against another person who has
+injured you seriously in private matters. In
+order to find a means of reaching this person the
+Commissary has even exceeded his duty. You
+must understand once for all, Marchesa, that this
+is not a question of grief, and that you are especially
+indebted to the government." The Marchesa
+had never before been spoken to in such strong
+language and with such formidable authority.
+Perhaps the continuous, undulating movement
+of neck and head visible above her stiffly-held
+body, corresponded with the angry beating of
+her heart, but it seemed the movement of some
+animal struggling to swallow an enormous mouthful.
+At any rate she did not unbend sufficiently
+to speak a word of acquiescence. Only, having
+regained her obese calm, she observed that she
+had never demanded that measures be adopted
+against any one; that she was glad the search had
+revealed nothing incriminating against Engineer
+Ribera; that, nevertheless, all sorts of things had
+been said in Casa Ribera, but that words were
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>
+difficult to trace. The Chevalier replied more
+gently, that he could not say whether anything
+had been discovered, and that the last word
+would be spoken by the Marshal himself, who
+intended to give this matter his personal attention.
+This remark enabled him to return to the subject
+of the villa at Monzambano. He asked for it
+formally for His Excellency, who wished to go
+there within a week. The Marchesa thanked
+him for the great honour, which she said, her villa
+did not deserve; it seemed to her too dilapidated,
+it wanted repairing, and His Excellency must be
+informed of this. She wished to defer her decision,
+to await the payment of the miserable
+price of her condescension, but the Chevalier
+struck another blow with his talons, and declared
+she must answer at once, answer clearly,
+yes or no, and the old lady was forced to bow her
+head. "To accommodate His Excellency," she
+said. Greisberg at once became amiable again,
+and jested about the measures to be adopted
+against that <i>Signor Ingegnere</i>. There was no
+question of spilling blood, only a little ink need
+be spilled. There was no question of depriving
+any one of liberty, rather of conferring perfect
+liberty on somebody. The Marchesa made no
+sign. She sent for two lemonades, and drank hers
+slowly in little sips, not without a faint expression
+of satisfaction between the sips, as if this lemonade
+had a new and exquisite flavour. But the
+Chevalier wished for an explicit word from her
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>
+concerning Ribera, a confession of her desire,
+and placing the glass he had hastily drained upon
+the tray, he said, "I will see to this myself, you
+know, and we shall succeed. Are you satisfied?"</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa continued to sip the lemonade
+slowly, slowly, gazing into the glass.</p>
+
+<p>"Does that suit you?" her cousin asked, having
+waited in vain for an answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it is very good," the drowsy voice replied.
+"I drink it slowly on account of my teeth."</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The last whisperings were not human. Luisa
+and Franco were seated on the grass at Looch,
+near the cemetery. They were speaking of the
+mother's great and exquisite goodness, and comparing
+it to Uncle Piero's great and simple goodness,
+noting the similarity and the differences.
+They did not say which sort of goodness, taken
+as a whole, seemed to them superior, but from
+the opinions each expressed, their different inclinations
+could be divined. Franco preferred
+that goodness which is permeated with faith in
+the supernatural, while Luisa preferred the other
+form of goodness. He was grieved by this secret
+contradiction, but hesitated to reveal it, fearing
+to sound a too painful note. But it had brought
+a cloud to his brow, and presently he said, almost
+involuntarily: "How many misfortunes, how
+much bitterness your mother suffered, with such
+great resignation, such strength, such peace! Do
+you believe that natural goodness alone would be
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>
+able to suffer thus?" "I do not know," Luisa
+replied. "I think poor Mamma must have lived
+in a better world before she was born into this,
+for her heart was always there." She did not say
+all she thought. She thought that if all the good
+souls on earth resembled her mother in religious
+meekness, this world would become the kingdom
+of the rascal and the tyrant. And as to ills, which
+do not come from man, but from the very conditions
+of human life itself, she felt greater admiration
+for such as strive against them with their
+own strength, than for such as invoke and obtain
+aid from that same Being by whom the blow was
+dealt. She would not confess these sentiments
+to her husband, but instead, expressed the hope
+that her uncle might never suffer deep affliction.
+Could it be possible that the Lord would wish
+such a man to suffer? "No, no, no!" Franco
+exclaimed; at another moment he would not
+perhaps have dared to admonish God in this
+manner. A breath of the <i>Boglia</i> swept down the
+ravine of Muzài, and rustled the top branches of
+the walnut-trees. To Luisa that fluttering seemed
+connected with Franco's last words; it seemed
+to her that the wind and the great trees knew
+something of the future, and were whispering
+about it together.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER V<br />
+THE SECRET OF THE WIND AND<br />
+THE WALNUT-TREES</h2>
+
+<p>Maria's fever lasted only eight days; nevertheless,
+when she left her bed, her parents
+found her more changed in face and in mind than
+if the eight days had been eight months. Her
+eyes had grown darker, and had assumed a peculiar
+expression of calm and precocious maturity.
+She spoke more distinctly and rapidly, but to
+those who were not to her liking, she would not
+speak at all, would not even greet them. This
+was more displeasing to Franco than to Luisa.
+Franco wished her to be amiable, but Luisa
+feared to spoil her sincerity. For her mother
+Maria cherished an affection violent rather than
+demonstrative, a jealous, almost fierce affection.
+She was very fond of her father also, but it was
+evident that she felt he was unlike herself. Franco
+had passionate outbursts of affection for her,
+when he would catch her up unexpectedly, press
+her close, and cover her with kisses. At such
+moments she would throw her head back, plant
+one little hand upon her father's face, and look
+frowningly at him, as if something in him were
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>
+strange and repugnant to her. Often Franco
+would scold her angrily, and Maria would cry and
+stare at him through her tears, motionless, and as
+if fascinated, and always wearing the expression
+of one who does not understand. He noticed
+the child's predilection for her mother, and this
+was pleasing to him, for it seemed a just preference,
+and he never doubted that later Maria
+would love him tenderly also. Luisa, loving her
+husband as she did, was much troubled that the
+child should exhibit greater affection for herself;
+however this sentiment of hers was less lively,
+less pure, than Franco's generous pleasure. It
+seemed to Luisa that, after all, in spite of his
+transports, Franco loved his daughter as a being
+distinct from himself, while she, who had no transports
+of external tenderness, loved the child as a
+vital part of herself. Moreover she cherished in
+her heart a future Maria probably very different
+from the one Franco cherished. For this reason
+also she could not regret her moral ascendency over
+her daughter. She foresaw the danger that Franco
+might favour an exaggerated development of
+the child's religious sentiment, and this, to her,
+was a very serious danger, for in Maria, full of
+curiosity, eager for stories, there were the germs
+of a very lively imagination, which would be most
+favourable to religious fancies, and a badly balanced
+moral sense might be the result. It was
+not a question of abolishing religious sentiment;
+this Luisa, out of respect for Franco, if for no other
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>
+reason, would never have sought to do, but it was
+imperative that Maria, on reaching womanhood,
+should be able to find the pivot of her own existence
+in her own sure and vigorous moral sense, a
+moral sense not founded upon beliefs which, after
+all, were simply hypotheses and opinions, and
+which, sooner or later, might fail her. The
+preservation of faith in Justice and in Truth,
+setting aside all other faith, all hope, all fear,
+seemed to her the most sublime condition of the
+human conscience. She believed that because
+she went to Mass, and twice a year to the sacraments,
+she had renounced such perfection for herself,
+and she intended to renounce it for Maria
+also, but as one who, finding himself hampered
+by wife and children, must renounce Christian
+perfection, but who does so unwillingly, and in as
+slight a degree as possible.</p>
+
+<p>Fate might bestow riches upon Maria. Therefore
+they must carefully provide against her acceptance
+of a life of frivolity, compensated for by the
+giving of alms, the Mass in the morning, and the
+rosary at night. On several occasions Luisa had
+attempted to sound Franco upon the question of
+giving Maria's education a moral direction quite
+apart from the religious direction, but such attempts
+had never been accompanied by satisfactory
+results. Franco could understand an
+unbelief in religion, but it was quite incomprehensible
+to him that there were those who found
+religion insufficient as a rule of life. He had never
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>
+for a moment believed that all should aspire to
+saintliness, or that those who love <i>tarocchi</i>, primero,
+hunting, fishing, nice little dinners and a bottle of
+fine wine, are not good Christians. And this
+moral direction in education as divided from the
+religious direction seemed to him a mere notion,
+because, to his thinking, all honest men who did
+not believe, were honest either by nature or from
+habit, and not from any moral or philosophical
+reasoning. So it was not possible for Luisa to
+come to an understanding with her husband on
+this delicate point. She must act alone and very
+cautiously, in order neither to offend nor to grieve
+him. When Franco pointed out to the child the
+stars and the moon, the flowers and the butterflies,
+as admirable works of God, using poetically religious
+language fit for a child of twelve, Luisa
+held her peace; but if, on the contrary, he chanced
+to say to Maria: "Mind, God does not wish you
+to do that!" Luisa would immediately add:
+"That is wicked! You must never do what is
+wicked!" In such cases some dissension must
+inevitably arise between the parents, for the moral
+judgment of one was not always in harmony with
+the moral judgment of the other. Once they
+were standing together at the window of the hall,
+while Maria played with a little girl of about her
+own age from Oria. A brother of the child
+passed, a tyrant of eight, and ordered his little
+sister to follow him. She refused and wept.
+But Maria, looking very grave, faced the tyrant
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>
+with clenched fists. Franco restrained her by a
+sharp command; the little one turned and looked
+at him, and then burst into tears, while the tyrant
+dragged his victim away. Luisa left the window,
+saying in an undertone to her husband: "Excuse
+me, but that was not just." "Why was it not
+just?" said Franco, and he became heated and
+raised his voice, demanding whether his wife
+wished Maria to grow up pugilistic and violent.
+She answered gently and firmly, overlooking
+some sharp words of his, and maintaining that
+Maria's impulse had been good; that our first
+duty is to withstand tyranny and injustice; and
+that, though the child use his fists, the man would
+use more civilised weapons; but if the natural
+impulse of the soul be repressed in the child, there
+was danger of destroying the nascent sense of
+justice as well.</p>
+
+<p>Franco would not be convinced. According
+to him it was very doubtful whether Maria had
+harboured any such heroic sentiments. She had
+simply been angry because she was to be deprived
+of her playmate, that was all. Besides, was it
+not a woman's place to oppose gentle meekness to
+injustice and tyranny, to appease and correct the
+offender, rather than repulse the offence by force?
+Luisa flushed crimson, and replied that this rôle
+might suit some women, perhaps the best of
+women, but it would certainly not suit all, for not
+all were so meek and humble.</p>
+
+<p>"And you are of that number?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>
+ "I believe so."</p>
+
+<p>"A fine thing to boast of!"</p>
+
+<p>"Does it grieve you very much?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very much indeed."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa placed her hands on his shoulders. "Does
+it grieve you very much," said she, "that I rebel
+as you yourself do against the presence of these
+masters in our house; that I desire as you yourself
+do, to help, even with my hands, in driving
+them out? Or would you prefer to see me attempt
+to correct Radetzky and appease the
+Croatians?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is a different thing."</p>
+
+<p>"In what way? No, it is the same thing."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a different thing!" Franco repeated,
+but he was unable to demonstrate this. He felt
+he was wrong according to superficial ratiocination,
+and right according to a profound truth which
+he was unable to grasp. He said no more but
+was thoughtful all day, and was evidently seeking
+for an answer. He thought about it in the night
+also, and finally, believing he had found an
+answer, called to his wife, who was asleep.</p>
+
+<p>"Luisa!" said he. "Luisa, that is a different
+thing."</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter?" Luisa exclaimed,
+waking with a start.</p>
+
+<p>He had reflected that the offence of a foreign
+dominion was not personal like a private offence,
+and was always the result of a violation of a principle
+of universal justice. But while he was explaining
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>
+this to his wife it struck him that in
+private offences also there was always the violation
+of a principle of universal justice, and he
+fancied he must have blundered.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," said he.</p>
+
+<p>His wife thought he was dreaming, and placing
+her head upon his shoulder, she went to sleep
+again. If any argument could convert Franco
+to his wife's ideas it was this sweet contact, this
+gentle breathing upon his breast, in which he had
+so often and so deliciously felt the blending of
+their two souls. But now it was not so. Through
+his brain the thought flashed suddenly like a
+quick and cold blade, that this latent antagonism
+between his wife's views and his own might one
+day burst forth in some painful form, and, terrified,
+he pressed her in his arms, as if to defend
+both himself and her against the phantoms of his
+own brain.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>After breakfast, on the sixth of November
+Franco took his great gardening-shears and proceeded
+as usual, to the extermination of all dry
+leaves and branches on the terrace and in the
+little garden. The great beauty and deep peace
+of the hour went to the heart. Not a leaf stirred;
+the air from the west was most pure and crystalline;
+on the east the hills between Osteno and
+Porlezza were fading against a background of
+light mist; the house was glorious with the sun and
+the tremulous reflections from the lake; but
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
+though the sun was still very hot, the chrysanthemums
+in the little garden, the olives and laurels
+along the coast&mdash;more plainly visible now among
+the reddening, falling leaves&mdash;a certain secret
+freshness in the air, scented with <i>olea fragrans</i>, the
+absence of all wind, the vaporous mountains of
+the Lake of Como, white with snow, all said, with
+one melancholy accord, that the sweet season was
+dying. When he had exterminated the withered
+brushwood Franco proposed to his wife that they
+should go to Casarico in their boat, and return the
+two first volumes of the <i>Mystères du Peuple</i> which
+they had eagerly devoured in a few days, to their
+friend Gilardoni, and borrow the next volume
+from him. They decided to start after lunch,
+when Maria should have gone to bed. But before
+Maria had been put to bed Barborin Pasotti
+appeared, all out of breath, her bonnet and mantle
+askew. She had come up from the garden-gate,
+and now stopped on the threshold of the hall. It
+was the first time she had been to see them since
+the search. Upon catching sight of her friends
+she clasped her hands, and kept repeating in a low
+tone: "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!"
+Then she flung herself upon Luisa and covered her
+with kisses.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear girl! My dear girl!" she exclaimed.
+She would have liked to treat Franco in the same
+way, but Franco was not favourable to this sort
+of emotion, and his expression was not encouraging,
+so the poor woman had to be satisfied with taking
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
+both his hands and shaking them heartily. "My
+dear Don Franco! My dear Don Franco!"
+Finally she gathered Maria into her arms, but the
+child planted her two little hands upon Barborin's
+chest, her face wearing an expression
+similar to her father's. "I am old, am I not?
+And ugly? You don't like me? Well, never
+mind, never mind!" And she fell to kissing the
+child's arms and shoulders humbly, not daring to
+brave the sour little face. Then she told her
+friends she had brought them a piece of good news,
+and her eyes sparkled at the pleasant mystery.
+The Marchesa had written to Pasotti, and one
+passage in the letter Barborin had committed to
+memory. "It was with the deepest regret (deepest
+regret, those were the very words) that I
+learned of the sad affair at Oria ... at Oria
+... (wait a moment) the sad affair at Oria
+... (ah!) and although my grandson is most
+undeserving (wait! ... have patience!)
+I trust that it may have no unpleasant consequences."
+The passage did not produce any
+great effect. Luisa frowned and said nothing.
+Franco glanced at his wife, and did not dare to
+utter the favourable comment he had on his lips,
+but not in his heart. Poor Barborin, who had
+taken advantage of her husband's absence at
+Lugano to run to her friends with this sugar-plum,
+was deeply mortified, and after gazing ruefully
+from Luisa to Franco, ended by pulling a real
+sugar-plum from her pocket, and offering it to
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
+Maria. Then, having made out that the Maironis
+wanted to go away in the boat, and longing to be
+allowed to stay with Maria a little while, she
+begged and entreated so hard that they finally
+started, leaving orders with Veronica to put the
+child to bed a little later.</p>
+
+<p>Maria did not seem any too well pleased with
+the company of her elderly friend. She remained
+silent, obstinately silent, and before long she
+opened her mouth and burst into tears. Poor
+Barborin did not know which Saint to appeal to,
+so she appealed to Veronica, but Veronica was
+discoursing with a customs-guard, and either did
+not or would not hear. Barborin showed her
+rings, her watch, even the big bonnet, <i>â la vice-reine
+Beauharnais</i>, but nothing would do, and
+Maria continued to weep. Then she bethought
+her of going to the piano, where she strummed
+eight or ten bars of an antediluvian jig over and
+over again. Then little Princess Maria became
+more amiable, and allowed her old court-pianist
+to lift her as carefully as if her little arms had been
+a butterfly's wings, and place her on her lap as
+softly as if there had been danger of the old legs
+crumbling to dust.</p>
+
+<p>When the jig had been repeated five or six
+times Maria began to look bored and tried to pull
+the elderly pianist's hand from the key-board,
+saying in an undertone: "Sing me a song."
+Obtaining no answer, she turned, looked Barborin
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>
+straight in the face, and shouted at the top of her
+voice: "Sing me a song."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand," Barborin replied. "I
+am deaf."</p>
+
+<p>"Why are you deaf?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am deaf," the unfortunate woman answered,
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"But why are you deaf?"</p>
+
+<p>Barborin could not imagine what the child was
+saying.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand," said she.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you are stupid," Maria announced with
+a very serious face, and knitting her brows, she
+repeated in a whining voice: "I want a song!"</p>
+
+<p>A voice from the little garden said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Here is the person for songs."</p>
+
+<p>Maria raised her head and her face became
+radiant. "Missipiṕ!" she cried, and slipping down
+from Barborin's lap, ran to meet Uncle Piero who
+was coming in. Signora Pasotti rose also, astonished
+and smiling, and stretched out her arms
+towards this old and unexpected friend. "Behold,
+behold, behold!" she exclaimed, and hastened
+to greet him. Maria was calling so loudly for
+"Missipiṕ, Missipiṕ!" and clinging so tight to
+Uncle Piero's legs, that, although he did not seem
+inclined to do so, he was obliged to sit down on
+the sofa, take the child on his knees, and repeat
+the old story to her.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Proud shade of the river&mdash;&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>After four or five "Missipiṕs" Signora Pasotti
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>
+went home, fearing her husband might return.
+Veronica wished to put the child to bed, but the
+little one rebelled, and Uncle Piero interfered,
+saying: "Oh, leave her here a little while longer,"
+and he took her out to the terrace to see if Papa
+and Mamma were coming.</p>
+
+<p>No boat could be seen coming from Casarico.
+The little one ordered her uncle to sit down, and
+then she climbed upon his knee.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you come?" said she. "There
+isn't any dinner for you, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you must cook some for me. I came to
+stay with you."</p>
+
+<p>"Always?"</p>
+
+<p>"Always."</p>
+
+<p>"But really always, always, always?"</p>
+
+<p>"Really always."</p>
+
+<p>Maria became silent and thoughtful, but presently
+she asked&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"What have you brought me?"</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Piero drew a rubber doll from his pocket.
+Had Maria known, had she been able to understand
+how he had gone out to buy that doll for her
+in great anguish of mind, still smarting from a
+terrible blow, she would have wept with pity.</p>
+
+<p>"This is an ugly present," said she, recalling
+others he had brought her. "And if you stay
+here will you never bring me any more presents?"</p>
+
+<p>"No more presents."</p>
+
+<p>"Go away, Uncle," said she.</p>
+
+<p>He smiled.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>
+ And then Maria wanted her uncle to tell her if
+his uncle had brought him presents when he was
+a little boy. But, though the thing was inconceivable
+to Maria, this uncle of her uncle had
+never existed. Who had brought him presents,
+then? And had he always been a good little boy?
+Had he cried much? Her uncle began telling
+her many tales of his childhood, things that had
+happened sixty years before, when people wore
+wigs and pig-tails. He enjoyed talking to his
+little grand-niece of that far-away time, making
+her share for a moment the existence of his dead
+parents, and he spoke with sad gravity, as if the
+dear ones who had passed away had been present,
+and he were speaking more for them than for her.
+She fixed her wide-open eyes on his face, and
+gazed intently at him. Neither he nor she heeded
+the flight of time, neither he nor she thought of
+the boat that was coming.</p>
+
+<p>And the boat came. Luisa and Franco drew
+near, suspecting nothing, and believing the child
+to be asleep. Franco was the first to perceive
+Uncle Piero seated under the drooping branches
+of the passion-flower vine with Maria on his knee.
+He uttered a loud exclamation of surprise, and,
+followed by Luisa, hastened towards them, fearing
+something had happened. "You here?" he called
+as he ran. Luisa, who was very pale, said nothing.
+Uncle Piero raised his head, and looked at them.
+They felt at once that he had brought bad news,
+for they had never seen him so grave.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>
+ "<i>Addio!</i> God bless you!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>"What has happened?" Franco whispered.
+Uncle Piero motioned to them to withdraw
+from the terrace to the loggia, whither he followed
+them. Then the poor old man spread wide his
+arms as one crucified, and said in a sad but firm
+voice&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I am dismissed."</p>
+
+<p>Franco and Luisa stared at him for a moment,
+dazed. Then Franco burst out: "Oh, Uncle,
+Uncle!" and fell upon his neck. Seeing her
+father's action and the expression on her mother's
+face Maria fell to sobbing. Luisa tried to pacify
+her, but she herself, strong woman that she was,
+felt the tears rising in her throat.</p>
+
+<p>Seated on the sofa in the hall Uncle Piero told
+them that the Imperial and Royal Delegate of
+Como had sent for him to tell him that the search
+which had been carried out in his house at Oria
+had given painful and unexpected results, but
+what these results were he had positively refused
+to state. The Delegate had added that the
+authorities had at first intended to take legal proceedings
+against him, but that in consideration of
+his long and faithful services to the government,
+it had been decided to remove him from office
+instead. Uncle Piero had insisted upon knowing
+the nature of the accusations brought against him,
+but the Delegate had dismissed him without an
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>"And what is to be done now?" said Franco.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>
+ "What is to be done&mdash;&mdash;" Uncle Piero was
+silent for a moment, and then pronounced that
+sacramental phrase of unknown origin which he
+and his fellow <i>tarocchi</i> players were in the habit of
+repeating when the game was hopelessly lost.
+"We are done brown, O Queen!"</p>
+
+<p>A long silence ensued, which was finally broken
+by Luisa, who cast herself upon her uncle's neck,
+murmuring: "Oh, Uncle, Uncle! I am afraid
+it is our fault." She was thinking of the
+grandmother, but Uncle Piero thought she
+was accusing Franco and herself of some imprudence.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, my dear friends," said he good-naturedly,
+but in his tone there was a hidden
+spirit of reproof, "these discourses are useless.
+Now that the evil is done we must think of bread.
+You may count upon this house, upon some
+modest savings which bring me in about four
+<i>svanziche</i> a day, and upon two more mouths to
+feed, mine and Cia's. Let us hope you will not
+have to feed mine long." Franco and Luisa protested.
+"Better so, better so!" Uncle Piero
+exclaimed, waving his arms as if in contempt of
+unreasonable sentimentality. "Live well, and
+die in good time. That is the best rule. I have
+performed the first part, now I must perform the
+second. Meanwhile send some water to my room,
+and open my bag. You will find ten meat croquettes,
+which Signora Carolina dell'Agria insisted
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>
+upon giving me. You see we are not so badly off,
+after all!"</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon Uncle Piero rose and went out at
+the drawing-room door with a firm step, and even
+when his back was turned, displaying a head and
+body held erect, and an unruffled serenity like
+that of an ancient philosopher.</p>
+
+<p>Franco, with knitted brows and arms crossed
+upon his breast, was standing motionless on the
+edge of the terrace, and looking towards Cressogno.
+If at that moment he had had a bundle
+of Delegates, Commissaries, police-agents, and
+spies between his teeth, he would have ground
+them so hard that all these functionaries would
+have been reduced to pulp.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI<br />
+THE TRUMP CARD APPEARS</h2>
+
+<p>"The boat is ready," said Ismaele, coming in
+unceremoniously, his pipe in his left hand,
+a lantern in his right.</p>
+
+<p>"What time is it?" Franco asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Half-past eleven."</p>
+
+<p>"And the weather?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is snowing."</p>
+
+<p>"That is good!" Uncle Piero exclaimed ironically,
+stretching his legs towards the flames of
+the juniper bush that was crackling in the little
+fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>In the small parlour, arranged for winter, Luisa,
+on her knees, was tying a muffler round Maria's
+neck. Franco, holding his wife's cape, stood
+waiting while the old housekeeper, her bonnet on
+and her hands buried in her muff, was grumbling
+at her master. "What a man you are! What
+are you going to do all alone here at home?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't need any one when I am asleep," the
+engineer answered. "Other people may be mad,
+but I am not. Put my milk and the lamp here."</p>
+
+<p>It was Christmas Eve and the mad idea these
+otherwise sane people had conceived, the determination
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>
+which seemed so incomprehensible to
+Uncle Piero, was to go to the solemn Midnight-Mass
+at S. Mamette.</p>
+
+<p>"And that innocent victim also!" said he,
+glancing at the child.</p>
+
+<p>Franco flushed hotly, and declared that he
+wished to prepare precious memories for her. He
+believed this excursion at night, in the boat, on
+the dark lake, the snow, the crowded and brightly
+lighted church, the organ, the singing, the holy
+associations of Christmas, would prove to be such.
+He spoke with heat, perhaps not so much for the
+uncle as for some one who was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, yes," said Uncle Piero, as if he had
+expected this rhetoric, this useless poetry.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to have some punch, too, you
+know!" said the child. The uncle smiled.
+"That is not bad! That will indeed form a precious
+memory!" Franco frowned at beholding
+his frail structure of poetical and religious memories
+thus demolished.</p>
+
+<p>"And Gilardoni?" Luisa asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Here they are now," Ismaele said, going out
+with his lantern.</p>
+
+<p>Professor Gilardoni had invited the Maironis
+and Donna Ester Bianchi to come to his house for
+punch after Mass. He was now expected from
+Niscioree, whither he had gone to fetch the young
+lady, who had lived there alone with two maid-servants
+since her father's death, which had taken
+place in 1852. The worthy Professor had mourned
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>
+secretly for Signora Teresa for a reasonable length
+of time, but during the convalescence of his heart,
+which kept him weak and languid, and in permanent
+danger of a relapse, he had not been careful
+enough of the merry little face, the lively eyes,
+and sparkling gaiety of the little Princess of
+Niscioree, as the Maironis called Donna Ester.</p>
+
+<p>At seven-and-twenty Donna Ester looked like
+a girl of twenty, save in her movements there was
+a certain languor, and in her eyes a certain delicious
+hidden knowledge. She had not intended
+to fish for this respectable lover, but now she
+knew he was caught, and she was pleased, believing
+him to be a man of great genius, and
+infinite wisdom. That he should ever dare speak
+to her of love, that she might marry all this sallow,
+wrinkled, dry knowledge, had never entered
+her head. Nevertheless she did not wish to
+quench this little fire, which was so discreet, which
+was an honour to her, and probably a source of
+happiness to him. If she sometimes laughed
+about him with Luisa she was never the first to
+laugh, and always hastened to repeat: "Poor
+Signor Gilardoni! Poor Professor!"</p>
+
+<p>She came in hastily, her fair head enveloped in
+a great black hood, looking like Spring out on the
+spree disguised as December. December was
+close behind her, his neck shrouded in a great
+scarf, above which rose the red and shining professorial
+nose, irritated by the snow. As it was
+already late they immediately took leave of
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>
+Uncle Piero, who was left alone with his milk
+and his lamp before the dying embers of the
+juniper-bush.</p>
+
+<p>A slight shadow of disapproval still rested on
+his face. Franco was playing the poet too much.
+Nowadays life was hard at Casa Maironi. Breakfast
+consisted of a cup of milk and chicory-coffee,
+and they used a sort of reddish sugar that tasted
+of the chemist's shop. They indulged in meat
+only on Thursdays and Sundays. A bottle of
+Grimelli wine appeared on the table regularly
+every day for Uncle Piero, who rebelled against
+being the privileged one. Every day clouds
+gathered around this bottle and a little storm
+burst forth, which, however, always ended as
+Uncle Piero wished, in a short shower of the decoction
+into each of the five glasses. The servant
+had been dismissed, and only Veronica remained
+to do the heavy work, stir the <i>polenta</i>, and sometimes
+look after Maria. But in spite of these
+and other economies Luisa could not make both
+ends meet, though Cia had refused to accept any
+wages, and gifts of curds, of <i>mascherpa</i>, of goats'-cheeses,
+of chestnuts and walnuts were always
+pouring in upon them from the townspeople.
+She had obtained some copying from a notary at
+Porlezza, but it was hard work for miserable pay.
+Franco had also begun to copy diligently, but he
+accomplished less than his wife and, moreover,
+there was not work enough for two. He should
+have bestirred himself, have sought some private
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>
+employment, but Uncle Piero saw no signs of this,
+and so&mdash;&mdash;?</p>
+
+<p>And so this thinking about poetic expeditions
+seemed to him more out of place than ever. After
+having pondered a long time upon their sad plight,
+and upon the slender probability that Franco
+would ever be able to extricate them from it, he
+reflected that, for him, the first thing to do was to
+drink his milk, and the second, to go to bed.
+But another thought came to him. He opened
+the hall-door, and seeing the room was quite dark,
+went into the kitchen, lighted a lantern, and
+carried it to the loggia, where he opened one of the
+windows. Although it was snowing there was no
+wind, so he placed the lantern on the window-sill,
+that its light might help those poetic people to
+steer their homeward course over the dark lake.</p>
+
+<p>Then he went to bed.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Ismaele brought his freight safely to S. Mamette
+in the covered boat. The snow was still falling
+placidly in big flakes. The church was already
+quite full, and even the ladies were obliged to
+stand, behind the first row of benches. Ester
+volunteered to look after Maria, and lifted her to
+a seat on top of the bench in front of them, while
+the sacristan was busy lighting the candles on the
+high-altar. Cia was tormenting the Professor,
+whom she believed to be a pious man, with a
+thousand questions concerning the difference
+between the Roman and Ambrosian rites, and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>
+Maria was keeping Ester busy with still more
+puzzling questions.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are they lighting those candles for?"</p>
+
+<p>"For our Lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Is our Lord going to bed now?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, hush!"</p>
+
+<p>"And has the <i>bambino Gesu</i>&mdash;the child Jesus&mdash;gone
+to bed already?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," Ester replied thoughtlessly, to put
+an end to these questions.</p>
+
+<p>"With the mule?"</p>
+
+<p>Once Uncle Piero had brought Maria an ugly,
+little wooden mule which she detested, and when
+she was obstinate and capricious her mother
+would put her to bed with the mule under her
+pillow, under her obstinate little head.</p>
+
+<p>"Be quiet, chatterbox!" said Ester.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't go to bed with the mule. I say <i>excuse
+me</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush! Listen to the organ."</p>
+
+<p>All the candles were now lighted, and the
+organist having mounted to his post, was teasing
+his old instrument as if to waken it, drawing from
+it what seemed to be angry grunts. When, on
+the ringing of a bell, the organ poured forth all its
+great voice, and the altar-boys and the priest
+appeared, Luisa stole her hand into her husband's,
+as if they had still been lovers.</p>
+
+<p>Those two hands pressing each other furtively
+were speaking of a fast approaching event, of a
+serious resolve which must be kept a secret, and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>
+which was not yet formed irrevocably. The
+little nervous hand said: "Have courage!" The
+manly hand said: "I will!" They must indeed
+make up their minds to it. Franco must go away,
+leave his wife, his child, and the old man, perhaps
+for some months, perhaps for some years. He
+must leave Valsolda, the dear little house, his
+flowers, perhaps for ever. He must emigrate to
+Piedmont, seek for work and gain, in the hope of
+being able to call his family to him in case that
+other great national hope should not be realised.
+He was glad his wife had chosen this solemn
+place and hour in which to encourage him in his
+sacrifice, and he did not drop the gentle hand, but
+held it as a lover might, never looking at Luisa,
+his face and person immovable. He spoke with
+his hand only, with his soul in palm and fingers, he
+spoke the most varied, passionate language, consisting
+of soft caresses, of embraces, of tenderness
+and ardour. From time to time she would endeavour
+to gently withdraw her hand, and then
+he would clasp it violently. His gaze was fixed
+on the altar, and he held his head erect as if
+absorbed in the music of the organ, in the voice
+of the priest, in the singing of the congregation.
+As a matter of fact he was not following the
+prayers, but he felt the Divine Presence, was
+experiencing an ecstasy, a fervour of love, of pain,
+of hope in God. Luisa had taken his hand in the
+belief that he was praying, that all his fears, all
+his doubts were stirring in his soul. She had
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>
+indeed wished to inspire him with courage, convinced
+that this painful step was best for him.
+She only half understood the pressure that
+answered her; it seemed to her a passionate protest
+against this separation, and although this
+was most sweet to her, she could not approve of it,
+and so from time to time she strove to withdraw
+her hand. At the moment of the Elevation it was
+he who withdrew his, out of respect. Then he
+was obliged to take Maria in his arms, for she had
+fallen asleep, and slept on, her head on her father's
+shoulder, displaying half of a little, peaceful face.
+She, his darling, did not know that her father was
+going so far away, and his heart was filled with
+tender yearning towards that little, warm treasure,
+which breathed upon it, towards that tiny head,
+which had the perfume of a little wild bird. He
+imagined himself already gone, imagined that
+she was seeking for him, was crying, and then a
+desire to press her closer ran through his arms, a
+desire he quickly checked for fear of waking her.</p>
+
+<p>It had stopped snowing when they left the
+church.</p>
+
+<p>"Wind! Wind!" said Ismaele, coming towards
+them.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall walk! I shall walk!" groaned Cia,
+who had a great horror of the lake. Meanwhile
+the crowd issuing from the church pushed and
+dispersed the group, and carried them down the
+steps. The six travellers and the boatmen met
+again in the square of S. Mamette and here Donna
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>
+Ester declared that, as she was not feeling very
+well, she must forego the punch, and that she
+would walk home with Cia.</p>
+
+<p>Franco, Luisa, and the Professor saw it would
+be useless to insist, and the two women started
+towards Oria escorted by Ismaele, who was to
+come back for the Maironis and the boat.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>A <i>moderateur</i> lamp illumined Gilardoni's salon,
+a good fire was burning on the hearth, and Pinella
+had prepared everything for the punch over which
+Luisa presided, the host himself being much depressed
+in spirit by Donna Ester's desertion.</p>
+
+<p>"Look at Maria," said Franco softly.</p>
+
+<p>The little one had gone to sleep in the Professor's
+armchair near the window. Franco took
+the lamp and held it aloft in order to see her
+better. She seemed like some little creature
+descended from heaven, fallen there with the star-light,
+unconscious, her face suffused with a sweetness
+which was not of this world, with a solemnity
+full of mystery. "Darling!" said he, and drew
+his wife towards him with an encircling arm, his
+eyes still fixed on Maria. Gilardoni came up
+behind them, and murmured: "How lovely!"
+Then he went back to the fireplace sighing:
+"Happy people!"</p>
+
+<p>Franco, who was deeply moved, whispered in
+his wife's ear: "Shall we tell him?" She did
+not understand, and looked questioningly into
+his eyes. "That I am going away," said he, still
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>
+in an undertone. Luisa started and answered,
+"Yes, yes!" She was greatly affected, for she had
+not expected this. In the church she had believed
+he was still undecided. Her astonishment
+did not escape Franco. He was troubled by it
+and felt his resolution shaken, but she at once
+perceived this, and repeated earnestly: "Yes,
+yes!" and gently pushed him towards Gilardoni.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear friend," said he, "I have something to
+tell you."</p>
+
+<p>The Professor, absorbed in contemplation of the
+fire, did not answer. Franco placed a hand on
+his shoulder. "Ah!" he exclaimed, rousing himself,
+"I beg your pardon! What it is?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to commend some one to your care."</p>
+
+<p>"To my care? Who is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"An old man, a woman, and a little child."</p>
+
+<p>The two men looked at each other in silence, one
+deeply moved, the other amazed.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you understand?" Luisa whispered.</p>
+
+<p>No, he neither understood nor answered.</p>
+
+<p>"I commend my wife, my daughter, and the
+old uncle to your care," Franco replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" the Professor exclaimed, looking in
+astonishment from one to the other.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going away," said Franco, with a smile
+that went to Gilardoni's heart. "We have not
+told Uncle Piero yet, but I must go. In our position
+I cannot stay here doing nothing. I shall
+say I am going to Milan, and those who will may
+believe it, but I shall really be in Piedmont."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>
+ Gilardoni clasped his hands in silent amazement.
+Luisa embraced Franco and kissed him,
+holding his head upon her breast, her eyes
+closed.</p>
+
+<p>The Professor imagined it was painful to her to
+bow to her husband's will in this matter.</p>
+
+<p>"Now listen to me," said he, addressing Franco.
+"If war had broken out I could understand your
+going, but as it is, I think you do wrong to cause
+your wife so much suffering for a question of
+money."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa who was still clinging with one arm to her
+husband's neck, motioned to Professor Gilardoni
+with the other hand, entreating him to be silent.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no!" she murmured, once more clasping
+her arms about Franco. "You are doing
+right! You are doing right!" As Gilardoni
+continued to insist, she drew away from her husband,
+and cried, her hands extended protestingly
+towards their host: "But, Professor, it is I who
+tell him he is doing right! I, his wife, tell him
+so! Dear Professor, don't you understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"After all, dear lady," Gilardoni burst out,
+"it is time you were informed&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Franco flung his arms towards him, crying
+impetuously: "Professor!"</p>
+
+<p>"You are doing wrong," the other replied.
+"You are doing wrong, very wrong!"</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, Franco?" Luisa demanded in
+astonishment. "Is there something I do not
+know?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>
+ "Only that I must go away, that I shall go
+away. That is all!"</p>
+
+<p>Franco's exclamation, "Professor!" had awakened
+Maria with a start. Seeing her mother's
+agitation she prepared to cry; presently she burst
+into violent sobbing, and wailed: "No Papa!
+Papa not go away! Not go away!"</p>
+
+<p>Franco took her in his arms, kissing and caressing
+her, while she kept repeating: "My Papa!
+My Papa!" in a pitiful, grieved voice that made
+their hearts ache. Her father yearned over her,
+and protested that he would always stay with her;
+but he wept at his own deceit, wept with the
+emotion this new tenderness, springing up at
+such a moment, caused him.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa was thinking of her husband's cry.
+Gilardoni saw she suspected a secret, and, hoping
+to distract her thoughts, asked her if Franco intended
+to start at once. Franco himself replied.
+Everything depended upon a letter from Turin.
+Perhaps it would be a week, at the latest a fortnight,
+before he started. Luisa was silent, and
+the subject was dropped. Then Franco talked
+of politics, of the probability that war would
+break out in the Spring. But again conversation
+soon languished. Gilardoni and Luisa seemed to
+be thinking of something else, to be listening to
+the beat of the waves against the garden wall.
+Finally Ismaele returned, drank his punch, and
+assured them that the lake was not very rough,
+and that they could start homewards.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>
+ As soon as the Maironis were seated in the
+boat, and Maria had gone to sleep, Luisa asked
+her husband if there was something she did not
+know, and which Gilardoni must not tell.</p>
+
+<p>Franco did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Enough!" said she. Then her husband threw
+his arm around her neck and pressed her to him,
+protesting against words she had not uttered.
+"Oh, Luisa, Luisa!"</p>
+
+<p>Luisa suffered his embrace, but did not return
+it, and at last, in despair, her husband promised
+to tell her every thing, at once. "Do you think
+I am curious?" she whispered, in his arms. No,
+no. He would tell her at once, tell her everything;
+he would explain why he had not spoken before.
+She did not wish this; she preferred that he
+should speak at some other time, and of his own
+free will.</p>
+
+<p>The wind was in their favour and the light
+shining in the window of the loggia served Ismaele
+well as a guide. Franco's arm still encircled his
+wife's shoulders, and his gaze was fixed upon that
+shining point. Neither he nor she thought of the
+loving and prudent hand that had lighted it.
+But Ismaele thought of it, and reflected that
+neither Veronica nor Cia were capable of such an
+act of genius, and blessed the engineer's kind
+heart.</p>
+
+<p>On leaving the boat Maria woke up, and her
+parents seemed to have no thought save for her.
+When they were in bed Franco put out the light.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>
+ "It concerns my grandmother," said he in a
+broken and agitated voice. "Poor boy!" Luisa
+murmured and took his hand affectionately. "I
+have never told you in order to avoid accusing
+my grandmother, and also because&mdash;&mdash;" He
+paused, and then it was he who mingled with his
+words the most tender caresses, to which Luisa
+now no longer responded. "I feared your impressions,
+your sentiments, the ideas you might
+conceive&mdash;&mdash;!" As his words began to express
+his doubts his voice grew more tender.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa felt the approach, not of a dispute, but
+of a far more lasting disagreement. Now, she no
+longer wished her husband to speak, and he,
+noticing her increasing coldness, did not continue.
+She rested her forehead against his shoulder, and
+said, almost in spite of herself: "Tell me!"</p>
+
+<p>Then Franco, his lips against her hair, related
+the story the Professor had told him on the night
+of their marriage. In repeating from memory
+the contents of his grandfather's letter and will,
+he greatly softened the injurious expressions used
+against his father and grandmother. In the
+middle of his recital Luisa, who had not expected
+such a revelation, raised her head from her husband's
+shoulder. He stopped. "Go on," said
+she.</p>
+
+<p>When he had finished she asked if there was any
+proof that his grandfather's will had been suppressed.
+Franco promptly answered that there
+was not. "Then," said she, "why did you speak
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>
+of the ideas I might conceive?" Her thoughts
+had immediately flown to the probability of his
+grandmother's crime, to the possibility of a prosecution.
+But if prosecution were not possible?</p>
+
+<p>Franco did not answer, and she exclaimed, after
+a moment's reflection, "Ah! the copy of the will!
+Could that be used? Would that be valid?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"And you would not use it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not, Franco?"</p>
+
+<p>"There!" Franco exclaimed. "You see? I
+knew you would say so! No, I will not make use
+of it! No, no, never!"</p>
+
+<p>"But what reasons have you for not doing so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Good Lord! My reasons! My reasons can be
+felt. You should feel them without my having
+to explain them."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not feel them. Don't imagine I am
+thinking of the money. We will not touch the
+money. Give it to whomever you like; I feel
+the claims of justice. There are your grandfather's
+wishes to be respected; there is the crime
+your grandmother has committed. You who
+are so religious should perceive that Divine
+Justice has brought this document to light. Would
+you place yourself between this woman and
+Divine Justice?"</p>
+
+<p>"Let Divine Justice alone," Franco retorted,
+hotly. "What do we know of the ways of Divine
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>
+Justice? There is also Divine Mercy. She is my
+father's mother, think of that! And have I not
+always despised this accursed money? What
+did I do when my grandmother threatened not to
+leave me a penny if I married you?"</p>
+
+<p>Unable to speak, he drew Luisa's head to his
+breast.</p>
+
+<p>"I despised the money for your sake," he went
+on in a stifled voice. "Would you have me try
+to regain it now by going to law?"</p>
+
+<p>"No indeed!" Luisa broke in, raising her
+head. "You may give the money to whomever
+you wish. I am talking of justice. Don't you
+also feel the demand of justice?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Dio mio!</i>" said he, with a deep sigh. "It
+would have been better if I had not spoken to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, perhaps. If you were bound never to
+alter your decision, it would perhaps have been
+wiser."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa's voice expressed sadness, not anger, as
+she uttered these words.</p>
+
+<p>"In any way, that document no longer exists,"
+Franco remarked.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa started. "It no longer exists?" said she
+anxiously, in an undertone.</p>
+
+<p>"No. The Professor was to destroy it, by my
+orders."</p>
+
+<p>A long silence followed. Very slowly Luisa
+withdrew her head and rested it on her own pillow.
+Suddenly Franco exclaimed, aloud: "A law-suit
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>
+indeed! With those documents! With
+those insults! To the mother of my father! And
+all for money!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't keep repeating that," his wife exclaimed
+indignantly. "Why do you keep repeating
+that? Don't you know very well it is
+not true?"</p>
+
+<p>Both spoke excitedly. It was plain that during
+the preceding silence their thoughts had been hard
+at work on this point. The reproof irritated him,
+and he replied blindly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I know nothing about it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Franco!" cried Luisa, much hurt. He
+already regretted the affront, and begged her to
+forgive him, accusing his hot temper, which made
+him say things he did not mean, and he entreated
+her to speak a kind word to him. "Yes, yes,"
+Luisa answered with a sigh, but he was not satisfied,
+and wished her to embrace him and say,
+"I forgive you." The touch of the dear lips did
+not refresh him as usual. Some minutes passed,
+and then he strained his ear to hear if his wife had
+fallen asleep. He heard the wind, Maria's quiet
+breathing, the noise of the waves, the jarring of
+a window, but that was all. "Have you really
+forgiven me?" he whispered, and he heard her
+soft answer: "Yes, dear." Presently she, in
+her turn, listened, and besides the wind, the waves,
+the creaking of a shutter, the even, regular breathing
+of the child, she heard the even, regular
+breathing of her husband. Then she once more
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>
+sighed deeply, sighed despairingly. Oh, God!
+How could Franco have acted thus? What
+wounded her heart most sorely was the fact that he
+did not seem to sense the injuries which her poor
+mother and Uncle Piero had suffered. But she
+would not allow herself to dwell on this thought,
+at least not until she had considered his other
+mistake, his mistaken idea of justice. And here
+she felt bitterly, but not without a certain satisfaction,
+that he was her inferior, that he was controlled
+by sentiments that were the outcome of
+his fancy, while her own sentiment was inspired by
+reason. Franco had in him so much of the child.
+He had, even now, been able to go to sleep, while
+she was sure of not closing her eyes all night long.
+She believed she was without imagination because
+she did not feel it move, because in her it was less
+easily inflamed. She would have laughed had
+she been told that imagination was more powerful
+in her than in her husband. But indeed such
+was the case. Only, in order to demonstrate
+this, both souls must be turned upside down, for
+Franco's imagination was visible on the surface of
+his soul, and all his reason was at the bottom,
+while in Luisa's soul imagination was at the bottom,
+and reason was plainly visible on the surface.
+In fact, she did not sleep, but all night long she
+thought, with that imagination that lay at the
+bottom of her soul, how religion favours weak
+sentimentality, how incapable it is, even while
+preaching the thirst for justice, of forming a correct
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>
+sense of justice in those intellects which are
+devoted to it.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The Professor also, who was subject to serious
+infiltrations of imagination into the ratiocinative
+cells of his brain, as well as into the amorous cells
+of his heart, having put out the light, spent the
+greater part of the night in front of the fireplace,
+working with the tongs and with his imagination,
+taking up, examining and then dropping embers
+and projects, until only one glowing coal and one
+last idea remained. Then he took a match, and
+having held it in contact with the ember, lighted
+the lamp once more, seized the idea, which was
+also hot and luminous, and carried it off to bed
+with him.</p>
+
+<p>This was the idea. He would start secretly
+for Brescia, present himself before the Marchesa
+with the terrible document, and obtain a capitulation.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VII<br />
+THE PROFESSOR PLAYS HIS TRUMP<br />
+CARD</h2>
+
+<p>Three days later, in Milan, at five o'clock in
+the morning, Professor Gilardoni, muffled
+up to the eyes, issued from the Albergo degli
+Angeli, passed in front of the cathedral, turned
+into the dark street called dei Rastrelli behind a
+line of horses led by postilions, and entered the
+booking office of the public coaches. The little
+courtyard where the post-office now stands, was
+already full of people, of horses, of lanterns. To
+the hermit of Valsolda all these voices of postilions
+and of guards, this stamping of horses and jingling
+of bells, seemed like a real pandemonium.</p>
+
+<p>The horses were being harnessed to two coaches,
+four to each. The Professor was going to Lodi
+because he had learned that the Marchesa was
+visiting a friend there, and the Lodi coach would
+start at half-past five.</p>
+
+<p>It was intensely cold, and the poor Professor
+wandered anxiously around the ungainly carriage,
+stamping his feet to warm them, until presently
+another traveller said jestingly to him: "Cool,
+is it not?" "Just a little fresh! Just a little
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>
+fresh!" The horses were harnessed at last, an
+employé called the passengers by name, and the
+worthy Beniamino disappeared within the bowels
+of the huge vehicle, together with two priests, an
+old woman servant, an elderly gentleman with an
+enormous wart on his face, and a fashionably
+dressed young man. The doors were closed, an
+order was given, the bells jingled, the huge vehicle
+shook itself, the priests, the old woman, and the
+gentleman with the wart crossed themselves, the
+horses' sixteen hoofs rattled under the portal,
+the massive wheels rumbled through it, and then
+all this noise grew fainter as the coach turned to
+the right, towards Porta Romana.</p>
+
+<p>Now the wheels revolved almost noiselessly,
+and the travellers heard only the irregular beat
+of the sixteen hoofs on the stones. The Professor
+watched the passing of dark houses, the pale
+glow of infrequent street lamps, the flashing light
+from some small coffee-house, or a vanishing
+sentry-box.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to him that the presence of these
+soldiers lent something threatening, something so
+formidable to the silence of the great city, that the
+very walls of the houses were black with hatred.
+When the coach entered the Corso di Porta
+Romana, so filled with fog that he could hardly
+see out of the window, he closed his eyes, and gave
+himself up to the pleasure of thinking of and conversing
+with the things and persons that filled
+his heart.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>
+ It was no longer the passenger with the wart
+who sat opposite him, but Donna Ester, all enveloped
+in a great black cape, a broad-brimmed hat
+upon her head. She was looking at him fixedly,
+and her lovely eyes were saying: "Well done!
+You are acting nobly! Showing a great heart.
+I would not have believed it! I admire you! To
+me you are no longer old and ugly. Courage!"
+At this exhortation to have courage, he was
+seized with fear, for the image of the Marchesa
+rose before him, and the dull rumble of the wheels
+became the old lady's nasal voice, saying:
+"Won't you sit down? What can I do for you?"</p>
+
+<p>At this point the coach stopped and the Professor
+opened his eyes. Porta Romana. An
+official opened the door and asked for the passports
+and having collected them, carried them away.
+Returning again in about five minutes, he restored
+their passports to all the passengers save
+the fashionably dressed young man. To him
+he said sharply: "Come with me." The young
+man turned pale, but got out in silence and did
+not return. In a moment or two the door was
+closed, and a rough voice cried: "<i>Avanti!</i>"
+The gentleman with the wart placed his travelling-bag
+on the seat that was now vacant, but none of
+the other passengers gave any sign of having
+noticed what had happened. Only when the
+four horses had once more begun to trot did
+Gilardoni ask the priest, his neighbour, if he knew
+the young man's name, but the priest's only
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>
+answer was a cross grunt, as he turned two terrified
+and suspicious eyes upon the Professor. Beniamino
+now looked towards the other priest, who
+immediately drew a rosary from his pocket and,
+having made the sign of the cross, began to pray.
+Once more the Professor closed his eyes, and the
+image of the unknown young man was lost for
+ever in the mist, like the few and phantom-like
+trees, the poplars and willows, slipping past on
+either side of the road.</p>
+
+<p>"How shall I begin?" thought Gilardoni.
+Ever since Christmas Eve he had done nothing
+but imagine and debate within himself how he
+should present himself before the Marchesa, how
+introduce the subject, how explain it, and what
+terms he should offer. This was the only point on
+which he was clear. If the Marchesa would make
+her grandson a liberal allowance, he would
+destroy the documents. He had not brought
+them with him, but he had copies of them. Their
+effect would surely be tremendous, but how
+should he begin? Not one of the many preambles
+he had thought of satisfied him. Even now with
+closed eyes and fancy hard at work, he was considering
+the question, starting from the only
+known factor: "Take a seat. What can I do
+for you?" But invariably his answer would appear
+to him either too obsequious or too daring,
+too remote from the subject or too close to it, and
+he would once more go back to the beginning.
+"What can I do for you?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>
+ The pale light of dawn, dreary, sad, and sleepy,
+invaded the coach. Now that the time for the
+interview was approaching, a thousand doubts,
+a thousand fresh uncertainties upset all the Professor's
+plans. The very base of his calculations
+suddenly collapsed. What if the Marchesa should
+not say either, "Take a seat," or "What can I do
+for you?" What if she should receive him in
+some other embarrassing manner? And what if
+she should not receive him at all! Merciful
+heavens! What then? The sudden ringing of
+the sixteen hoofs on a paved way set his heart to
+beating. However, it was not yet the streets of
+Lodi, but those of Melegnano.</p>
+
+<p>He reached Lodi at about nine o'clock, and got
+out at the Albergo del Sole, where they gave him
+a room without fire or sun. Not daring to brave
+either the fog in the street or the fumes in the
+kitchen, he decided to go to bed, and putting on
+his night-cap, which was acquainted with all his
+woes, he waited, a camphor cigarette between his
+lips, for the coming of noon and a happy thought.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>At one o'clock he ascended the steps of the
+Palazzo X. with the wise determination to carefully
+forget all the speeches he had prepared, and
+to trust to the inspiration of the moment. A
+footman in a white tie ushered him into a large,
+dark apartment, with a brick floor, walls hung with
+yellow silk, and a stuccoed ceiling, and having
+bowed respectfully, went away. A few antique,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>
+white and gilt armchairs covered with red damask
+stood in a semicircle before the fireplace, where
+three or four enormous logs were burning slowly,
+behind the brass fender. The air was laden with
+the mixed odours of ancient mould, ancient cakes,
+ancient stuffs, ancient leather, and decrepit ideas,
+the whole forming a subtle essence of old age
+enough to shrivel the very soul.</p>
+
+<p>The servant reappeared and announced, to
+Gilardoni's utter confusion, the imminent arrival
+of the Signora Marchesa. He waited and waited,
+and at last a great door, ornamented with gilding,
+swung open, a little moving bell tinkled, Friend
+trotted in, sniffing the floor to right and left, and
+was followed by a great bell-shaped mass of black
+silk, under a small cupola of white lace, while,
+between two blue ribbons, appeared the black
+wig, the marble brow, the lifeless eyes of the
+Marchesa herself.</p>
+
+<p>"What miracle! The Professor in Lodi!"
+said the drowsy voice, while the small dog sniffed
+at the Professor's boots. Gilardoni made a low
+bow, and the lady, who might have been the jar
+containing the essence of old age, seated herself
+on one of the chairs near the fire, and installed
+her lap-dog on another; after which she motioned
+to Gilardoni to be seated also. "I suppose,"
+said she, "that you have some relative at the
+convent of the 'Dame Inglese'?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," the Professor replied, "I have not."</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes the Marchesa was facetious in her
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>
+own way. "Then," said she, "you probably
+came for a supply of <i>mascherponi</i>."<a name="FNanchor_M_13" id="FNanchor_M_13"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_M_13" class="fnanchor">[M]</a></p>
+
+<p>"Not for that either, Signora Marchesa. I
+came on business."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed. You are unfortunate in the weather.
+I believe it is raining now."</p>
+
+<p>At this unexpected digression the Professor
+came near losing his bearings. "Yes," said he,
+feeling that he was growing foolish, like the
+scholar whose examination is taking a bad turn.
+"It is drizzling."</p>
+
+<p>His voice, his expression, could not fail to
+reveal his inward embarrassment, to show the
+Marchesa that he had come to tell her something
+important. However, she carefully avoided helping
+him to unburden himself, and continued to
+talk of the weather, the cold, the dampness, a
+catarrh from which Friend was suffering, while
+the dog punctuated his mistress's recital with
+frequent sneezes.</p>
+
+<p>The drowsy voice had a calm, almost jocose
+inflection, a sort of bland benevolence, and the
+Professor was bathed in cold sweat at the bare
+thought of checking this mellifluous flow, and
+offering in exchange the bitter pill he had in his
+pocket. He might have taken advantage of a
+pause to pour forth his preamble, but he was not
+equal to it, and it was the Marchesa who seized
+the opportunity to close the interview.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>
+ "I thank you very much for your visit," said
+she, "and now I am going to dismiss you, for you
+have your business to attend to, and, to tell the
+truth, I also have an engagement."</p>
+
+<p>Now or never he must take the leap.</p>
+
+<p>"As a matter of fact," Gilardoni began, greatly
+agitated, "I came to Lodi to speak with you,
+Signora Marchesa."</p>
+
+<p>"I should never have been able to guess that,"
+said the lady frigidly.</p>
+
+<p>The Professor was carried forward by the impetus
+of his daring.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a most urgent matter," said he, "and I
+must beg&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If it is a matter of business, you must apply to
+my agent in Brescia."</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me, Signora Marchesa, it is really a
+most important affair. No one knows and no
+one must know that I have come to see you. I will
+tell you at once that it concerns your grandson."</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa rose, and the dog that had been
+crouching in the armchair also sprang up, barking
+in Gilardoni's direction.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not speak to me of that person who no
+longer exists for me," the old lady said solemnly.
+"Come, Friend!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Signora Marchesa," the Professor protested.
+"You cannot possibly imagine what I
+have to tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not in the least care to know. I do not
+wish to hear anything. Good-day to you!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>
+ Whereupon the inflexible old lady moved
+towards the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Marchesa!" Beniamino called after her,
+while Friend, who had jumped from the chair,
+barked furiously around his legs. "It concerns
+your husband's will!"</p>
+
+<p>This time the Marchesa could not but stop.
+She did not, however, turn round.</p>
+
+<p>"This will cannot be pleasing to you," Gilardoni
+added rapidly. "But I have no intention of
+publishing it. I entreat you to listen to me,
+Marchesa."</p>
+
+<p>She turned round. Her impenetrable face
+betrayed a certain emotion in the quivering of the
+nostrils. Nor were the shoulders entirely at rest.</p>
+
+<p>"What tales have you to tell?" she retorted.
+"Do you think it fitting to thus inconsiderately
+mention my poor Franco to me? How dare you
+meddle with my family affairs?"</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse me," the Professor repeated, searching
+in his pocket. "If I do not meddle some one
+else may do so even less considerately. Kindly
+examine these documents. These&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Keep your scribblings to yourself," the
+Marchesa interrupted, seeing him draw some papers
+from his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"These are copies I have made&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you to keep them, to take them away!"</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa rang the bell, and once more
+started to leave the room.</p>
+
+<p>Gilardoni, quivering with excitement, hearing
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>
+the approaching steps of a servant, and seeing her
+about to open the door, threw his documents
+upon one of the armchairs, saying hastily, in an
+undertone: "I will leave them here. Let no one
+see them. I am staying at the Sole, and will
+return to-morrow. Examine the papers, and
+think over them carefully!" And before the
+servant arrived he had rushed out at the same
+door by which he had entered, had seized his
+heavy cape, and fled downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa dismissed the footman, and stood
+listening for a few moments. Then she retraced
+her steps, took up the papers, and went to her
+room, locking her door behind her. Having put
+on her spectacles she took her stand near the
+window, and began to read. Her brow was
+clouded and her hands trembled.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The Professor was preparing to go to bed in his
+icy room at the Sole when two police-agents came
+with a summons for him to appear at once at the
+police-station.</p>
+
+<p>He felt some secret misgivings, but did not lose
+his head, and went quietly away with the two
+men. At the station a little impudent Commissary
+asked him why he had come to Lodi, and
+upon being informed that he had come on private
+business shrugged his shoulders in contemptuous
+incredulity. What private business did Signor
+Gilardoni pretend to have in Lodi? With whom?
+The Professor mentioned the Marchesa. "There
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>
+are no Maironis at Lodi," the Commissary exclaimed,
+and when his victim protested he
+speedily interrupted him. "<i>Basta!</i> That will
+do! That will do!" The police knew for a certainty
+that Professor Gilardoni, although he was
+an Imperial and Royal pensioner, was not a loyal
+Austrian; that he had friends at Lugano, and
+that he had come to Lodi for political ends.</p>
+
+<p>"You are better informed than I am," Gilardoni
+exclaimed, restraining his wrath with difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>"Silence!" the Commissary commanded.
+"You must not think the Imperial and Royal
+government is afraid of you. You are free to go,
+but you must leave Lodi within two hours."</p>
+
+<p>At this point Franco would have immediately
+perceived from whence the blow came, but the
+philosopher did not understand.</p>
+
+<p>"I came to Lodi on most urgent business,
+which is not yet finished," said he. "On most
+important, private business. How can I leave
+in two hours?"</p>
+
+<p>"By carriage. If you are still in Lodi at the
+end of two hours I shall have you arrested."</p>
+
+<p>"My health does not permit me to travel at
+night in December," the victim urged.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, then I will have you arrested at
+once!"</p>
+
+<p>The poor philosopher took up his hat in silence,
+and went out.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later he started for Milan in a closed
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>
+calash, his feet embedded in straw, a rug over his
+legs, a great muffler round his neck, reflecting that
+this had been a most successful expedition, and
+swallowing momently to see if his throat were sore.
+He passed a horrible night, indeed, but the
+Marchesa herself did not rest on a bed of roses.</p>
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<div class="fn">
+<h4>Footnotes</h4>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_M_13" id="Footnote_M_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_M_13">
+<span class="label">[M]</span></a> <i>Mascherponi</i>: A sort of common cheese made in Lodi. [<i>Translator's
+note.</i>]</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br />
+HOURS OF BITTERNESS</h2>
+
+<p>On the last day of the year, while Franco was
+writing out the very minute directions
+concerning the care of the flowers and the kitchen-garden,
+which he intended to leave for his wife's
+guidance, and the uncle sat reading for the tenth
+time his favourite book, the <i>History of the Diocese
+of Como</i>, Luisa went out for a walk with Maria.
+The sun was shining brightly. There was no
+snow save on Bisgnago and Galbiga. Maria
+found a violet near the cemetery, and another
+down in the Calcinera. There it was really warm,
+and the air was pleasantly scented with laurel.
+Luisa sat down to think, with her back to the hill,
+and allowed Maria to amuse herself by climbing
+up the bank behind her, and sliding down again
+on the dry grass.</p>
+
+<p>She had not seen the Professor since Christmas
+Eve, and she longed to speak with him; not to
+hear the story of the Maironi will over again, but
+to get him to tell her about his interview with
+Franco, when he had shown it to him: to ascertain
+what Franco's first impression had been and
+what the Professor's opinion was. As the will
+had been destroyed, all this could only be of
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>
+psychological importance, but Luisa's curiosity
+was not the curiosity of the idle observer. Her
+husband's conduct had deeply wounded her.
+Thinking of it over and over again, as she had
+done ever since Christmas Eve, she had arrived at
+the conclusion that his silence towards her had
+been an outrage against justice and affection. It
+was a bitter sorrow to her to feel her esteem for
+him diminishing, especially bitter now, on the eve
+of his departure, and at a time when he really
+deserved praise. She would have liked, at least,
+to know that when Gilardoni had shown him the
+documents there had been some inward struggle,
+that a more just sentiment had been aroused in
+his soul, if only for a moment. She rose, took
+Maria by the hand, and started towards Casarico.</p>
+
+<p>She found the Professor in the garden with
+Pinella, and told Maria to run and play with the
+boy, but Maria, always eager to listen to the conversation
+of her elders, would not hear of going.
+Then Luisa broached the subject without mentioning
+any names. She wished to speak to the Professor
+about certain papers, about those old
+letters. The Professor, who was crimson, protested
+that he did not understand. Fortunately,
+Pinella called Maria, enticing her with a picture-book,
+and she ran to him, conquered by her curiosity
+concerning the book. Then Luisa relieved the
+Professor of his scruples, by informing him that
+Franco himself had told her everything, and she
+confessed to him that she had disapproved of her
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>
+husband's conduct, that it had been, and still was
+a source of great sorrow to her&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Why, why, why?" said the worthy Professor,
+interrupting her. Because Franco had
+not been willing to do anything. "I have done
+something! I have done something!" Gilardoni
+exclaimed, anxiously and excitedly. "But
+for the love of Heaven, don't tell your husband!"
+Luisa was amazed. What had the Professor
+done? And when, and how? And was not the
+will already destroyed?</p>
+
+<p>Then Gilardoni, as red as a glowing coal, his
+eyes full of anxiety, his recital often interrupted
+by such exclamations as, "For mercy's sake,
+don't tell!&mdash;You will be silent, eh?" revealed all
+his secrets to her, from the preserving of the will
+to his journey to Lodi. Luisa listened to the very
+end, and then, clasping her face tightly between
+her hands, uttered a horrified "Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>"Did I do wrong?" said the poor Professor,
+much alarmed. "Did I do wrong, Signora
+Luisina?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very wrong! Terribly wrong! Forgive me,
+but it looked as if you were proposing some transaction,
+some bargain, and the Marchesa is sure
+to believe we are in league with you! Oh, it is
+awful!"</p>
+
+<p>She wrung her clenched hands as if striving to
+press into shape, to remodel a more level professorial
+head for him. In utter amazement the
+poor Professor kept repeating: "Oh, Lord! Oh,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>
+dear me! Oh, what an ass I am!" without really
+comprehending the nature of his blunder. Luisa
+flung herself upon the parapet overhanging the
+lake, and stared into the water. Suddenly she
+started up, beating the back of her right hand
+upon the palm of her left, her face brightening.
+"Take me to your study," said she. "Can I
+leave Maria here?" The Professor nodded, and,
+trembling, accompanied her to the study. Luisa
+took a sheet of paper and wrote rapidly: "Luisa
+Maironi Rigey begs to inform the Marchesa
+Maironi Scremin that Professor Beniamino Gilardoni
+is a most faithful friend of both her husband
+and herself, but that they nevertheless heartily
+disapprove of his inopportune use of a document
+which should have been disposed of in a different
+manner. Therefore, no communication from the
+Marchesa is either expected or desired."</p>
+
+<p>When she had finished she silently held out the
+letter to the Professor. "Oh no!" he exclaimed,
+as soon as he had read it; "For the love of Heaven
+don't send that letter! What if your husband
+should find it out? Think what a misfortune for
+me, for you yourself! And how can it possibly
+be kept from your husband?" Luisa did not
+answer, but gazed fixedly at him, not thinking of
+him, but of Franco; thinking that the Marchesa
+might look upon the letter as a snare, an attempt
+to intimidate her, she took it back and tore it in
+pieces, with a sigh. The Professor became radiant,
+and wished to kiss her hand, but she protested.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>
+She had not done it for his sake or for
+Franco's but for other reasons. The sacrifice of
+this outlet for her feelings exasperated her still
+more against Franco. "He is wrong! He is
+wrong!" she repeated, with bitterness in her heart,
+and neither she nor the Professor noticed that
+Maria was in the room. On seeing her mother
+leave the garden the little one no longer wished
+to remain with Pinella, so he had brought her to
+the door of the study, opening it noiselessly for
+her. The child, struck by her mother's expression,
+stopped and stared at her with a look of
+terror. She saw her tear the letter and heard
+her exclaim: "He is wrong!" and then she began
+to cry. Luisa hastened to her, folded her
+in her arms, and consoled her, and then they
+immediately took their departure. The Professor's
+parting words were: "For pity's sake,
+be silent!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why be silent?" Maria quickly demanded.
+Her mother did not heed her; her thoughts were
+elsewhere. Three or four times Maria repeated:
+"Why be silent?" until at last Luisa said:
+"Hush! That will do." Then she was quiet for
+a time, but presently she began again, simply to
+tease her mother, and lifting her little, laughing
+face repeated: "Why be silent?" This time
+she was well scolded, and once more became
+silent; but when they were passing below the
+cemetery, only a few steps from home, she again
+burst forth, with the same mischievous laugh.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>
+Then Luisa, who had been absorbed in the effort
+to compose her face into an expression of indifference,
+simply gave her a shake, but it sufficed to
+silence her.</p>
+
+<p>That day Maria was in very high spirits. At
+dinner, while jesting with her mother, she suddenly
+recalled the reprimands she had received
+when out walking, and looking covertly at Luisa,
+once more repeated her "Why be silent?" with
+the same timid and provoking little laugh. Her
+mother pretended not to hear, so she persevered.
+Then Luisa checked her with an "Enough!" so
+unusually stern that Maria's little mouth opened
+wider and wider, and the tears began to flow.
+Uncle Piero exclaimed: "Oh dear me!" and
+Franco frowned, showing that he disapproved of
+his wife's action. As Maria kept on crying, he
+vented his displeasure upon her, took her in his
+arms, and carried her off, screaming like an eagle.
+"Better still!" said Uncle Piero. "Fine disciplinarians,
+both of you!" "You let them
+alone," said Cia, for Luisa did not speak. "Parents
+must be obeyed." "That's it! Let us
+have your wisdom also!" Uncle Piero retorted,
+and Cia relapsed into sullen silence.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Franco returned, having deposited
+Maria in one corner of the alcove-room, grumbling
+something about people who seemed bound to
+make children cry. And now Luisa also was
+vexed, and went to fetch Maria, whom she presently
+brought back in a lachrymose but mute
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>
+state. The short meal ended badly, for Maria
+would not eat, and all the others were out of temper
+for one reason or another; all save Uncle
+Piero, who set about lecturing Maria, half seriously
+half playfully, until he succeeded in bringing a
+little sunshine back to her face. After dinner
+Franco went to look after some flower-pots,
+which he kept in the cellar below the little hanging
+garden, and took Maria with him. Seeing her
+once more in good spirits, he gently questioned
+her about what had happened. What did
+she mean by that "Why be silent?" "I don't
+know." "But why did mamma not wish you
+to say it?" "I don't know. I kept saying that,
+and mamma kept scolding me." "When?" "Out
+walking." "Where did you go?" "To the
+Signor Ladroni's." (It was Uncle Piero who had
+thus simplified the Professor's name.) "And did
+you begin saying that when you were at Signor
+Ladroni's house?" "No. Signor Ladroni said
+it to mamma." "What did he say?" "Why,
+papa, you don't understand anything! He said:
+'For pity's sake be silent!'" Franco said no more.
+"Mamma tore a paper at Signor Ladroni's house,"
+Maria added, believing her father would be all
+the better pleased the more she told him concerning
+that visit, but he ordered her to be quiet.
+On returning to the house Franco asked Luisa,
+with an expression that was far from amiable,
+why she had made the child cry. Luisa scrutinised
+him closely. It seemed to her he suspected
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>
+something, and she asked indignantly if
+he expected her to seek to justify herself for such
+petty matters. "Oh no!" Franco answered
+coldly, and went into the garden to see if the dry
+leaves at the base of the orange-trees and the
+straw around the trunks were in order, for the
+night promised to be very cold. As he worked
+over the plants he reflected that had they possessed
+intelligence and words they would have
+shown themselves more affectionate, more grateful
+than usual, on account of his imminent departure,
+while Luisa had the heart to be harsh
+with him. He did not remember that he also had
+been harsh. Luisa, on the other hand, at once
+regretted her answer, but she could not hold him
+back, throw her arms about his neck, and end it
+all with a kiss or two; that other matter weighed
+too heavily on her heart. Franco finished swathing
+his orange trees and came into the house for
+his cape, intending to go to church at Albogasio.
+Luisa, who was in the kitchen peeling some
+chestnuts, heard him pass through the corridor,
+stood hesitating a moment, struggling with herself,
+and then rushed out, catching up with him
+just as he was starting downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>"Franco!" said she. Franco did not answer,
+but seemed to repulse her. Then she seized his
+arm and dragged him into the neighbouring
+alcove room.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want?" said he, shaken, but
+still determined to appear vexed. Luisa, instead
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>
+of answering, threw her arms about his
+neck, drew his unwilling head upon her breast,
+and said softly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"We must not quarrel these last days."</p>
+
+<p>He had expected words of excuse, and pushed
+his wife's arm aside, answering dryly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I have not quarrelled. Perhaps you will tell
+me," he added, "what Professor Gilardoni confided
+to you that was such a great secret that he
+felt obliged to entreat you to be silent."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa looked at him, amazed and pained. "You
+doubted me?" said she. "You questioned the
+child? Did you indeed do that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he cried, "and what if I did? Anyway,
+I am well aware you always think the worst
+of me. Listen now. I don't want to know anything."
+She interrupted him. "But I will tell
+you! I will tell you!" His conscience was
+pricking him a little on account of his questioning
+of the child, and now seeing Luisa ready to speak,
+he would not listen to her, and forbade her to explain.
+But his heart was full to overflowing with
+bitterness, for which he must find an outlet. He
+complained that since Christmas Eve she had not
+been the same to him. Why protest? He had
+seen it clearly. Indeed, something else had long
+been clear to him. What? Oh, something very
+natural! Perfectly natural! Was he, after all,
+worthy of her love? Certainly not. He was only
+a poor useless creature, and nothing more. Was
+it not natural that upon knowing him better she
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>
+should love him less? For surely she did love
+him less than at one time!</p>
+
+<p>Luisa trembled, fearful that this might be true.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Franco, no!" she cried, but her very
+dread of not saying the words with proper conviction
+was sufficient to paralyze her voice. He
+had expected a violent denial, and murmured
+terrified: "My God!" Then it was her turn to
+be terrified, and she pressed him despairingly in
+her arms, sobbing: "No, no, no!" By means
+of some magnetic current they understood each
+other's every thought, and remained long united
+in a close embrace, speaking in a mute, spasmodic
+effort of their whole being, complaining
+one of the other, reproaching, passionately striving
+to draw together again, revelling in the sharp
+and bitter delight of being, for the moment,
+united by sheer force of will and of love, in spite
+of the secret disunion of their ideas, of their
+natures; and all this without a word, without a
+sound.</p>
+
+<p>Franco once more started to go to church. He
+would not invite Luisa to accompany him, hoping
+she would do so of her own free will, but she did
+not, fearing he might not wish it.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>On the morning of the seventh of January,
+shortly after ten o'clock, Uncle Piero sent for
+Franco.</p>
+
+<p>The uncle was still in bed. He was in the
+habit of rising late, because his room could not be
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>
+heated, and for the sake of economy he did not
+wish the fire in the little salon lighted too early.
+However, the cold did not prevent his sitting up
+in bed and reading, half his chest and both arms
+outside the covers.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ciao!</i> Good-morning!" said he, as Franco
+entered.</p>
+
+<p>From the tone of his greeting, from the expression
+of the fine face, serious in its kindliness,
+Franco understood that Uncle Piero was about
+to say something unusual.</p>
+
+<p>In fact, the uncle pointed to the chair beside
+his bed, and uttered the most solemn of his exordiums&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Sit you down!"</p>
+
+<p>Franco sat down.</p>
+
+<p>"So you are leaving to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, uncle."</p>
+
+<p>"Good!"</p>
+
+<p>It would seem that in uttering that "Good!"
+the uncle's heart came into his mouth, for the
+word filled his cheeks, and came out full and
+ringing.</p>
+
+<p>"So far," the old man continued, "you have
+never heard me&mdash;let us say&mdash;either approve or
+disapprove of your plan. Perhaps I did not feel
+quite sure you would carry it out. But now&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Franco stretched out both hands to him.
+"Now," Uncle Piero went on, pressing those hands
+in his own, "seeing you are firm in your resolve,
+I say to you: Your resolve is good. We are in
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>
+need, go; work, work is a great thing! May
+God help you to begin well, and then help you to
+persevere, which is a far more difficult thing.
+There!"</p>
+
+<p>Franco would have kissed his hands, but he was
+quick to withdraw them. "Let them alone! Let
+them alone!" And he once more began to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Now listen. It is quite possible we may
+never meet again." Franco protested. "Yes,
+yes, yes!" the old man exclaimed, withdrawing
+his soul from his eyes and voice. "Those are all
+fine things, things that must be said. But let
+them go!"</p>
+
+<p>The eyes once more resumed their kindly and
+serious light, and the voice its grave tone.</p>
+
+<p>"It is quite possible we shall never meet again.
+After all, I put it to you, what good am I now in
+this world? It would be far better for you if I
+took my departure. Perhaps your grandmother
+resents my having taken you in; perhaps, if I
+were gone, it would be easier for her to accept a
+reconciliation. Therefore, supposing we never
+meet again, I beg you to make some overtures
+to her as soon as I am dead, if things have not
+already been arranged."</p>
+
+<p>Franco rose and embraced his uncle with tears
+in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I have made no will," Uncle Piero continued,
+"and I shall not make one. What little I have
+belongs to Luisa; no will is necessary. I commend
+Cia to your care. Do not let her want for
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>
+a bed and a crust of bread. As to my funeral,
+three priests will suffice to sing my <i>requiem</i> with
+true feeling; our own priest, Intrioni, and the
+Prefect of Caravina. There is no necessity of
+having five, who will sing it for love of the candles
+and the white wine. Leave the question of my
+clothes to Luisa, she will know what to do with
+them. You yourself will keep my repeater to
+remind you of me. I should like to leave Maria
+a keepsake, but what shall it be? I might give
+her a piece of my gold chain. If you have a
+little medallion or a crucifix you may attach it to
+my chain and hang it round her neck. And now,
+Amen!"</p>
+
+<p>Franco was in tears. It was a great shock to
+hear the uncle speak of his death thus calmly, as
+if it had been some matter of business which must
+be arranged judiciously and honestly; the uncle
+who, when conversing with his friends, seemed
+so deeply attached to life that he would often
+say: "If one could only avoid that inevitable
+breakdown!!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Now tell me," said Uncle Piero, "what
+sort of work do you expect to find?"</p>
+
+<p>"T. writes that at first I am to go into a newspaper
+office in Turin. Perhaps I shall find something
+better later on. If I don't earn enough to
+live on in the office, and nothing else turns up, I
+shall come back. Therefore all this must be
+kept perfectly secret&mdash;at least, for a time."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Piero was incredulous concerning the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>
+possibility of secrecy. "And how about the
+letters?" he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>As to letters, it had been arranged that Franco
+should address his to the postoffice at Lugano, and
+Ismaele would take those from the family to
+Lugano, and bring back his. And what should
+they tell their friends? They had already said that
+Franco was going to Milan, on the eighth, on
+business, and would be absent perhaps a month,
+perhaps longer.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not the most agreeable thing in the world
+to have to throw dust in people's eyes," the
+uncle said. "But however...! I am going
+to embrace you now, Franco, for I know you are
+leaving early to-morrow morning, and we shall
+hardly be alone together to-day. Good-bye,
+then. Once more, remember all my injunctions,
+and don't forget me. Oh, one thing more! You
+are going to Turin. As a government official I
+always did what I could to be of service to my
+country. I never conspired, and I would not
+conspire even now, but I have always loved my
+country. And so, salute the tricolour for me.
+Good-bye, my dear boy!"</p>
+
+<p>Then Uncle Piero opened his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"You shall come to Piedmont also, uncle,"
+Franco said, as he rose from that embrace, greatly
+moved. "If I can only manage to earn money
+enough I shall send for you all."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah no, my dear boy! I am too old, I shall
+not make another move."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>
+ "Very well, then. I myself will come next
+spring, with two hundred thousand of my friends."</p>
+
+<p>"That's it! Two hundred thousand pumpkins!
+A fine idea! Fine hopes!&mdash;Oh! here is Signorina
+Missipiṕ."</p>
+
+<p>Signorina Missipiṕ&mdash;thus the family called
+Maria in happy moments&mdash;came in, dignified and
+serious. "Good-morning, uncle. Will you say
+'Missipiṕ' for me?"</p>
+
+<p>Her father lifted her up and placed her on Uncle
+Piero's bed. Smiling the old man drew her
+towards him, and set her across his legs.</p>
+
+<p>"Come here, miss. Did you sleep well? And
+did the doll sleep well, and the mule also? The
+mule was not there? So much the better. Yes,
+yes! I am coming to 'Missipiṕ.' Am I not to
+have a kiss first? Only one? Then I shall have
+to say:</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Proud shade of the river<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Missipiṕ,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Don't play you are bashful,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But of kisses give three."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Maria listened as if hearing the lines for the
+first time, then she burst out laughing, and began
+to jump and clap her hands, while her uncle laughed
+with her.</p>
+
+<p>"Papa," said she, suddenly becoming serious.
+"Why are you crying? Have you been naughty?"</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>They expected many friends would call that
+day, many who had promised to come and say
+good-bye to Franco before his departure for Milan.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>
+Luisa performed the miracle of lighting the stove
+in Siberia, as Uncle Piero called the hall, and at
+one time Donna Ester, the two Pauls from Loggio,
+Paolin and Paolon, and Professor Gilardoni were
+all there together. Then presently Signora Peppina
+arrived, most unexpectedly, for she had
+never been to see them since the search. "Oh,
+my dear <i>Süra</i> Luisa! Oh, my dear Don Franco!
+Is it true you are really going away?" Paolin
+began to shift uneasily on his chair, for he feared
+Signora Peppina had been sent by her husband to
+see who had and who had not rallied round the
+suspected man, in this house that was under the
+ban. He longed to go away at once with his
+Paolon, but Paolon was more dense. "How shall
+I manage now, with this idiot, who doesn't understand
+anything?" thought Paolin, and without
+looking at Paolon he said to him, in an undertone:
+"Let us go, <i>Paol</i>, let us go!" It did indeed take
+Paolon some time to get it through his head, but
+finally he arose and went out with Paolin, getting
+his lesson on the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Franco had the same thought as Paolin, and
+greeted Signora Peppina coldly. The poor woman
+could have wept, for she dearly loved his wife, and
+held Franco himself in great esteem, but she understood
+his aversion, and in her heart excused it.
+Franco was relieved when Veronica came to call
+him.</p>
+
+<p>He was wanted in the kitchen garden. He
+went there and found Signor Giacomo Puttini and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>
+Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri, who had come to
+say good-bye, but having been informed by
+Paolin and Paolon of the presence of Signora
+Peppina, they did not wish her to see them.
+Even the soil of the kitchen-garden scorched
+their feet. While the little lean hero was puffing
+and parrying Franco's invitation to go up to the
+house, the little fat hero was rolling his head and
+his small eyes like a good-natured blackbird,
+looking from the hills to the lake, almost from a
+habit of suspicion. He caught sight of a boat
+coming from Porlezza. Who knows? Might it
+not be bringing the Imperial and Royal Commissary?
+Although the boat was still at some
+distance, he immediately began to cast about for
+an excuse for going away, and determined to take
+Puttini to call upon the Receiver, as they would
+be sure of not finding Signora Peppina at home.</p>
+
+<p>Having lavished many hasty and muttered
+compliments on Franco, the two old hares trotted
+off, with bowed heads, leaving Franco in the
+kitchen-garden. Meanwhile the boat Don Giuseppe
+had seen had come rapidly forward, and
+was now passing in front of the garden, at some
+distance from the shore. It contained a lady and
+a gentleman. The gentleman rose and saluted
+Franco in a loud voice: "How are you, Don
+Franco? Long life to you!" The lady waved
+her handkerchief. The Pasottis! Franco saluted
+with his hat.</p>
+
+<p>The Pasottis in Valsolda in January! Why
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>
+had they come? And that greeting! Pasotti
+salute him thus? Pasotti, who had never been
+near them since the search? What did all this
+mean? Franco, greatly perplexed, went up to the
+house and told the news. All were amazed, and
+most of all Signora Peppina. "How? Do you
+really mean it? The Signor Controller of all
+men! And Signora Barborin also, poor little
+woman!" The event was excitedly discussed.
+Some thought one thing, some another. In
+about five minutes Pasotti came noisily in, dragging
+Signora Barborin behind him. She was
+laden with shawls and bundles and half dead with
+the cold. The poor creature could only keep
+repeating: "Two hours in the boat! Two hours
+in the boat!"</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever brought you to Valsolda in this
+weather, <i>Süra</i> Pasotti?" Peppina screamed at
+her. "Oh, gracious! She don't understand anything,
+poor little woman!" And though Luisa
+and Ester shouted the same question in her ear,
+and though she opened her mouth wide, the poor
+deaf woman could not understand, and continued
+to answer at random: "Have I had my
+dinner? If I will dine here?" At last Pasotti
+came to the rescue, and told them that he and his
+wife had been called away by urgent business in
+October, and the last washing had been left undone.
+His wife had been worrying him for some
+time about that blessed washing, and finally he
+had made up his mind to satisfy her by coming.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>
+Then Donna Ester turned to Signora Pasotti,
+going through the pantomime of washing.</p>
+
+<p>Barborin glanced at her husband, who had his
+eyes fixed upon her, and answered: "Yes, yes.
+The washing! The washing!" That glance, the
+order she read in the Controller's eyes, made Luisa
+suspect a mystery underlying all this. This
+mystery and the inexplicable effusiveness of
+Pasotti suggested another suspicion to her. What
+if they had come on her account and Franco's?
+What if the Professor's trip to Lodi had something
+to do with bringing about this unexpected
+visit? She would have liked to consult the Professor
+and beg him to remain until the Pasottis
+had left, but then, how could she speak to him
+without Franco's noticing it? Meanwhile Donna
+Ester was saying good-bye, and Gilardoni was
+graciously permitted to escort her home.</p>
+
+<p>The Pasottis could not go up to Albogasio
+Superiore until the farmer, who had been notified
+at once, should have had time to prepare and heat
+at least one room for their reception. The Controller
+at once proposed a three-handed game of
+<i>tarocchi</i> with the Engineer and Franco. Then
+Signora Peppina went away, and Barborin asked
+Luisa to allow her to withdraw for a few minutes,
+and begged her hostess to accompany her. As
+soon as he was alone with her friend in the alcove
+room, she glanced all about her with wide, frightened
+eyes, and then whispered: "We are not
+here on account of the washing, you know. Not
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>
+on account of the washing!" Luisa questioned
+her silently with face and gestures, for had she
+spoken in a loud voice they would have heard her
+in the hall. This time Signora Pasotti understood,
+and replied that she did not know anything, that
+her husband had not told her anything, that he
+had ordered her to corroborate the story about
+the washing, but that really she was not in the
+least anxious about it. Then Luisa took a piece
+of paper and wrote: "What do you suspect?"
+Signora Pasotti read the words, and then began
+a most complicated pantomime: shakings of
+the head, rollings of the eyes, sighs, imploring
+glances towards the ceiling. It was as if a mighty
+struggle were going on within her between hope
+and fear. At last she uttered an "Ah?" seized
+the pen, and wrote below Luisa's question:</p>
+
+<p>"The Marchesa!"</p>
+
+<p>Then she dropped the pen and stood looking
+at her friend. "She is at Lodi," she said in an
+undertone. "The Controller has been to Lodi.
+So there you have it!" And she hastened back
+to the hall, faring to arouse her husband's suspicions.</p>
+
+<p>The game over, Pasotti went to one of the
+windows, saying something in a loud voice about
+the effect of the twilight, and called Franco to
+him. "You must come and see me this evening,"
+he said softly. "I have something to say to you."
+Franco sought to excuse himself. He was starting
+the next morning for Milan, leaving his family
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>
+for some time; he could hardly spend this last
+evening away from home. Pasotti answered
+that it was absolutely necessary. "It concerns
+your journey to-morrow!" said he.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>"It concerns your journey to-morrow!" As
+soon as the Pasottis had left for Albogasio Superiore,
+Franco repeated the conversation to his
+wife. He had been much upset by it. So Pasotti
+knew! He would not have been so mysterious
+had he not been alluding to the journey to Turin,
+and Franco was greatly vexed to think that
+Pasotti was aware of this. But how had he found
+out? Perhaps the friend in Turin had been indiscreet.
+And now what did Pasotti want of
+him? Was another blow perhaps about to be
+struck by the police? But Pasotti was not the
+man to come and warn him. And all that hypocritical
+amiability? Perhaps they did not wish
+him to go to Turin, did not wish him to find an
+easier path, to free himself and his family from
+poverty, from commissaries and gendarmes. He
+thought and thought, and finally decided this must
+be the reason. In her heart Luisa greatly doubted
+it. She feared something else; but she also was
+persuaded Pasotti knew about Turin, and this
+upset all her suppositions. After all, the only
+way was to go and find out.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Franco went at eight o'clock and Pasotti received
+him with the most effusive cordiality, and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>
+apologised for his wife's absence, she having already
+gone to bed. Before opening the conversation
+he insisted that Franco should take a glass
+of S. Colombano, and a piece of <i>panettone</i>. With
+the wine and the cake Franco was obliged to
+swallow, much against his will, many declarations
+of friendship, and the most exalted eulogies
+upon his wife, his uncle, and himself. The glass
+and the plate being at last empty, the mellifluous
+rogue showed himself disposed to come to business.</p>
+
+<p>They were seated facing each other at a small
+table. Pasotti, leaning back comfortably in his
+chair, held a red and yellow silk handkerchief in
+his hands, with which he played constantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said he, "as I told you, my dear
+Franco, the matter concerns your journey to-morrow.
+I heard it said to-day at your house
+that you are going away on business. Now it
+remains to be seen whether I am not bringing you
+still more important business than that which calls
+you to Milan."</p>
+
+<p>Franco remained silent, surprised by this unexpected
+preamble. Pasotti continued, his eyes
+fixed on the handkerchief which he never ceased
+handling.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, my good friend Don Franco Maironi
+knows that if I touch upon intimate and delicate
+questions it is because I have a serious reason for
+doing so; because I feel it my duty, and because
+I am authorised to do so."</p>
+
+<p>The hands became still, the shining and cunning
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>
+eyes were raised to Franco's distrustful and
+troubled eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"It concerns both your present and your future,
+my dear Franco."</p>
+
+<p>Having uttered these words, Pasotti resolutely
+laid aside the handkerchief. Resting his arms
+and his clasped hands on the little table, he went
+to the heart of the matter, keeping his eyes fixed
+upon Franco, who now, in his turn, leaning back
+in his chair, returned the gaze, his face pale, his
+attitude one of hostile defiance.</p>
+
+<p>"You must know that the old friendship I bear
+your family has long been urging me to do something
+to put an end to a most painful quarrel.
+Your good father, Don Alessandro!&mdash;What a
+heart of gold!&mdash;How fond he was of me!" (Franco
+was aware that his father had once threatened
+Pasotti with his cane, for meddling overmuch in
+his family affairs.) "Never mind! Having learned
+that your grandmother was at Lodi, I said to
+myself last Sunday: After all the trouble the Maironis
+have had, perhaps this is the right moment.
+Let us go and make the attempt. And I went."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. Franco was quivering.
+What a mediator he had had! And who had
+asked for mediation?</p>
+
+<p>"I must tell you," Pasotti went on, "that I
+feel satisfied. Your grandmother has her own
+opinions, and she has reached an age when opinions
+are not easily changed; you know her character;
+she is very firm, but after all, she is not heartless.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>
+She loves you, you know, and she suffers. There
+is a continuous struggle going on within her,
+between her sentiments and her principles; or,
+one might rather say, between her sentiments
+and her resentment. Poor Marchesa, it is painful
+to see how she suffers! But anyhow she is
+beginning to yield. Of course we must not expect
+too much. She is indeed yielding, but not
+sufficiently to break what sustains her&mdash;her principles
+I mean, especially her political principles."</p>
+
+<p>Franco's eyes, his twitching jaws, a quivering
+of his whole person said to Pasotti: "Woe to
+you if you touch upon that point!" Pasotti
+stopped. Perhaps he was thinking of the cane of
+the late Don Alessandro.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand your feelings," he continued.
+"Do you think I don't? I eat the government's
+bread, and must keep what I feel shut up in my
+heart, but, nevertheless, I am with you. I sigh
+for the moment when certain colours shall replace
+certain others. But your grandmother
+holds different opinions, and there is nothing for
+it but to take her as she is. If we want to arrive
+at an understanding we must take her as she is.
+You may seek to oppose her as I myself did,
+but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"All this talk appears to me perfectly useless,"
+Franco exclaimed, rising.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait!" Pasotti added. "The affair may
+not prove as disagreeable as you think! Sit down
+and listen."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>
+ But Franco would not hear of resuming his seat.</p>
+
+<p>"Out with it, then!" said he, his voice ringing
+impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>"First of all your grandmother is prepared to
+recognise your marriage&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"How kind!" Franco put in.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait!&mdash;--and to make you a suitable allowance:
+from what I heard I should think of
+from six to eight thousand <i>svanziche</i> a year. Not
+bad, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Go on."</p>
+
+<p>"Be patient! There is nothing humiliating in
+all this. Had there been a single humiliating
+condition I should not have mentioned the matter
+to you. Your grandmother wishes you to have
+an occupation, and also desires that you give a
+certain guarantee not to take part in political
+doings. Now there is a decorous way of combining
+these two points, as you yourself will be
+obliged to recognise, although I tell you plainly
+that I had proposed a different course to your
+grandmother. My idea was that she should place
+you at the head of her affairs. You would have
+had enough to do to keep you from thinking of
+anything else. However, your grandmother's
+idea is good also. I know fine young fellows
+like yourself, who think as you do, and who
+are in the judicial service. It is a most independent
+and respectable calling. A word from
+you and you will find yourself an auditor of the
+court."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>
+ "I?" Franco burst out. "I? No, my dear
+Pasotti! No! They don't send the police into
+my house&mdash;be quiet!&mdash;they don't brutally dismiss
+from service an honest man, whose only crime is
+that he is my wife's uncle,&mdash;be quiet, I tell you!&mdash;they
+don't seek every possible means of reducing
+my family and myself to the verge of starvation
+to-day, that they may offer us filthy bread to-morrow!
+No, my man, no! Do your worst!
+By God! I am not to be trapped by any one
+through hunger! Tell my grandmother so, you&mdash;&mdash;you&mdash;&mdash;you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti's nature certainly had much that was
+feline; he was rapacious, cunning, prudent, a
+flatterer, quick to feign, but also subject to fits of
+rage. He had continued to interrupt Maironi's
+outpouring with protests which became ever more
+violent, and at this last invective, forseeing the
+approach of a deluge of accusations which were
+all the more exasperating because he could guess
+their character, he also started to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop!" said he. "What do you mean by all
+this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Good-night!" cried Franco, who had seized
+his hat. But Pasotti had no intention of letting
+him go thus. "One moment!" said he, bringing
+his fist down swiftly and repeatedly on the little
+table. "You people are deluding yourselves!
+You hope great things from that will; but it is
+not a will at all, it is simply a bit of waste paper,
+the ravings of a madman!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>
+ Franco, who had already reached the door,
+stopped short, stunned by the blow. "What
+will?" said he.</p>
+
+<p>"Come now!" Pasotti retorted, half coldly,
+half mockingly. "We understand each other
+perfectly!"</p>
+
+<p>A flash of rage once more set Franco's blood on
+fire. "We do not!" he cried. "Out with it!
+Speak! What do you know of any will?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Now we are getting on famously!"
+Pasotti said with ironical sweetness.</p>
+
+<p>Franco could have strangled him.</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't I tell you I have been to Lodi? So of
+course I know!"</p>
+
+<p>Franco, quite beside himself, protested that he
+was entirely in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," Pasotti continued, with greater
+irony than before. "It is for me to enlighten
+the gentleman! Then I will inform you that Professor
+Gilardoni, who is by no means the friend
+you believe him to be, went to Lodi at the end of
+December, and presented himself before the
+Marchesa with a legally worthless copy of a will
+which he pretends was made by your late grandfather.
+This will appoints you, Don Franco,
+residuary legatee, in terms attrociously insulting
+to both the wife and the son of the testator.
+So now you know. Indeed, Signor Gilardoni did
+not betray his trust, but stated that he had come
+on his own responsibility, and without your
+knowledge."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>
+ Franco listened, as pale as death, feeling darkness
+creeping over his sight and his soul, mustering
+all his strength that he might not lose his head,
+but be able to give a fitting answer.</p>
+
+<p>"You are right," said he. "Grandmother is
+right also. It is Professor Gilardoni who has
+done wrong. He showed me that will three years
+ago, on the night of my marriage. I told him to
+burn it, and believed he had done so. If he did
+not, he deceived me. If he really went to Lodi
+on the charming errand you describe, he has committed
+an act of outrageous indelicacy and stupidity.
+You were quite justified in thinking ill of us.
+But mark this! I despise my grandmother's
+money as heartily as I despise the money of the
+government, and as this lady has the good fortune
+to be the mother of my father, I will never&mdash;never,
+I say&mdash;although she resort to the most
+base, the most perfidious means of ruining me&mdash;never
+make use of a document that dishonours
+her. I am too much her superior! Go and
+tell her this in my name, and tell her also to
+withdraw her offers, for I spurn them! Good-night!!"</p>
+
+<p>He left Pasotti in a state of utter amazement,
+and went his way, trembling with over-excitement
+and rage. He forgot his lantern, and went
+down the hill in the dark, striding along, neither
+knowing nor caring where he placed his feet, and
+from time to time uttering an ejaculation, pouring
+out that which was seething within him
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>&mdash;rage
+against Gilardoni, and accusations against
+Luisa!</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Uncle Piero had gone to bed early, and Luisa
+was waiting for Franco in the little salon with
+Maria, whom she had kept up that her father
+might see something of her this last night. Poor
+little Signorina Missipiṕ had very soon grown
+weary, and had begun to open wide her little
+mouth, and assume a tearful expression, asking
+in a small and pitiful voice: "When is papa
+coming?" But she possessed a mamma who was
+unrivalled in consoling the afflicted. Now it was
+some time since Signorina Missipiṕ had owned a
+pair of whole little shoes: and little shoes, even in
+Valsolda, cost money. Not much money, it is
+true, but what is to be done when you have hardly
+any? However, this unique mamma was also
+unrivalled in shoeing those who were shoeless.
+The very day before, Luisa, in searching for a
+piece of rope in the attic, had found a boot which
+had belonged to her grandfather, buried beneath a
+heap of rubbish, of empty boxes and broken chairs.
+She had put it in water to soften, and had borrowed
+a shoemaker's knife, an awl, and shears. She
+now took the venerable boot, that frightened
+Maria, and placed it on the table. "Now we will
+recite its funeral oration," said she, with that liveliness
+she could assume at will, and of which even
+mortal anguish could not rob her, if she deemed it
+necessary to be lively. "But first you must ask
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>
+your great-grandfather's permission to take his
+boot." She made Maria clasp her hands, and
+recite the following jingle, her eyes comically
+raised to the ceiling.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Great granddad of mine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who to heav'n did climb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This boot, to you useless<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pray give to this princess,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who longs in vain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For slippers twain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And throws you a kiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pert little Miss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which she begs you to put<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the sole of your foot.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Then followed a somewhat irreverent fancy, one
+of many such born in Luisa's brain&mdash;a strange
+story of the little angel who polishes the boots in
+heaven, and who one day let great-grandfather's
+boot fall to the earth while attempting to grab a
+bit of golden bread he had been forbidden to touch.
+Maria brightened visibly; she laughed and interrupted
+her mother with a hundred questions concerning
+the other boot that was still in heaven.
+What would her great-grandfather do with that?
+Her mother replied that he would apply it from
+behind to the Emperor of Austria, and push him
+out of heaven with it, if he chanced to meet him
+there.</p>
+
+<p>Just at that moment Franco entered.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa at once saw signs of storm on his brow
+and in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" she questioned. Franco answered
+shortly: "Put Maria to bed."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>
+ Luisa observed that she had kept the child up
+waiting for him, that she might spend a little time
+with him. "I tell you to put her to bed!" Franco
+said, so harshly that Maria began to cry. Luisa
+flushed, but was silent. Lighting a candle she
+took the child in her arms and silently held her up
+that her father might give her a kiss. He did so
+coldly, and then Luisa carried her away. Franco
+did not follow her. The sight of the boot irritated
+him, and he threw it upon the floor. Then he sat
+down, planted his elbows on the table, and rested
+his head in his hands.</p>
+
+<p>The bitter thought that Luisa was Gilardoni's
+accomplice had immediately flashed into his mind
+while Pasotti was talking, and with it there came
+also the recollection of that "Why be silent?" of
+that "Enough!" and of the child's story. He
+felt as if he had a whirlwind within him, in which
+this idea was being continually caught up and
+whirled away, to reappear again farther down,
+ever nearer the heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" Luisa once more asked, as she entered
+the room. Franco looked at her a moment in
+silence, scrutinising her closely. Then he rose and
+seized her hands. "Tell me if you know anything?"
+said he. She guessed his meaning, but that look
+and manner offended her. "What do you mean?"
+she exclaimed, her face aflame. "Why do you ask
+in that way?" "Ah! you do know!" cried Franco
+flinging away her hands, and raising his arms with
+a despairing gesture.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>
+ She foresaw what was coming&mdash;his suspicion of
+her complicity with Gilardoni, her denial, and the
+mortal irremediable offence Franco would be
+offering her if, in his wrath, he refused to trust her
+word, and she clasped her hands in terror. "No,
+Franco! No, Franco!" she murmured softly, and
+threw her arms about his neck, striving to close his
+lips with kisses. But he misunderstood her, believed
+she was seeking forgiveness, and pushed her
+aside. "I know! Yes, I know!" she cried, once
+more casting herself passionately upon his breast.
+"But I found out afterwards, when it was already
+done, and I was as indignant as you are, even more
+indignant!" But Franco was too anxious to give
+vent to his feelings, too anxious to offend. "How
+can I know you are speaking the truth?" he exclaimed.
+She started back with a cry, and then
+once more coming a step nearer, she held out her
+arms to him. "No, no!" she entreated in agony,
+"Tell me you believe me! Tell me so now, for if
+you do not say so, you don't know, you can't
+realise what will happen!"</p>
+
+<p>"What is it I can't realise?"</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know me as I am, for though I may
+love you still, I can never again be a wife to you,
+and though I may suffer deeply, I shall never
+change, never again. Do you realise what that
+means, <i>never again</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>He drew her slender, trembling figure towards
+him, pressed her hands as if to crush them, and
+said, in a stifled voice: "I will believe you! Indeed
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>
+I will believe you!" But Luisa, gazing at him
+through her tears, was not satisfied. "I <i>will</i>
+believe you?" she said. "I <i>will</i> believe you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do believe you, I do believe you!"</p>
+
+<p>Indeed he did believe her; but where there is
+anger there is always pride as well. He did not
+wish to surrender entirely, and at once, and his
+tone was rather condescending than convinced.
+Both were silent, holding each other's hands, and
+then with a slow, almost imperceptible movement
+they began to draw apart. It was Luisa who at
+last gently drew away completely. She felt this
+silence must be broken; he could find no glowing
+words, and cold words she would not speak, so she
+began to tell him how she had heard of the unfortunate
+journey to Lodi from Gilardoni himself.
+Seated at the table opposite her husband, she
+spoke in a calm voice that was not precisely cold,
+but rather grieved. While she was relating the
+Professor's disclosures Franco again took fire, and
+often interrupted her. "And did you not say
+that to him?&mdash;And did you not say this to him?&mdash;Did
+you tell him he was a fool?&mdash;Did you not call
+him an ass?" At first Luisa ignored these exclamations,
+but finally she protested. She had
+already said that Gilardoni's blunder had filled her
+with indignation, but now it would almost seem as
+if her husband doubted this. Franco was reduced
+to unwilling silence.</p>
+
+<p>Her story finished, he once more stormed
+against that blockhead of a philosopher, and Luisa
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span>
+was moved to take his part. After all he was
+their friend; he had indeed made a terrible mistake,
+but with the best of intentions. Where
+were all Franco's maxims about charity, and forgiving
+injuries, if he was not willing to forgive
+one whose only wish had been to benefit him?
+And here thoughts came to her which she did not
+utter. She reflected that Franco was ready
+enough to forgive great things when there was
+glory and sometimes even folly in forgiving, while
+he would not now forgive a slight offence when
+there were the best of reasons for doing so. When
+she spoke of charity Franco became exasperated;
+he did not venture to say he felt he did not deserve
+a similar attack, but returned the blow somewhat
+roughly. "Ah! Indeed!" he exclaimed, with a
+reticence that was full of insinuations. "So you
+defend him! Oh, of course!"</p>
+
+<p>Luisa's shoulders twitched nervously, but she
+held her peace.</p>
+
+<p>"And why did you not speak!" Franco continued.
+"Why did you not tell me everything at
+once?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because when I reproached Gilardoni he entreated
+me not to tell. Besides, I thought&mdash;and
+I was perfectly correct&mdash;that the thing being done,
+it was useless to cause you such great annoyance.
+The last day of the year, when you were so angry,
+I wished to tell you, to relate all Gilardoni had
+confided to me. Do you remember? But you
+absolutely refused to listen. I did not insist,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>
+especially as Gilardoni had told your
+grandmother we knew nothing about the matter."</p>
+
+<p>"She did not believe him. Naturally!"</p>
+
+<p>"And what good would it have done if I had
+spoken? As it is, Pasotti must have seen plainly
+that you knew nothing."</p>
+
+<p>Franco did not answer. Then Luisa asked him
+to repeat the conversation to her, and she listened
+to his recital with breathless attention. She
+guessed, her intuition sharpened by hatred, that
+if Franco had accepted the proffered position, a
+further condition would have been imposed:
+separation from her uncle, from an official who had
+been dismissed from service for political reasons.
+"Certainly," she said, "she would have demanded
+this also. <i>Canaille!</i>" Her husband started, as
+if he also had been cut to the quick by that lash.
+"Steady," said he. "Be careful of your expressions!
+In the first place, that is only a supposition
+of yours, and then&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Only a supposition? And how about the rest?
+How about the cowardly action she proposed to
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>Franco, who had answered Pasotti with such
+violence, now answered his wife weakly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, yes! But after all&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>It was her turn to be violent now. The idea
+that his grandmother should dare propose that
+they forsake the uncle drove her nearly out of her
+mind. "You will at least acknowledge this,"
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span>
+she cried, "that she deserves no mercy? My God!
+And to think that will still exists!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" Franco exclaimed. "Are we to begin
+over again?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Let us begin over again!</i> Have you any right
+to demand that I shall neither think nor feel save
+in such a way as is pleasing to you? Did I obey
+you I should be cowardly, I should deserve to become
+a slave. And I will be neither cowardly nor
+a slave!"</p>
+
+<p>The rebel he had suspected, even felt at times
+lurking behind the loving woman, the creature
+possessed of an intellect intensely proud, and
+stronger than love, whom he had never succeeded
+in conquering completely, now stood before
+him, quivering in the consciousness of her
+rebellion.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well!" said Franco, as if speaking to himself,
+"so you would be cowardly, would be a slave?
+Do you at least reflect that I am going away to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do not go! Stay here! Carry out your grandfather's
+wishes. Remember what you told me
+concerning the origin of the Maironi wealth.
+Give it all back to the Ospitale Maggiore. See
+that justice is done!"</p>
+
+<p>"No," Franco retorted. "These are idle
+dreams. The end does not justify the means.
+The real end with you is to strike my grandmother.
+This talk of the Ospitale is simply a means of
+justifying the blow. No, I will never make use of
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>
+that will. I declared as much to Pasotti, in such
+strong language that should I ever change, I
+should deserve to be spit upon. I shall certainly
+leave to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>A long silence followed, then the dialogue was
+once more resumed, but the two voices were cold
+and sad as if now some dead thing lay in the heart
+of either.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you realise," said Franco, "that I should be
+dishonouring my own father?"</p>
+
+<p>"In what way?"</p>
+
+<p>"In the first place by the outrageous nature of
+the terms in which the document is couched, and
+then by implying my father's complicity in the
+suppression of the will. But then you don't
+understand these matters. And, after all, what
+do you care?"</p>
+
+<p>"But there is no need to speak of suppression.
+It is quite possible the will was never found."</p>
+
+<p>Another silence. Even the tallow candle that
+was burning on the table had a lugubrious look.
+Luisa rose, picked up the great-grandfather's
+boot, and prepared to begin her work. Franco
+went to the window and pressed his forehead
+against the glass. He remained there some time,
+absorbed in contemplation of the shadows of night.
+Presently he said softly, without turning his head:</p>
+
+<p>"Never, never has your soul been wholly mine."</p>
+
+<p>No answer.</p>
+
+<p>Then he faced about and asked his wife in a
+tone entirely free from anger, and with that ineffable
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>
+gentleness which was his in moments of
+moral or physical depression, if, since the very beginning
+of their union, he had ever failed her in
+any way. An almost inaudible "No" was the
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Then perhaps you did not love me as I believed?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no!"</p>
+
+<p>Franco was not sure he had understood
+correctly, and repeated:</p>
+
+<p>"You did not love me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes! So dearly!"</p>
+
+<p>His spirits began to revive, and a shade of
+severity returned to his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said he, "why did you not give me
+your whole soul?"</p>
+
+<p>She was silent. She had been trying in vain to
+resume her work, but her hands trembled.</p>
+
+<p>And now this terrible question! Should she
+answer or not? By answering, by revealing for
+the first time things that lay buried at the bottom
+of her heart, she would only be widening the
+painful gap between them; but could she be
+dishonest? She was silent so long that at last
+Franco said: "You will not speak?" Then she
+mustered all her strength and spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"It is true, my soul has never been wholly
+yours." She trembled as she spoke the words,
+and Franco held his breath.</p>
+
+<p>"I have always felt myself different from you,
+separated from you," Luisa continued, "in that
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>
+sentiment which should govern all others. You
+hold the religious views my mother held. Religion
+was to my mother, as it is to you, a union of
+certain beliefs, ceremonies, and precepts, inspired
+and governed by the love of God. I have always
+shrunk from this conception of religion; no matter
+how hard I may have tried, I have never been
+able to feel this love of an invisible and incomprehensible
+Being; I have never been able to
+understand what good could come of forcing my
+reason to accept things I do not understand.
+Nevertheless I felt an ardent longing to direct
+my life towards what was good, according to a
+disinterested ideal. Moreover, by her words and
+example my mother had embued me with such a
+strong sense of my duty towards God and the
+Church, that my doubts caused me great pain,
+and I struggled hard against them. My mother
+was a saint. Every act of her life was in harmony
+with her faith. This also influenced me strongly.
+And then I knew that the greatest sorrow of her
+life had been my father's unbelief. I met you,
+loved you, married you, and I was strengthened
+in my resolve to become as you are in matters of
+religion, because I believed you were as my mother
+was. Then, little by little, I discovered you are
+not like my mother. Shall I go on?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, to the end!"</p>
+
+<p>"I discovered you were kindness itself, that you
+had the warmest, most generous heart in the
+world, but that your faith and your religious
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>
+practices rendered these treasures almost useless.
+You did not strive! You were satisfied to love me,
+the child, Italy, your flowers, your music, the
+beauty of the lake and the mountains. In this
+you followed your heart. As to a higher ideal,
+it was sufficient for you to believe and to pray.
+Without this faith and without these prayers you
+would have given the fire that is in your soul to
+that which is surely true, which is surely just in
+this world, you would have felt the same need to be
+doing that I feel. You are well aware, are you
+not, what I could have wished you to be in certain
+things? For example, who feels patriotism more
+keenly than you do? Surely no one. Well, I
+could have wished to see you endeavour to serve
+your country seriously, and according to your
+strength. Now you are indeed going to Piedmont,
+but your principal reason for doing so is that we
+have hardly anything left to live upon."</p>
+
+<p>Franco, frowning angrily, made an impatient
+gesture of protest. "If you wish it I will stop,"
+Luisa said humbly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. Go on! Let us have the whole of it!
+It will be better!"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke so excitedly, so angrily, that Luisa
+was silent, and it was only after a second, "Go
+on!" that she continued.</p>
+
+<p>"Without going to Piedmont there would have
+been enough to do here in Valsolda, in Val Porlezza,
+in Vall' Intelvi; what V. does on the Lake
+of Como, communicating with different people,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>
+keeping the right spirit alive, preparing all that
+must be prepared against the coming of war, if,
+indeed, it ever comes. I used to tell you so, but
+you would not be convinced, you saw so many
+difficulties in the way. This sluggishness fostered
+my repugnance to your conception of religion,
+and my tendency towards another conception.
+For I also felt myself intensely religious.
+The conception of religion which was gradually
+shaping itself clearly in my mind was, in substance,
+as follows: God really exists, and is powerful
+and wise as you believe, but He is perfectly
+indifferent to our adoration of Him, and prayers to
+Him. What He demands of us is what we may
+learn from the heart he has formed for each one
+of us, from the conscience He has given us, from
+the surroundings in which He has placed us. He
+wishes us to love all that is good, to hate all that
+is evil, to labour with all our strength, according
+to this love and this hatred, and to occupy ourselves
+exclusively with the things of this world, with
+things we can comprehend, that can be felt!
+Now you will understand what my idea really is of
+my duty, of our duty, in the face of all injustice,
+all tyranny!"</p>
+
+<p>The further she went in this definition, this
+exposure of her own views, the greater was the
+relief she experienced in so doing, in being perfectly
+sincere at last, in frankly taking her stand
+on her own firm ground, and gradually all indignation
+against her husband died down within
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>
+her, and in her heart there arose a tender pity for
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed," she added, "if it had been only this
+trouble about your grandmother, do you think I
+would not rather have sacrificed my own opinion
+a thousand times, rather than grieve you? There
+was something else underlying that. Now you
+know all. Now I have laid my bare soul in your
+hands."</p>
+
+<p>She read dull pain and hostile coldness on her
+husband's brow. She rose and moved towards
+him very slowly, with clasped hands, gazing at
+him, seeking his eyes, which avoided hers, and
+then halted on the way, repulsed by some higher
+power, for he had neither spoken nor made a
+gesture.</p>
+
+<p>"Franco!" she entreated, "can you no longer
+love me?"</p>
+
+<p>He did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Franco! Franco!" she cried, stretching out
+her clasped hands. Then she started to move
+forward. He drew back with a rapid movement.
+Thus they stood in silence, face to face, for half a
+minute that seemed an eternity.</p>
+
+<p>Franco's lips were pressed tight together, and
+she could hear his quick breathing. It was he
+who broke the silence.</p>
+
+<p>"What you have said is exactly what you feel?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes!"</p>
+
+<p>His hands were clutching the back of a chair.
+He shook it violently, saying bitterly: "Enough!"
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>
+Luisa looked at him with inexpressible sadness,
+and murmured: "Enough?" He answered angrily,
+"Enough, enough, enough!" After a moment's
+silence he went on harshly: "I may be indolent,
+sluggish, selfish, anything you like, but I am
+not a boy to be soothed by a couple of caresses after
+all you have said to me. Enough, I tell you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Franco! I know I have hurt you, but it
+has cost me so much, having to hurt you! Can't
+you take me kindly?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, take you kindly, indeed! You wish to be
+free to inflict any wound, and then expect to be
+taken kindly! You are superior to every one
+else! You judge, you pass sentence, you alone
+understand what God wishes and what He does
+not wish? But this at least I will not have!
+Say whatever you like about me, but let those
+things you do not understand alone. You had
+better be working on your boot!"</p>
+
+<p>He was determined to see only pride in his wife,
+while his own anger was born almost wholly of
+pride, of outraged self-esteem; it was an impure
+anger which darkened his brain and his heart.
+Both husband and wife would have acknowledged
+the justice of any other accusation sooner than that
+of pride.</p>
+
+<p>She silently resumed her seat and tried to resume
+her work as well, but she handled the tools
+nervously without really knowing what she was
+doing. Franco went into the hall, banging the
+door behind him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>
+ It was very cold in the darkness of the hall which
+had been unoccupied since five o'clock, but Franco
+did not notice this. He threw himself upon the
+sofa, giving himself up entirely to his grief, to his
+anger, to an easy and violent mental defence of
+himself against his wife. As Luisa had rebelled
+against God and against himself&mdash;though indeed
+she had made a distinction&mdash;he now found it convenient
+to make common cause in his heart with
+that other mute and terrible One whom she had
+offended. At first astonishment, bitterness, rage,
+good reasons and bad, formed a whirling tempest
+in his brain. Then he found relief for his feelings
+in imagining Luisa's repentance, her prayers for
+forgiveness, and his own magnanimous answers.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he heard Maria screaming and crying.
+He rose to go and see what had happened, but he
+was without a light. He waited a moment thinking
+Luisa would go out, but he did not hear her
+move, and the child was screaming louder than
+ever. Very softly he went towards the parlour,
+and looked in through the glass door.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa had hidden her face in her arms, which
+were crossed on the table, and the light of the
+candle revealed only her beautiful dark hair.
+Franco felt his anger cooling, he opened the door,
+and called softly, his tone still gently severe:
+"Luisa, Maria is crying." Luisa raised her face,
+which was very pale, took the candle and went out
+without a word. Her husband followed her.
+They found the child sitting up in bed bathed in
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>
+tears; a dream had frightened her. When she
+saw her father she stretched out her arms to him.
+"Not go away, papa, not go away!" she entreated,
+her voice big with tears. Franco pressed her in
+his arms, covered her with kisses, soothed her,
+and then put her back into her little bed. But
+she clung tightly to one of her father's hands, and
+could not be prevailed upon to let it go.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa took another candle from the table and
+tried to light it, but her hands shook so she did
+not succeed. "Are you not coming to bed?"
+Franco asked. "No," she said, trembling more
+violently than ever. Franco thought he divined
+a supposition, a fear in her, and was offended.
+"Oh, you can come!" he said angrily. Luisa
+lighted her candle and said, more calmly, that she
+must work on the little shoes. She went out, and
+only on the threshold did she murmur: "Good-night."
+"Good-night," Franco answered coldly.
+For a moment he thought he would undress, but
+he presently relinquished his intention because
+his wife was still up, and at work. He spread
+back the coverlet and lay down in his clothes, on
+the side of the bed next to the child, that he
+might hold Maria's little hand&mdash;she had not yet
+gone to sleep&mdash;and put out the light.</p>
+
+<p>What sweetness in the touch of that dear, tiny
+hand! Franco felt her the little child she was,
+his daughter, the innocent, loving baby, and then
+he imagined her a woman, her heart all his,
+united to him in every thought, every sentiment,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>
+and he fancied the little hand that pressed his
+was striving to compensate him for all that Luisa
+had made him suffer, and was saying: "Papa,
+you and I are united for ever!" Good God! he
+shuddered at the thought that Luisa might wish to
+bring her up in her own way of thinking, and that
+he, being far away, would be powerless to prevent
+this. He prayed to God, to the Virgin Mary, to
+the saintly grandmother Teresa, to his own
+mother, who, he was well aware, had been so pure
+and so pious. "Watch over my Maria, watch
+over her!" he murmured. He offered to sacrifice
+his whole being, his earthly happiness, his health,
+even life itself, that Maria might be saved from
+error.</p>
+
+<p>"Papa," said the child, "a kiss."</p>
+
+<p>He leaned out of bed, and, bending down,
+sought the dear little face in the dark, and told her
+to be quiet, to go to sleep. She was silent for a
+moment, and then called&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Papa!"</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't got the mule under my pillow, you
+know, papa."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, dear, but now go to sleep."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, papa, I am going to sleep."</p>
+
+<p>Once more she was silent for a moment and
+then said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Is mamma in bed, papa?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>
+ "Because she is making little shoes for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I wear shoes in heaven also, like great
+grandfather?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush! Go to sleep."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me a story, papa."</p>
+
+<p>He tried, but he had neither Luisa's imagination
+nor her skill, and soon came to a stand-still.
+"Oh, papa!" said Maria, in a compassionate tone,
+"you don't know how to tell stories."</p>
+
+<p>This was humiliating. "Listen, listen!" he
+answered, and began reciting a ballad by Carrer,
+always going back to the beginning after the first
+four lines, which were all he knew of it, his expression
+becoming ever more mysterious, his voice
+ever fainter, until it was only an inarticulate
+murmur, and thus at last Signorina Missipiṕ,
+lulled by the rhythm of the lines, passed with
+them into the world of dreams. When he heard
+her sleeping peacefully it seemed to him he was
+so cruel to leave her, he felt himself such a traitor,
+that he wavered in his resolve. He at once controlled
+himself, however.</p>
+
+<p>The sweet dialogue with the child had greatly
+soothed him and raised his spirits. He began to
+be conscious of an imperative duty towards his
+wife which would henceforth be incumbent upon
+him. He must show himself a man, both in will
+and in deed, and this at the cost of any sacrifice.
+He must defend his faith against her by his works,
+by leaving home, by labour and suffering; and
+then&mdash;and then&mdash;if Almighty God should see fit
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>
+to allow the cannon to roar for Italy, he must push
+ever to the front; and let the Austrian ball come,
+if it but teach her to weep and pray at last!</p>
+
+<p>He remembered that he had not said his evening
+prayers. Poor Franco, he had never been
+able to say them in bed without dropping off to
+sleep before they were half finished. Feeling
+comparatively calm, and reflecting that it might
+perhaps be some time before Luisa came to bed,
+he feared he should go to sleep, and what would
+she say if she found him sleeping? He rose very
+softly and said his prayers; then he lighted the
+candle and sat down at the writing-desk, intending
+to read, but presently he fell asleep in his
+chair.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>He was aroused by the beat of Veronica's
+wooden shoes on the stairs. Luisa was not yet
+come. Soon, however, she entered the room, and
+expressed no surprise at seeing Franco already
+up.</p>
+
+<p>"It is four o'clock," she said. "If you intend
+to start, you have only half an hour's time."
+He must leave home at half-past four, to be sure
+of reaching Menaggio in time for the first boat
+coming from Colico. Instead of going to Como
+and thence to Milan as had been officially announced,
+Franco was to leave the steamer
+at Argegno and go up to S. Fedele, coming down
+into Switzerland by Val Mara or by Orimento and
+Monte Generoso.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>
+ Franco signed to his wife to be quiet, that she
+might not disturb Maria. Then with another
+silent gesture he called her to him.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going," he said. "Last night I was
+harsh with you. I beg you to forgive me. I
+should have answered you differently, even though
+I was in the right. You know my temperament.
+Forgive me! At least, do not let us part in anger."</p>
+
+<p>"For my part I feel none," Luisa answered
+gently, as one who finds it easy to condescend,
+because he feels himself superior.</p>
+
+<p>The final preparations were made in silence;
+breakfast was eaten in silence. Franco went to
+embrace the uncle to whom he had not said good-bye
+the night before; then he returned to the
+alcove-room alone, and kneeling beside the little
+bed, touched with his lips a tiny hand that was
+hanging over the edge. Upon returning to the
+parlour he found Luisa in shawl and hat, and
+asked if she were going to Porlezza also. Yes,
+she was going. Everything was ready. Luisa
+had the handbag, the valise was in the boat, and
+Ismaele was waiting on the stairs of the boathouse,
+one foot on the step, the other on the prow of the
+boat.</p>
+
+<p>Veronica accompanied the travellers with a
+light, and wished her master a pleasant journey,
+with a crestfallen expression, for she had an
+inkling of the quarrel.</p>
+
+<p>Two minutes later and the heavy boat, pushed
+forward by Ismaele's slow and steady "travelling
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>
+strokes," was passing beneath the wall of the
+kitchen-garden. Franco put his head out of the
+little window. The rose-bushes, the caper-bushes,
+and the aloes hanging from the wall, passed
+slowly in the pale light of this starry but moonless
+night; then the orange-trees, the medlar, and the
+pine slipped by. Good-bye! Good-bye! They
+passed the cemetery, the <i>Zocca di Mainè</i>, the
+narrow lane where he had so often walked with
+Maria, the Tavorell. Franco no longer watched.
+The light that usually burned in the little cabin
+was not there to-night, and he could not see his
+wife, who was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to Porlezza about those papers of
+the notary's, or simply to accompany me?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"This too!" Luisa murmured sadly. "I tried
+to be strictly honest with you, and you took
+offence. You ask my forgiveness, and now you
+say such things as this to me. I see that one
+cannot be faithful to truth without great, great
+suffering. But patience! I have chosen that
+path now. You will know soon whether I really
+came on your account or not. Do not humble
+me by making me say so now."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Do not humble me!</i>" Franco exclaimed. "I
+do not understand. We are indeed different in
+so many ways. My God, how different we are!
+You are always so completely mistress of yourself,
+you can always express your thoughts so
+exactly, they are always so clear, so cool."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa murmured: "Yes, we are different."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>
+ Neither spoke again until they reached Cressogno.
+When they were near the Marchesa's villa
+Luisa began to talk, and tried to keep the conversation
+alive until they should have left the villa
+behind. She asked him to repeat to her the itinerary
+that had been arranged for his journey, and
+suggested that he take only his handbag with him,
+for the valise would be a burden from Argegno on.
+She had already spoken to Ismaele about it, and he
+had promised to carry it to Lugano and send it
+on to Turin from that place. Meanwhile they had
+passed his grandmother's villa.</p>
+
+<p>Now the sanctuary of Caravina came in sight.
+Twice during their courtship Franco and Luisa
+had met under those olive-trees, at the <i>festa</i> of
+Caravina, on the eighth of September. And now
+the dear little church in its grove of olives, beneath
+the awful rocks of the peak of Cressogno,
+was left behind also. Farewell, little church.
+Farewell to the past!</p>
+
+<p>"Remember," Franco said, almost harshly,
+"that Maria is to say her prayers every morning
+and evening. It is an order I give you."</p>
+
+<p>"I should have made her do so without this
+order," Luisa answered. "I know Maria does
+not belong to me alone."</p>
+
+<p>Then they were silent all the way to Porlezza.
+Coming forth from the tranquil bay of Valsolda,
+seeing other valleys, other horizons, the lake just
+rippled by the first breath of dawn, the two
+travellers were drawn towards other thoughts,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>
+were led to think, without knowing why, of the
+uncertain future, which must bring great events,
+of which prophetic whisperings already circulated
+mysteriously through the heavy Austrian silence.
+Some one called out from the shore at Porlezza,
+and Ismaele began to row rapidly. It was
+the driver, Toni Pollin, who was shouting to
+them to make haste if they wished to catch the
+steamer at Menaggio.</p>
+
+<p>The last moments had come. Franco let down
+the window in the little door, and looked at the
+man as if he were most anxious not to lose a word.</p>
+
+<p>When they touched the shore he turned to his
+wife. "Are you going to get out also?" "If
+you wish it," she said. They alighted. A cabriolet
+stood ready on the shore. "By the way,"
+said Luisa, "you will find some lunch in your bag."
+They embraced, exchanging a cold and rapid
+kiss in the presence of three or four curious bystanders
+"Try and make Maria forgive me for
+leaving her thus," said Franco, and they were
+his last words, for Toni Pollin was hurrying them:
+"Quick, quick!" The horse started off at a brisk
+trot, and the cabriolet rattled noisily, with a
+great snapping of the whip, through the dark and
+narrow street of Porlezza.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Franco was on board the <i>Falcon</i> between Campo
+and Argegno when he thought of his lunch. He
+opened the bag, and his heart gave a bound as he
+perceived a letter bearing as an address the words
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>
+"For You" in his wife's hand. He tore it open
+eagerly, and read as follows&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"If you only knew what I am experiencing in
+my soul, how I am suffering, how sorely I am
+tempted to lay aside the little shoes&mdash;in the
+making of which I am far less skilful than you
+think&mdash;and to go to you, taking back all I have
+said, you would not be so harsh with me. I must
+have sinned deeply against truth, that the first
+steps I now take in following her are so difficult,
+so bitter.</p>
+
+<p>"You think me proud, and I believed myself
+very sensitive, but now I feel that your humiliating
+words alone could not have kept me from
+hastening to you. What holds me back is a Voice
+within me, a Voice stronger than I am, which
+commands me to sacrifice everything save my
+consciousness of truth.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! I hope this sacrifice may bring its reward!
+I hope that one day there may be a perfect
+union between our two souls.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going into the garden to gather for you
+that brave little rose we admired together the
+other day, the little rose that has challenged and
+conquered January. Do you remember how
+many obstacles lay between us the first time I
+received a flower from your hand? I was not yet
+in love with you, but you already dreamt of
+winning me. Now it is I who hope to win you!"</p>
+
+<p>Franco came near letting the steamer pass
+Argegno without moving from his seat.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IX<br />
+FOR BREAD, FOR ITALY, FOR GOD</h2>
+
+<p>Eight months later, in September, 1855,
+Franco was occupying a miserable attic in
+Via Barbaroux, Turin. In February he had obtained
+the post of translator for the <i>Opinione</i>,
+with a monthly salary of eighty-five lire. Later
+he began to write the parliamentary reports, and
+his salary was raised to a hundred lire. Dina,
+the manager of the paper, was fond of him, and
+procured him extra work outside the office, thus
+adding twenty-five or thirty lire to his earnings.
+Franco lived on sixty lire a month. The rest
+went to Lugano to be carried thence to Oria by
+the faithful hands of Ismaele. To live a month
+on sixty lire took more courage than Franco himself
+had believed he possessed. The hours at the
+office, the translating&mdash;a laborious task for one
+full of scruples and literary timidity&mdash;weighed
+more heavily upon him than the privations; moreover
+he felt even sixty lire was too large a sum,
+and reproached himself for not being able to do
+with less.</p>
+
+<p>He had attached himself to six other refugees,
+some of whom were Lombards, others Venetians.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>
+They ate together, walked together, conversed together.
+With the exception of Franco and a
+young man from Udine, all the others were between
+thirty and forty years of age. All were
+extremely poor, and not one of them had ever
+consented to accept a penny from the Piedmontese
+Government as a subsidy. The young man
+from Udine came of a rich family, of Austrian
+tendencies, and received not a penny from home.
+He was a good flutist, gave four or five lessons
+a week, and played in the small orchestras of
+second-rate theatres. A notary from Padua was
+copyist in Boggio's office. A lawyer from Caprino,
+Bergamasco, who had seen service at Rome in
+1849, was book-keeper at a large establishment in
+Via Nuovo, where umbrellas and walking-sticks
+were sold, and for this reason his friends had
+dubbed him "the knave of clubs." A fourth, a
+Milanese, had been through the campaign of 1848
+as one of Carlo Alberto's scouts. His present
+occupation was to quarrel continually with "the
+knave of clubs," for reasons of provincial rivalry,
+to teach fencing in a couple of boarding schools,
+and in winter to play the piano behind a mysterious
+curtain in halls where polkas were danced
+at a penny each. The others lived on insufficient
+allowances from their families. All except Franco
+were unmarried, and all were gay. They called
+themselves, and were called by others, the "seven
+wise men," and in their wisdom they dominated
+Turin from the elevated positions of seven attics,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span>
+scattered all over the city from Borgo San Dalmazzo
+to Piazza Milano.</p>
+
+<p>Franco's was the most wretched of these attics,
+the rent being only seven lire a month. No
+member of this band had any services whatsoever
+performed for them, save the notary from
+Padua, for whom the doorkeeper's sister carried
+water to his attic, and had he not been the calm
+philosopher he was, the merciless teasings of his
+friends would have made him regret Marga's
+devotion. They all cleaned their own boots.
+The most skilful with his hands was Franco, and
+it was his lot to sew on his friends' buttons when
+they did not wish to humble themselves by applying
+to the lawyer and his Marga, who, nevertheless,
+often had her hands full, "poor, overworked
+woman that I am!" The young man from Udine
+had a sweetheart, a little <i>tota</i><a name="FNanchor_N_14" id="FNanchor_N_14"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_N_14" class="fnanchor">[N]</a> from the first booth
+in Piazza Castello on the corner of Po, but he was
+jealous, and would not allow her to sew on buttons
+for any one. The friends took their revenge by
+calling her "the puppet," because she sold puppets
+and dolls. However, thanks to "the puppet,"
+he was the only member of the band whose clothes
+were always in order, and whose cravat was always
+tied in a graceful knot. They took their meals at
+a restaurant in Vanchiglia, which they had christened
+"Stomach-ache Tavern," and where they
+had lunch and dinner for thirty lire a month.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>
+Their only extravagance was the <i>bicierîn</i>, a mixture
+of coffee, milk, and chocolate, costing only
+fifteen centimes. They drank this in the morning,
+the Venetians at the Café Alfieri, the others at
+Café Florio. All except Franco, however. He
+went without the <i>bicierîn</i> and the <i>torcètt</i>, a cake
+costing a penny that went with it, in order that
+he might lay by enough for a little trip to Lugano,
+and a trifling present for Maria. In the winter
+they walked under the porticoes of Po, the "wise
+ones" in the vicinity of the University, while the
+more light-minded frequented the porticoes on
+the San Francesco side. After their walk they
+would go to a coffee-house, where the one whose
+turn it was would sip a cup of coffee, while the
+others read the newspapers and looted the sugar
+basin. Once a week, to satisfy the "knave of
+clubs," they would betake themselves to a den
+in Via Bertola, where the purest and most exquisite
+Giambava wine was to be had.</p>
+
+<p>The flutist from Udine of course went to the
+theatres, and by his means some of the others went
+<i>gratis</i> from time to time, but always to the play,
+and usually either to the Rossini or Gerbino
+theatres. For Franco to be obliged to pass the
+posters at the Regio and the other opera houses
+was a far greater trial than to be obliged to clean
+his own boots and lunch off two square inches of
+omelet that was so thin it would have served
+admirably to observe the spots on the sun through.
+He had had the good fortune to make the acquaintance
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>
+of a certain C., a Venetian, who was
+secretary at the department of Public Works, and
+who presented him to the family of a most distinguished
+major in the sanitary corps, also
+Venetian, and who owned a piano and was in the
+habit of receiving a few friends of an evening, on
+which occasions he would regale them with a cup
+of most excellent coffee of a quality almost unique
+in the Turin of those days. When, for one reason
+or another, the "seven wise men" did not spend
+the evening together, Franco would go to this
+gentleman's house in Piazza Milano, to make
+music, to converse on art with the daughters, or to
+discuss politics with his hostess, a fierce Venetian
+patriot, a woman of great talents, and possessed
+of a strenuous soul, who had not only borne heroically
+all the hardships and the bitterness of exile,
+but had sustained the courage of her husband,
+whose first steps had been most painful and
+difficult; for those precious, honest old numskulls
+of the inflexible Piedmontese administration had
+actually obliged this already famous professor of
+the University of Padua to submit to an examination,
+before they would admit him into
+the army as surgeon.<a name="FNanchor_O_15" id="FNanchor_O_15"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_O_15" class="fnanchor">[O]</a></p>
+
+<p>The correspondence between Turin and Oria did
+not indeed reflect the true state of mind of Franco
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>
+and Luisa; it ran on smoothly and affectionately
+enough, but with great caution and reserve on
+either side. Luisa had expected that Franco
+would answer her note, and resume the great discussion.
+As he never mentioned either the note
+or what had passed between them that last night,
+she risked an allusion. It was allowed to pass
+unheeded. As a matter of fact Franco had several
+times started to write with the intention of confuting
+his wife's opinions. Before beginning he
+always felt himself strong, and was convinced
+that with a little thought he could easily discover
+crushing arguments, and, indeed, arguments he
+believed to be such would rush to his pen, but
+when they were set down in writing, he would at
+once be forced to recognise their inadequacy.
+Though surprised and grieved he would make
+another attempt, but always with the same
+result. Nevertheless his wife was certainly in
+error; this he never for a moment doubted, and
+there must be a way of demonstrating it to her.
+He must study. But what, and how? He consulted
+a priest to whom he had been to confession
+soon after his arrival in Turin. This priest, a
+little misshapen old man, who was fiery and very
+learned, invited him to his house in Piazza Paisana,
+and began to help him enthusiastically, suggesting
+a number of books, some for his own perusal,
+and others to be sent to his wife. He was a
+learned Orientalist, and an enthusiastic Thomist,
+and had taken a great fancy to Franco, of whose
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span>
+genius and culture he had formed an opinion which
+was perhaps exaggeratedly favourable. At one
+time he was on the point of proposing to him the
+study of Hebrew, and indeed insisted upon his
+reading St. Thomas. He went so far as to sketch
+for Franco the outlines of a letter to his wife, with
+a list of the arguments he must expound. Franco
+had at once fallen in love with the enthusiastic
+little old man, who, moreover, had the pure expression
+of a saint. He began to study St.
+Thomas with great ardour, but did not persevere
+long. He felt he was embarking upon a sea without
+beginning and without end, across which he
+was unable to steer a straight course. The
+scholastic scheme of treatment, that sameness in
+the form of argument for and against, that icy
+Latin, dense with profound thought, and colourless
+on the surface, had successfully routed all his good
+intentions at the end of three days. Of the arguments
+contained in the sketch for the letter he
+understood only a small part. He got the priest
+to explain them to him, understood somewhat
+better, and prepared to open a campaign with
+them, but found himself as much encumbered by
+them as was David by the armour of Saul. They
+weighed upon him, he could not handle them, he
+felt they were not his own and never would be.
+No, he could not present himself before his wife
+with Professor G.'s priestly hat and tunic, a theological
+lance in his hand, and entrenched behind
+a shield of metaphysics. He recognised that he
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span>
+was not born to philosophise in any way; he was
+destitute of the very power of strictly logical
+reasoning, for indeed his glowing heart, rich in
+tenderness and indignation, would too often interfere,
+speaking for or against, according to its own
+passions. One evening at Casa C. he was playing
+the <i>andante</i> of Beethoven's twenty-eighth sonata,
+when, with quivering nerves and flashing eyes,
+he said in a low tone: "Ah! This, this, this!"
+He was reflecting that no theologian, no doctor,
+could communicate the religious sentiment as
+Beethoven does. As he played on he put his
+whole soul into the music, and longed for Luisa's
+presence that he might play this divine <i>andante</i>
+to her, that he might unite himself to her, praying
+thus in an ineffable spasm of the spirit. But he
+did not reflect that Luisa who, moreover, was far
+less sensitive to music than he was, would probably
+have attributed another meaning to the <i>andante</i>,
+that of the painful conflict between our
+affections and our convictions.</p>
+
+<p>He went to G., returned the works of St. Thomas
+and confessed his utter incapacity in such humble
+and feeling language, that after a few moments of
+frowning and uneasy silence, the old priest forgave
+him. "There, there, there!" said he, resignedly
+taking back the first volume of the
+<i>Somma</i>. "Commend yourself to our Lord, and
+let us hope He Himself will act." Thus ended
+Franco's theological studies.</p>
+
+<p>All this pondering of his wife's opinions and his
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>
+own, and above all the Professor's advice: "Commend
+yourself to our Lord," were not fruitless.
+He began to see that on some points Luisa was
+not mistaken. When she had reproached him for
+not leading a life in conformity with his faith, he
+had been more offended by this than by anything
+else. Now a generous impulse carried him to
+the other extreme; he judged himself severely,
+exaggerated his faults of idleness, of anger, even
+of greed, and held himself responsible for Luisa's
+intellectual aberrations. He felt a desire to tell
+her this, to humble himself before her, to separate
+his own cause from the cause of God. When he
+obtained his position on the <i>Opinione</i>, and regulated
+his own expenses in such a manner as to be
+able to make an allowance to his family, his wife
+wrote that this allowance was entirely too large
+in proportion to his earnings, and that the thought
+of him, living in Turin on sixty lire a month,
+gave her own food a bitter taste. He answered&mdash;and
+this was not strictly true&mdash;that in the first
+place, he never went hungry, but that he would,
+indeed, be glad to fast, because he felt an intense
+desire to change his way of life, to expiate his past
+idleness, including the hours he had wasted on
+his flowers and music, to expiate all past softness,
+all past weaknesses, including the weakness for
+dainty dishes and fine wines. He added that he
+had asked God's forgiveness for this past life, and
+that he felt he must ask her forgiveness also. In fact
+the Paduan, with whom Franco had become very intimate,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>
+and to whom he read this passage in his letter
+as a sort of confirmation of previous confessions,
+exclaimed: "That bit sounds for all the world
+like the oration of Manasseh, king of Judæa!"</p>
+
+<p>Luisa wrote most affectionately, but with less
+effusion. Franco's silence on the painful subject
+displeased her, and she felt it would be unwise on
+her part to allude to it in the face of a silence so
+obstinate.</p>
+
+<p>His good intentions concerning labour and
+self-sacrifice moved her deeply; when she read
+that confession of great wickedness, followed by
+the prayer for pardon to God and to herself, she
+smiled and kissed the letter, feeling that this was
+an act of submission, and a humble acceptance of
+the censure which had at first only irritated him.
+Poor Franco! These were the impulses of his
+noble, generous nature! But would they last?
+She answered at once, and if her emotion was
+apparent in her answer, so also was her smile,
+which displeased Franco. At the end he found
+these words: "When I read your many self-accusations
+I thought, with remorse, of the
+accusations I brought against you, one sad night,
+and I felt that you also had been thinking of
+them as you wrote, although neither in this letter
+nor in any other are they alluded to. I deeply
+regret those accusations, my own Franco, but
+how I wish we could speak together as true friends,
+concerning those other questions of which I
+think so much here in my solitude!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span>
+ Luisa's wish remained ungratified. In answering
+Franco did not even touch on this point;
+indeed his next letter was somewhat cool, so
+Luisa did not again revert to the subject. Only
+once, when speaking of Maria, did she write:
+"If you could only see how Maria recites her 'Our
+Father' every night and morning, and how well
+she behaves at Mass, on Sundays, you would be
+satisfied."</p>
+
+<p>He replied: "As to what you tell me concerning
+Maria's religious exercises, I am satisfied, and I
+thank you!"</p>
+
+<p>Both Luisa and Franco wrote almost every day,
+and sent their letters once a week. Ismaele went
+to the post at Lugano every Tuesday, taking the
+wife's letters and bringing back the husband's.
+In June Maria had the measles, and in August
+Uncle Piero lost the sight of his left eye, almost
+without warning, and for some time was greatly
+distressed. During these two periods the letters
+from Oria were more frequent, but in September
+the weekly correspondence was resumed. From
+the bundle of letters I take the last that passed
+between Franco and Luisa, on the eve of those
+events which overwhelmed them at the end of
+September.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<div class="signature4"><span class="smcap">Luisa to Franco.</span></div>
+<div class="signature">"<i>September 14, 1856.</i></div>
+
+<p>"I do not think Pasotti will ever come to our
+house again. I am sorry on poor Barborin's
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span>
+account, for I fear she will not be able to come
+either, but I do not regret what I did.</p>
+
+<p>"He has known perfectly well for some time that
+you are in Turin. He even talked of it with the
+Receiver, so Maria Pon told me. She was in the
+Romit chapel, and heard them talking on their
+way down from Albogasio Superiore. When he
+came here he would always pretend not to know,
+and would enquire for you with his usual assumption
+of interest and friendship. To-day he
+found me alone in the little garden and asked how
+much longer you would be absent and whether you
+were in Milan at present. I answered frankly
+that his question surprised me. He turned pale.
+'Why?' said he. 'Because you have been
+going about saying that Franco is in an entirely
+different place.' He became confused and protested
+angrily. 'You may protest as much as
+you like!' I said. 'It is quite useless. You
+know that. At all events Franco is very well off
+where he is. You may say as much to whomever
+you please.' 'You wish to insult me!' he exclaimed.
+I did not stop to think long, but retorted:
+'That is quite possible!' Then he rushed
+away without saluting me, and looking as black
+as the ace of spades&mdash;that simile suits my present
+mood! I am sure he will go to Cressogno this
+evening.</p>
+
+<p>"Cüstant has sent us a present of a magnificent
+tench which he caught this morning, much to the
+chagrin of Bianconi, who fishes all day long, and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span>
+never catches anything. He is furious with the impudent
+tench because they snap their fingers&mdash;so to
+speak&mdash;at His Imperial and Royal Majesty of Austria
+and his Carlascia. 'Poor fellow!' says Signora
+Peppina. 'He is eating his heart out!'</p>
+
+<p>"However, he will get over it, he will get over it.</p>
+
+<div class="signature">"<i>September 15.</i></div>
+
+<p>"I related the Pasotti episode to Uncle Piero and
+he was very much annoyed. 'Much good this
+will do you!' he said. Poor Uncle! One might
+almost suspect him of being a utilitarian, whereas
+he is really a philosopher. After all the strongest
+argument he ever opposes to all my burning indignation
+against the many ugly things in this
+world is: 'Worrying won't mend it!'</p>
+
+<p>"To-day the parish Mass was said at Albogasio
+Superiore. In coming out of church with Maria I
+caught a despairing glance from poor Barborin,
+who evidently had orders to avoid me. However,
+Ester walked down with us and coming into
+the house told me privately something I have been
+expecting to hear. She began by begging me not
+to laugh, while all the time she was laughing herself.
+I succeeded in gathering that the Professor,
+by dint of great perseverance, has overcome her
+resistance, although Ester still declares she does
+not know her own mind.</p>
+
+<p>"'It is his nose!' she said this morning, laughing
+and hiding her gay little face. Indeed that
+scandalous nose seems to me to be prospering;
+it is redder than ever, and grows ever larger!</p>
+
+<div class="signature">"<i>September 18.</i>
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span></div>
+
+<p>"I have not written for three days, fearing I
+should not be mistress of my pen, nor be able to
+confine my thoughts within words which must not
+exceed certain bounds. Now I feel equal to the
+task, and so I will set about it. But I must
+warn you, Franco, that I am not sure of being able
+to control my feelings all the way through.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, your grandmother's agent came to
+me on the evening of the fifteenth. As the half-yearly
+payment of your income is due on the sixteenth,
+I concluded he had come to bring the five
+hundred <i>svanziche</i>, and so I told him at once that
+I would go and prepare the receipt for him. Then
+the most gracious Signor Bellini informed me that
+my receipt would not be sufficient. 'How can
+that be?' I said. 'It was sufficient on the sixteenth
+of March.' 'I don't know,' he replied. 'I have
+my orders.' 'But Franco is not here.' 'I know
+that.' 'Then what did you come here for?' 'I came
+to tell you that if Don Franco wishes to draw his
+money he must present himself at the Signora Marchesa's
+agency in Brescia.' 'And what if he cannot
+go to Brescia?' Here Signor Bellini made a
+gesture that meant, 'That is your affair.' I
+replied that it was all right, had coffee brought
+for him, and told him I was anxious to purchase
+the book-shelves in your old study at Cressogno
+from the Signora Marchesa. Bellini turned yellow,
+and sneaked away like our old dog Pato at Casa
+Rigey when he had been stealing.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span>
+ "Most certainly the worthy Pasotti has had
+a finger in this dirty business.</p>
+
+<p>"The Prefect of Caravina was here yesterday and
+told us that Pasotti went to Cressogno on the
+evening of the fourteenth. He was very late, and
+reached your grandmother's house while they were
+saying the rosary, so he had to mumble the prayers
+with the others, which greatly amused the prefect,
+for it is his opinion that Pasotti goes to Mass
+simply because he is an Imperial and Royal
+pensioner, but that his only prayer is 'the rats'
+Pater,' whatever that may be. He added that
+after the others had gone out Pasotti remained in
+confabulation with your grandmother, and that
+Bellini was also present. Bellini had arrived that
+very day from Brescia. He probably brought
+the money for you.</p>
+
+<p>"We have enough left to live upon until the
+money comes from you in October. That is all
+I wish to say.</p>
+
+<p>"Maria sends you the cyclamen you will find enclosed.
+I must also tell you the following incident.
+You can fancy she notices the state of mind I am
+in. She often hears me discussing the subject
+with Uncle Piero. The uncle is always the uncle!
+In his whole life he has set down as rascals only
+such contractors as offered him bribes, and
+another uncle his exact opposite, who, after
+making use of his nephew for many years, died
+without leaving him so much as a dried fig. He
+would never recognise any other rascals, nor will
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span>
+he do so even now. Well, when I am talking with
+him, Maria always wants to listen. I send her
+away, but I sometimes fail to notice that she has
+returned very softly. This morning she began
+saying her prayers. Oh, Franco! your daughter
+is indeed very religious in your own way! The
+last prayer she repeats is a <i>requiem</i> for poor Grandmamma
+Teresa. 'Mamma,' said she when she
+had finished, 'I want to recite a <i>requiem</i> for the
+grandmother in Cressogno also.' Never mind my
+answer. My words were bitter; perhaps I did
+wrong; I am even ready to confess I did wrong.
+Maria looked at me, and said: 'Is the grandmother
+at Cressogno really wicked?' 'Yes.'
+'But why does Uncle Piero say she is not really
+wicked?' 'Because Uncle Piero is so very good.'
+'Then you are not so very good?' My dear little
+innocent! I devoured her with kisses, I could not
+help it! As soon as she was free to speak she began
+again: 'You will not go to Paradise, you
+know, if you are not so very good.' Paradise is
+her one idea. Poor Franco, not to have her with
+you, you who would be so satisfied with her!
+You are indeed making a great sacrifice! If it
+will give you any pleasure I will tell you that the
+only possibility for me to love God is through
+this child, for in her God becomes visible and intelligible
+to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Franco. I embrace you.</p>
+
+<div class="signature">"<span class="smcap">Luisa.</span></div>
+
+<p>"P. S. I must tell you that I have dismissed
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span>
+Veronica for the first of October. This I did in
+the first place for reasons of economy, and secondly
+because I have discovered that she is flirting
+with a customs-guard. Oh! I almost forgot something
+else! Half an hour ago Ester came to tell
+me she has decided to say 'yes,' but she wishes
+to wait a day longer before seeing the Professor.
+She has evidently succeeded in swallowing the
+nose, but has not yet digested it."</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<div class="signature4"><span class="smcap">Franco to Luisa.</span></div>
+
+<div class="signature">"<span class="smcap">Turin</span>, <i>September 14, 1855</i>.</div>
+
+<p>"The 'knave of clubs' is threatened with dismissal
+by his employer on account of the truly
+miserable state of his clothes. The 'knave'
+is indeed given to extravagance, and has not yet
+learned&mdash;<i>duris in rebus</i>&mdash;to handle a clothes brush,
+but however that may be, the other 'wise men'
+have decided not to lunch for a week in order that
+he may re-clothe himself. Now observe the
+baseness of the human heart! The 'knave,'
+overflowing with expressions of gratitude, calmly
+prepared to go to his own lunch! This, however,
+we would not stand. So to-day, instead of repairing
+to Stomach-ache Tavern, we spent half
+an hour on the banks of the Po, near the Valentino,
+watching the water flow past. The wise man from
+Udine had brought his flute with him, because
+music should not be wanting at an ideal lunch, at
+which the most Irimalchionian ideas of food and
+beverages are handed round. He also had with
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span>
+him a letter from his family, containing magnificent
+proposals for his return to the fold. They
+even offer him a riding-horse. He says he has
+written them that they will soon see him come
+dashing up on one of King Victor Emmanuel's
+horses. Then the Paduan, who is a wag, said to
+him with a great assumption of seriousness, "Ah,
+my hero! So you are beginning to blow your own
+trumpet as well as play the flute!" The flutist
+was wild, but presently he calmed down, and
+played us a nice little tune. The strange part of
+it all is that none of us felt hungry. However,
+when the meeting was adjourned, we decided
+that the 'knave's' clothing should be simplified,
+and that he could get along without the <i>justicoat</i>,
+known in modern parlance as the waistcoat.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! We would all gladly do without dinner as
+well as lunch if we could only cross the Ticino with
+the King in April, 1856! We talked of this on our
+way back to the city after the ideal lunch. The
+Paduan observed that the water is too cold in
+April and that we had better wait until the end of
+June. We began to talk about how great Italy
+will be without the Germans. I assure you we
+were all enthusiastic, in spite of the emptiness of
+our stomachs. All except the Paduan of course,
+but of him I must tell you that if he is reduced
+almost to the verge of starvation, it is because he
+will not tolerate the Austrians, and that although
+he is knocking at the door of forty, he will fight
+better than some of these young fellows who are
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span>
+now devouring an Austrian for lunch, and two for
+dinner! He says we shall once more become a cat
+and dog kingdom. 'Mark this, for example,'
+he added. 'When the Germans shall have departed,
+each of us will return to his own home,
+and woe to you if you come and worry me in
+Padua!' I can almost fancy I am listening to
+Uncle Piero, when, at Oria, we used to discuss the
+greatness and the splendid future of Italy. 'Yes,
+yes, yes!' he would say, 'Yes, yes, yes! The lake
+will turn into milk and honey, and the Galbiga
+will become a Parmesan cheese!'</p>
+
+<p>"We shall see! We shall see!</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="signature">"<i>September 21.</i></div>
+
+<p>"Your letter has awakened in me a tumult of
+feelings which cannot be described in writing.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course my grandmother's action and the
+indirect malevolence of Pasotti grieve me deeply,
+but your too violent indignation is far more painful
+to me. When some one holding my power-of-attorney
+presents himself at Brescia, payment
+cannot be refused. It is true that you, a woman,
+are not expected to know these things. I can also
+forgive your anger, for in the beginning I myself
+was not unmoved. Then I asked myself: Why
+are you indignant? Why are you surprised?
+Were you not already acquainted with that evil
+spirit, and have you not already suffered greater
+insult from it?</p>
+
+<p>"I am most deeply grieved that you did not
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span>
+succeed in hiding your feelings from Maria; I am
+deeply moved to learn that you repented of this;
+and deeply thankful that you love the Lord in
+the child, and that you have confessed as much
+to me. Indeed I feel I should not be so overjoyed
+at this, for the heavens and the earth are always
+inviting us to love God; He is visible in every ray
+of light, and His voice may be heard in every
+truth. But, at least, you are beginning to hear
+this voice! I have never touched upon this subject
+in my letters because I feel I am not capable
+of speaking worthily and efficaciously of it to you.
+And now I shall let God Himself speak to you
+through the child, and once more resume my
+silence. But remember, I am waiting in suspense;
+I am hoping and praying.</p>
+
+<p>"How can I express to you what I feel for Maria?
+Who could describe this emotion, this immense
+tenderness, this consuming desire to clasp her for
+a moment, only for one moment, to my heart?
+Do you believe I shall be able to wait until November?
+No, no, no! I will write, I will copy, I
+will do the work of others, but I must come to
+Lugano sooner! Cover her with kisses for me, and
+meanwhile, tell her that Papa carries his Maria
+in his heart always, and that he sends her his
+blessing. Ask her what she wishes me to bring
+her and let me know, without thinking too much
+about my poverty.</p>
+
+<p>"With my whole soul I embrace you, my Luisa.</p>
+
+<div class="signature">"<span class="smcap">Franco.</span>"</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<div class="signature4"><span class="smcap">Luisa to Franco.</span>
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span></div>
+
+<div class="signature">"<i>September 24, 1855.</i></div>
+
+<p>"At last! Ever since you left I have been longing
+for you to touch upon this question. How did I
+explain myself that night, in my painful emotion?
+How did you understand me, in your equally
+painful emotion? For months and months I have
+felt the necessity of speaking of this to you, and
+I have never done so because I lacked courage.</p>
+
+<p>"You will remember you accused me of pride
+that night. I implore you to believe that I
+am not proud. I cannot even understand such
+an accusation.</p>
+
+<p>"Your letter gives me the idea that you think
+I have returned to a belief in God. But did I
+ever tell you that I do not believe in God? I cannot
+have told you so, for the whole history of my opinions
+is engraved upon my mind, and the fright, the
+distressing thought that I might perhaps no longer
+be able to believe in God, came to me after you
+left. I know the day, the very hour. At S.
+Mamette I had heard them talking of a great
+dinner your grandmother had given at Brescia,
+while I could not even procure the food and wine
+necessary for the diet the doctor&mdash;fearing the
+loss of the right eye&mdash;had prescribed for our beloved
+Uncle. I struggled against these awful
+shadows, Franco, and I conquered. It is true the
+victory is due, in a great measure, to Maria. I
+mean that if all these black clouds hide the existence
+of Supreme Justice from me, a ray of light
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span>
+from it reaches me through Maria; and this ray
+of light makes me believe, makes me hope in the
+Orb. For it would be too horrible if the universe
+were not governed by justice!</p>
+
+<p>"That night then, I can only have told you that
+I understood religion in a different way from you;
+that prayers and acts of Christian faith did not
+seem to me essential to the religious idea, but
+rather love and actions for those who suffer,
+rather indignation and actions against those who
+cause suffering!</p>
+
+<p>"And you wish to resume your silence? No, you
+must not. You feel weak, you say. Do you feel
+you yourself are weak, or your <i>Credo</i>? Let us
+reason, let us discuss. Confess that one reason
+why you who believe, love your beliefs, is because
+they are comfortably restful to the intellect. You
+stretch yourselves at your ease in them as in a
+hammock, suspended in the air by innumerable
+threads spun by men and fastened by men to
+many hooks. You are comfortable, and if any
+one examines or lays his hand upon one only of
+these threads, you are troubled, and afraid it will
+snap, because very probably its neighbour will
+snap also, and after that one, another; and so,
+to your great fright and pain, your fragile bed
+will come tumbling down from the sky to the
+earth. I know this fright and this pain, I know
+that the satisfaction of walking on solid ground
+must be purchased at this cost, and therefore I
+am not deterred by a pity that would be false from
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span>
+discussing with you. But I may be mistaken,
+and perhaps it may be you who will lift me up,
+up to your resting place of fragile threads and air.
+Maria is not equal to this task. If Maria makes
+me believe in God, it does not follow that she can
+make me believe in the Church as well. And
+you yourself believe in the Church above all
+things. Therefore try to convince me, and I
+also will listen in suspense, and though I do not
+pray, at least I can hope, because now my longing
+for a perfect union with you is stronger than ever
+before. Now, together with my old affection, I
+feel a new admiration for you, a new gratitude
+towards you.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you take offence at this outpouring of
+mine? Remember that you must have found a
+letter from me in your handbag, eight months
+ago, and that I have waited eight months for an
+answer!</p>
+
+<p>"The Professor and Ester now meet at our house
+as fiancés. They, at least, are happy. She
+goes to church and he does not, and neither of
+them thinks any more about it than they do
+about the difference in the colour of their hair.
+And I believe nine hundred and ninety-nine
+couples in a thousand do the same."</p>
+
+<p>"I embrace you. Write me a long, long letter.</p>
+
+<div class="signature">"<span class="smcap">Luisa.</span>"</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>This letter did not leave Lugano until September
+26th, and Franco received it on the 27th. On
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span>
+the 29th, at eight o'clock in the morning, he
+received the following telegram, also from Lugano:</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>"Child dangerously ill. Come at once.</p>
+
+<div class="signature">"<span class="smcap">Uncle.</span>"</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<div class="fn">
+<h4>Footnotes</h4>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_N_14" id="Footnote_N_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_N_14">
+<span class="label">[N]</span></a> <i>Tota</i> is Piedmontese for young girl, often used in the sense of
+<i>grisette</i>. [<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_O_15" id="Footnote_O_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_O_15">
+<span class="label">[O]</span></a> It must be remembered that Padua and its university were at that
+time dominated by the Austrians, and that patriotism drove this "already
+famous professor" to give up his position and migrate to free Piedmont.
+[<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER X<br />
+SIGNORA LUISA, COME HOME!</h2>
+
+<p>In the early afternoon of the twenty-seventh
+of September Luisa was returning from
+Porlezza with some documents to copy for the
+notary. In those days the rocks between S.
+Michele and Porlezza were perfectly bare, and
+destitute of the narrow pathway which now runs
+across them. Luisa had had herself ferried that
+short distance, and had then walked along the
+lane that, like all those of my little world, both
+ancient and modern, would admit of no other
+method of travel; that pretty deceitful lane, that
+seeks in every way to avoid leading whither the
+traveller wishes to go. At Cressogno it passes
+above Villa Maironi, which, however, is not visible
+from the path.</p>
+
+<p>"What if I should meet her?" Luisa thought,
+her blood boiling. But she met no one. On the
+slope between Cressogno and Campo, the sun
+beat fiercely. When she reached the cool, high
+valley known as Campo, she sat down in the
+shade of the colossal chestnut-tree that is still
+alive, the last of three or four venerable patriarchs,
+and looked towards the houses of her native
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span>
+Castello, clustered in a circle round a lofty peak
+among those shady crags. She thought of her
+dead mother, and was glad she, at least, was at
+rest. Presently she heard some one exclaim:
+"Oh, blessed Madonna!" It was Signora Peppina,
+who was also on her way from Cressogno, and who
+was in despair because neither at S. Mamette,
+Loggio, nor Cressogno had she been able to find
+any eggs. "Carlo will beat me this time! He'll
+kill me outright, my dear!" She would have
+liked to go on to Puria, but she was half dead
+with fatigue. What roads! How many stones!
+"When I think of my Milan, my dear!" She sat
+down on the grass beside Luisa, saying many
+affectionate things to her, and wanted her to guess
+with whom she had been speaking about her,
+only a few minutes before. "With the Signora
+Marchesa! Certainly! Yes indeed! Oh, my dear...."
+It looked as if Signora Peppina
+had great things to tell, but did not dare do so,
+and as their presence in her throat was causing
+her discomfort, she was bound to make Luisa
+draw them out. "What a business!" she would
+exclaim from time to time. "What a business!
+What language! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" But Luisa
+held her peace. At last the other yielded to the
+terrible tickling in her throat, and poured forth
+her story. She had gone to the Marchesa's cook
+to borrow some eggs, and the Signora Marchesa,
+hearing her voice, had insisted upon seeing her,
+and had kept her there chattering. In her heart
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span>
+she had felt what she believed to be a heavenly
+inspiration, which prompted her to speak of that
+unhappy family. Perhaps this was the right
+moment! She must speak about Maria, "that
+precious darling, that sweet little mouse, that dear
+little creature!" But alas! The inspiration had
+come from the devil and not from Heaven! She
+had begun to speak, had been going to say how
+lovely Maria was, how sweet, and how wonderfully
+precocious, when that ugly old woman interrupted
+her, looking as black as a thunder-cloud.
+"Say no more about her, let her alone, Signora
+Bianconi. I am aware she is very badly behaved,
+and indeed one cannot expect her to be otherwise!"
+Then Peppina had tried sounding another note,
+and had touched upon Uncle Piero's misfortune
+in having lost his eye. "The Lord chastises the
+dishonest, Signora Bianconi." Here Peppina
+glanced at Luisa and regretted her chattering.
+She began caressing her, reproaching herself for
+having spoken, and entreated her to be calm.
+Luisa assured her that she was perfectly calm,
+that nothing coming from that source could surprise
+her. But Peppina insisted upon giving her
+a kiss, and then went her way, murmuring a
+string of "Oh, dear me's!" and haunted by a
+vague suspicion that she had made a mess of it!</p>
+
+<p>Luisa rose and turned to look towards Cressogno,
+clenching her fists. "If I only had a horse-whip!"
+she thought "If I could only lash her!"
+The idea of a meeting, the old idea that had made
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span>
+her quiver with passion four years ago, on the
+night of her mother's death, had flashed across
+her mind shortly before, as she passed Cressogno,
+and had once more taken violent possession of
+her, and now made her start suddenly downwards.
+She checked her steps at once, however, and
+returning slowly, went towards S. Mamette,
+stopping every now and then to think, her brow
+clouded, her lips tightly compressed, seeking to
+untangle a knot in the thread of a scheme she was
+weaving in her secret heart.</p>
+
+<p>At Casarico she sought out the Professor to
+offer him an opportunity of meeting Ester at her
+house the next day at two o'clock. As she was
+leaving she asked him if the Maironi documents
+were still in his possession. The Professor,
+greatly astonished at this question, replied that
+they were, expecting an explanation, but Luisa
+went away without further words. She was
+anxious to get home, for she could not rely either
+upon Cia or Uncle Piero to look after Maria, and
+she had little confidence in the girl to whom she
+had given notice. She found Maria alone on the
+church-place, and scolded Veronica. Then she
+went to her room and began a letter to Franco.</p>
+
+<p>She had been writing about five minutes when
+she heard a gentle tap on the window of the adjoining
+room. That window looked out upon a
+short flight of steps, leading from the square by
+the church to some stables, and thence to a short
+cut to Albogasio Superiore. Luisa went into the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span>
+little room, and saw behind the iron grating the
+red and distracted countenance of Barborin Pasotti,
+who motioned to her to be quiet, and asked
+if she had visitors. Upon being reassured, Barborin
+glanced swiftly up and down, and hastily
+descending the steps entered the house in great
+trepidation.</p>
+
+<p>Poor woman, she was on forbidden ground, and
+before her loomed the spectre of the wrathful
+Pasotti. Pasotti was in Lugano. "Oh, Lord,
+yes! In Lugano." Having imparted this information
+to Luisa the unhappy woman began to
+roll her eyes and squirm. Pasotti had gone to
+Lugano on account of the great dinner that was to
+take place on the morrow&mdash;to purchase provisions.
+How? Had Luisa not heard about the dinner?
+Did she not know who was coming? Why! The
+Signora Marchesa! The Signora Marchesa Maironi!
+Luisa started.</p>
+
+<p>Barborin, misunderstanding the expression of
+her eyes, thought she read a reproach there, and
+began to cry, her face buried in her hands, shaking
+those two poor black curls, and saying through
+her fingers that she was so distressed about it, so
+distressed! She would rather have lived on bread
+and water for a year than invite the Marchesa to
+dinner. This dinner was indeed a cross to her,
+for it took a deal of thought, and then there was
+the trouble of preparing everything, to say nothing
+of Pasotti's awful scoldings, but the worst
+part of it all was the idea of displeasing Luisa.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span>
+If, at least, it had been a cross she could lay at
+the feet of our Lord, but she could not do that,
+for it contained too much wrath. She had come
+on purpose to tell her Luisa how distressed she
+was on account of this dinner.</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive me, Luisa!" she said in her hoarse
+voice, that seemed to come out of an ancient and
+tightly closed spinet. "I really could not prevent
+it, indeed I could not, indeed I could not!"</p>
+
+<p>They were seated side by side on the sofa.
+Barborin drew a great handkerchief from her
+pocket and pressed it to her face with one hand,
+while with the other she sought Luisa's hand,
+without turning her head. But Luisa rose, and
+going to the writing-desk, scrawled upon a piece
+of paper: "When is the Marchesa coming? What
+road will she take?" Barborin answered that the
+dinner was to be at half-past three; that at about
+three the Marchesa would leave her gondola at
+the landing-stage of the Calcinera, where Pasotti
+was to meet her with four men and the famous
+litter that had belonged to an archbishop of Milan
+a century ago.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa listened to every detail in silence and
+with the greatest attention. Before leaving,
+Signora Pasotti said she longed to kiss that love
+of a Maria, but was afraid the child might not
+know how to keep the secret. At this point the
+good creature plunged her left arm into her pocket
+up to the elbow, and drew out a small tin boat,
+which she begged Luisa to give to her little
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span>
+daughter in the name of another battered old
+craft, whose identity must not be made known.
+Then she rushed down stairs and disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa returned to her letter to Franco, but
+having thought a long time, pen in hand, she
+finally put the letter away again without having
+added a word, and drawing the notary's documents
+towards her, began to copy. Her resolution
+was formed. Fate itself was offering her
+this meeting with the old wretch. She had
+neither a doubt nor a scruple. The passion
+which had sprung up within her so long ago, which
+she had caressed and fostered, had now gathered
+that strength which, when it reaches its full,
+transforms the thought into the deed at one blow,
+and in such a manner that all responsibility seems
+removed from the agent, while in reality, it is
+simply carried back to the first inward movement
+of yielding to temptation.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, on the morrow, either at the landing-stage,
+on the Calcinera path, or on the church-place of
+the Annunciata, she would stand scornfully before
+the Marchesa, openly declaring war, and
+advising her to have a care, for now all legitimate
+weapons of defence were to be used against her.
+Yes, she would tell her so, and then she would
+act, act alone and unaided, since Franco would
+take no steps. If Franco had made promises she
+had not. A little later she wrote a note to the
+lawyer V. begging him to come to her as soon as
+possible. She wished to learn from him how to
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span>
+use the documents in Gilardoni's possession.
+Then she resumed her copying for the notary at
+Porlezza.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The next day Professor Beniamino arrived at
+Oria an hour earlier than the time fixed by Luisa.
+After Ester's "yes," the man had become transfigured.
+He seemed much younger than before.
+The sallowness of his skin, now irradiated by a
+rosy inner light, had entirely disappeared, and
+was only perceptible on his bald head, where
+Luisa daily expected to see the hair begin to grow.
+He neither walked nor breathed as before. But
+to-day he arrived with a clouded brow.</p>
+
+<p>It was reported at S. Mamette that the physician
+of Pellio had been arrested and taken to Como,
+and that letters and memoranda had been found in
+his possession which incriminated others, among
+whom was Don Franco Maironi.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not fear for Franco," said Luisa. "As
+to the rest, my good Professor, we will set the
+physician of Pellio, who is a big fellow and weighs
+pounds and pounds, down in the score the
+Emperor of Austria will have to pay. And
+now, Professor, I want you to promise me something."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you wish me to promise?"</p>
+
+<p>"I need those famous documents."</p>
+
+<p>"They are at your service."</p>
+
+<p>"Pray note that it is I and not Franco who ask
+for them."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span>
+ "Yes, yes. Whatever you do is well done. I
+will bring you the documents to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"That is right."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa knitted as she talked, her needles clicking
+continually, but her seeming calm and good
+spirits did not entirely conceal her inward excitement,
+which had begun on the previous day, had
+become more intense during a sleepless night, and
+was now steadily increasing as the moment for
+setting out drew nearer. Even in the playful
+tone of her voice an unusual chord seemed to be
+vibrating. About her hair, which was always
+most carefully dressed, there was a something of
+disorder, like the touch of a light breath brushing
+gently across her brow.</p>
+
+<p>Ester arrived at a quarter to two, and explained
+that she had come a little earlier because she had
+heard it thunder. Thunder? Luisa hastened to
+the terrace to examine the sky. It certainly did
+not look very threatening. Above the point of
+Cressogno and over Galbiga the sky was perfectly
+serene as far as the hills of the Lake of Como.
+Towards Carona it was indeed rather dark,
+but not so very dark, after all. What if the
+Marchesa should not come on account of the
+weather? She seized the little telescope that was
+kept in the loggia. There was nothing to be
+seen. Of course; it was still too early. In order
+to reach the Calcinera at three, the Marchesa,
+with that heavy gondola of hers, must start at
+about half-past two. Luisa went back to the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span>
+hall, where she found Ester, the Professor, and
+Maria. She would have preferred to have Maria
+remain in the loggia with Uncle Piero, but Signorina
+Missipiṕ always clung fast to her mother
+when there were visitors, becoming all eyes and
+ears. Luisa decided that when she was ready to
+start she would send Maria away, meanwhile she
+would keep her with her. As to the happy couple,
+they were seated apart, and were conversing
+almost in whispers.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa, who now found it difficult to keep quiet,
+once more returned to the terrace, and looked
+through the telescope. Her heart gave a bound!
+The gondola was just coming in sight at the
+Tentịn.</p>
+
+<p>It was a quarter-past two o'clock.</p>
+
+<p>Some one coming from Albogasio had stopped
+in the church-place to speak to some one coming
+down the steps at the side of Casa Ribera. They
+were saying: "Signor Pasotti has just gone down
+with the litter. There was a troop of children
+following."</p>
+
+<p>Now the sky was overcast, even above the
+point of Cressogno and the Galbiga. Only the
+hills of the Lake of Como were still in the sunshine.
+The terrible wind which accompanies a thunderstorm,
+and which in Valsolda is called the <i>Caronasco</i>,
+was threatening seriously now. Above
+Corona the colour of the clouds was gradually
+becoming one with the colour of the hills. The
+great cloud over Zocca d'i Ment had become dark
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span>
+blue, and the Boglia was also beginning to knit
+its brows. The lake was calm and leaden.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa had decided to start when the gondola
+should have arrived opposite S. Mamette. She
+now returned to the hall.</p>
+
+<p>Maria had obeyed her mother's orders, and had
+not moved from the chair where Luisa had left
+her, but noticing that the Professor was speaking
+with animation and at great length to Ester, she
+had asked:</p>
+
+<p>"Are you telling her a story?"</p>
+
+<p>At this point Luisa entered.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear," said Ester, laughing. "He is
+telling me a story."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, tell it to me also! To me also!"</p>
+
+<p>A muffled peal of thunder resounded. "Go,
+Maria dear," said Ester. "Go to your room and
+pray the Lord not to send a terrible thunderstorm
+or hail."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, yes! I will pray to the Lord!"</p>
+
+<p>The little one went out, and entered the alcove-room,
+serious and dignified, as if in that moment
+the safety of the whole Valsolda depended upon
+her prayer. Prayer to her was always a solemn
+matter; it was a point of contact with mystery
+which always made her assume a grave and attentive
+air, as did also certain tales of enchantment
+and magic. She mounted a chair and said the
+few prayers she knew, and then assumed the
+attitude she had seen the most pious women of
+town assume in church, and began moving her
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span>
+lips as they did, repeating a wordless prayer.
+Seeing her thus one acquainted with the terrible
+secret of the next hour would have felt that the
+guardian angel of little children was standing beside
+her at that moment, and admonishing her to
+pray for something besides the vineyards and olive-groves
+of Valsolda, for something nearer to her,
+something the angel did not name, and she
+neither knew nor could put into words. The
+onlooker would have felt also that in these,
+her inarticulate whisperings, there was an element
+of occult tenderness, and tragedy, the
+docile surrender of a sweet soul to the admonitions
+of its guardian angel, to the mysterious will
+of God.</p>
+
+<p>At half-past two the great lowering clouds
+above Carona belched forth another peal of
+thunder, to which the other great clouds above
+Boglia and the Zocca d'i Ment immediately responded.
+Luisa ran out to the terrace. The
+gondola was opposite S. Mamette, and was making
+straight for the Calcinera. She could see quite
+plainly that the boatmen were pulling hard. As
+Luisa laid aside the telescope the first gust of wind
+swept through the loggia, banging doors and
+windows. Terrified by a feeling that she would
+be too late, she hastily closed both doors and
+windows, passed swiftly through the hall, seized
+an umbrella and went out, without telling any one
+she was going, and without closing the house-door
+behind her. She started towards Albogasio
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span>
+Inferiore. Just beyond the cemetery, on
+the spot they call Mainè, she met Ismaele.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going in such weather, Signora
+Luisa?"</p>
+
+<p>She answered that she was going to Albogasio,
+and passed on. When she had gone about a
+hundred paces she remembered that she had not
+let Veronica know she was going out, that she had
+not told her to close the windows in the bedrooms,
+and look after Maria. She might send word by
+Ismaele. But he had already disappeared round
+the corner of the cemetery. In her heart she felt
+an impulse to go back, but there was not time.
+The rumbling of the thunder was continuous;
+great, infrequent drops were striking here and
+there on the maize; gusts of wind swept at intervals
+through the mulberry-trees, forerunners
+of the whirlwind of the <i>Caronasco</i>. Luisa opened
+her umbrella and hastened forward.</p>
+
+<p>A furious downpour overtook her in the dark
+lanes of Albogasio. But she never thought of
+taking refuge in a doorway, and pushed on undaunted.
+She met a troop of children who were
+running away from the rain, after waiting in
+vain on the church-place of the Annunciata for the
+passing of the Marchesa in the litter. While she
+was crossing the short space between the town-hall
+of Albogasio and the church, the wind turned her
+umbrella inside out. She began to run, and
+reached the strip of ground behind the church
+that overlooks the path leading down to the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span>
+Calcinera. There, protected by the church from
+the driving rain, she righted her umbrella as
+best she could, and looked over the parapet.</p>
+
+<p>The Annunciata rests upon the summit of a
+cliff, sparsely covered with brambles and wild
+fig-trees, which rises from the foot of the Boglia
+and juts out over the lake, shutting in the narrow
+path to Calcinera on the west. The strip of
+ground where Luisa stood runs along that part of
+the cliff's brow. From here she could have followed
+the course of the boat from the waters of
+Cressogno as far as the landing-stage, but now
+that the rain was pouring down in sheets, a white
+mist hid all things from view. However, unless
+the Marchesa returned to Cressogno, she must
+certainly pass that way, no matter where she
+landed, for there, at the foot of the cliff, where it
+juts out with the coast, the narrow stairway
+starts upwards, leading from the Calcinera to the
+church-place, and this is the only way of reaching
+Albogasio Superiore either from the landing-stage
+below, or from S. Mamette, Casarico, or Cadate.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the violence of the downpour lessened,
+the dark phantoms of the mountains began to
+stand out against the white background. Luisa
+gazed down at the lake. There was no gondola
+on the lake, and no litter on the path; nothing
+was to be seen. This troubled her. Was it
+possible that the gondola had returned to Cressogno?
+The mist cleared rapidly, and Cadate
+became discernible, while at the door of the boathouse
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span>
+of the "Palazz" the prow of the gondola
+appeared, shimmering white in the thin, grey
+mist. Ah, the Marchesa had taken refuge at the
+"Palazz," and Pasotti with his bearers had done
+the same. The thunderstorm was now practically
+over and the litter would soon appear.</p>
+
+<p>But instead, ten long minutes elapsed. Luisa
+kept her eyes fixed on the point where the path
+from Cadate turns into the Calcinera. No movement
+of thought was going on within her. Her
+whole soul was watching and waiting, that was all.
+People passed her on the left going up to Albogasio
+or coming down, but each time she inclined
+her umbrella so that she was hidden from view,
+so that they might not recognise her, thus avoiding
+greetings and conversations.</p>
+
+<p>At last a group of people appeared at the bend
+of the path. Luisa could distinguish the litter,
+and behind the litter Pasotti and Don Giuseppe,
+and the Marchesa's boatmen bringing up the rear.
+Still she did not move, but followed the litter with
+her eyes as it slowly advanced. Presently she
+closed her umbrella, for the rain had almost
+ceased. Five or six children from Albogasio
+reappeared. She ordered them off sharply. They
+hesitated to obey, but a sudden downpour of rain,
+unaccompanied by wind or thunder, put them to
+flight. The litter had now reached the foot of
+the steps. Luisa moved forward.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes glittered coldly, and she held herself
+very erect. Absorbed in one thought, she heeded
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span>
+not at all the pelting rain, which beat upon her
+head and shoulders, which surrounded her with a
+misty veil and loud noise. Perhaps she was glad
+of this outburst of passion in the elements, which
+was in keeping with the passion within her. She
+went slowly down, clasping the handle of her
+closed umbrella very tightly, as if it had been the
+handle of a weapon. There is a somewhat sharp
+bend in the stairway, and the bottom is not visible
+until this bend is reached. Upon arriving there
+she saw the litter had stopped. The two boatmen
+were taking the places of two of the bearers.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa went down as far as the spot where a
+great walnut-tree spreads its branches above the
+stairs. Here she stopped just as the Marchesa's
+bearers began coming upwards. Everything was
+as Luisa wished. Pasotti and Don Giuseppe,
+bringing up the rear with open umbrellas, could
+not see her. The bearers, on reaching the spot
+where she stood, would be obliged to stop to let
+her pass.</p>
+
+<p>As they drew nearer she recognised the two who
+carried the front of the litter; one was Ismaele's
+brother, the other a cousin of Veronica's. When
+they were within a yard or two of her she ordered
+them, by an imperious gesture, to stop. They
+obeyed at once, and set the litter down, the two
+other bearers doing the same without knowing
+why. Pasotti raised his umbrella, and seeing
+Luisa, made a movement of astonishment, frowning
+blackly. Seizing Don Giuseppe, he drew him
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span>
+aside that she might pass, never dreaming that
+the meeting was intentional.</p>
+
+<p>But Luisa did not move. "You did not think
+of meeting me, did you, Signor Pasotti?" she said
+in a loud voice. The Marchesa stuck her head
+out, caught sight of her, and withdrew it again,
+saying, with new strength in her usually lifeless
+voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Go on!"</p>
+
+<p>At that moment loud cries rang out from the
+top of the church-place above them. "<i>Sciora</i>
+Luisa! <i>Sciora</i> Luisa!" Luisa did not hear. Pasotti
+had called angrily to the bearers: "Go on!" and
+they had resumed the poles.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on if you like," said she, resolved to walk
+along beside the litter. "I have only a few words
+to say."</p>
+
+<p>If Pasotti and the old Marchesa had anticipated
+tears and supplications this fierce glance and
+ringing voice must now have led them to expect
+something quite different.</p>
+
+<p>"Words at present?" said Pasotti, coming forward
+almost threateningly.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sciora</i> Luisa! <i>Sciora</i> Luisa!" a voice cried
+close at hand in a tone of anguish, while with the
+cries was mingled the noise of hastening steps.
+But Luisa did not appear to hear anything. "Yes,
+at present!" she said, addressing Pasotti with
+indescribable haughtiness. "I am generous
+enough to wish to warn this lady that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sciora</i> Luisa!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span>
+ This time she was forced to pause and look
+round. Three or four women were upon her,
+distraught, dishevelled, sobbing: "Come home
+at once! Come home at once!" These faces, these
+tears, these voices, detached her from her passion,
+from her purpose, at one blow.</p>
+
+<p>She rushed in among the women, exclaiming:
+"What is the matter?" and they could only repeat,
+their eyes starting from their heads: "Come
+home, come home at once!"</p>
+
+<p>"But what has happened, you stupid things?"</p>
+
+<p>"The child, the child!"</p>
+
+<p>"Maria? Maria? What is it, what is it?" she
+shrieked like a mad woman. Amidst their sobbing
+she caught the word <i>lake</i>, and uttering a great
+cry, she dashed them out of her path like a wild
+beast, and rushed up the stairs. The women
+could not keep up with her, but on the church-place
+there were others waiting in spite of the rain,
+and they were also crying and sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa felt herself growing faint, and fell to the
+ground on reaching the last step.</p>
+
+<p>The women ran to her, many hands seized her
+and lifted her up. She shrieked: "Good God!
+Is she dead?" Some one answered: "No, no!"
+"The doctor?" she gasped. "The doctor?"
+Many voices answered that he was already
+there.</p>
+
+<p>Once more she appeared to regain all her energy,
+and sprang eagerly forward. Eight or ten people
+hastened after her, but only two could keep up
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span>
+with her. She flew! At the cemetery she met
+Ismaele and another man, and cried out as soon
+as she caught sight of them:</p>
+
+<p>"Is she still alive? Is she alive?" Ismaele's
+companion turned and ran back to tell them that
+the mother was coming, but Ismaele was weeping,
+and could only answer: "Good God! <i>Sciora</i>
+Luisa!" as he tried to detain her. Luisa pushed
+him wildly aside and rushed on, followed by the
+boatman who had now quite lost his head and
+was calling out to her as she ran: "Perhaps it is
+nothing! Perhaps it is nothing, after all!" But
+the pelting, ceaseless, even downpour, seemed to
+be contradicting his words with its wail.</p>
+
+<p>Gasping for breath, she reached the square by
+the church of Oria, and had the strength to call
+out: "Maria! My Maria!" The window of the
+alcove-room was open. She heard Cia crying
+and Ester chiding her. Several people, among
+them Professor Gilardoni, came out to meet her.
+The Professor, as pale as a ghost, was weeping
+silently with clasped hands. The others whispered:
+"Courage, there is still hope!" In her
+exhaustion she came near falling. The Professor
+encircled her waist with one arm and drew her up
+the stairs, which were crowded with people, as was
+also the corridor of the first floor.</p>
+
+<p>As Luisa passed, the Professor almost carrying
+her, voices laden with words of comfort murmured:
+"Courage! Courage! Who can tell?
+Who can tell?" At the door of the alcove-room
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span>
+she freed herself from the Professor's arm, and
+went in alone.</p>
+
+<p>They had been obliged to light a lamp, because
+it was already dark in the alcove, owing to the
+rain. Poor, sweet little Maria lay naked upon
+the bed, her eyes half open, and her lips slightly
+parted. Her face was still tinged with pink, but
+her lips were discoloured and her body was deathly
+pale. The doctor, with Ester's help, was trying
+to induce artificial breathing, alternately raising
+the tiny arms above the head and stretching them
+along the sides, and compressing the abdomen.</p>
+
+<p>"Doctor! Doctor!" Luisa sobbed.</p>
+
+<p>"We're doing all we can," the doctor answered
+gravely. She flung herself face downwards upon
+her baby's little icy feet, and covered them with
+wild kisses. Ester began to tremble. "No, no!"
+the doctor exclaimed. "Courage! Courage!"
+"Help!" shrieked Luisa. The doctor checked
+her by a gesture, and motioned to Ester to pause
+in her work. He bent over Maria's little face,
+placed his mouth upon hers and having breathed
+deeply several times, raised his head again. "But
+she is still rosy, she is still rosy!" Luisa gasped
+softly. The doctor sighed gently, struck a match
+and held it close to Maria's lips.</p>
+
+<p>Three or four women who were praying on their
+knees, rose and approached the bed, holding their
+breath in suspense. The door leading into the
+hall was open, and other faces appeared there,
+all silent and intent. Luisa, kneeling beside the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span>
+bed, kept her eyes fixed on the flame. A voice
+murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"It quivers!"</p>
+
+<p>Ester, standing very erect behind Luisa, shook
+her head. The doctor put out the match. "Hot
+flannels," he ordered. Luisa rushed from the
+room, and the doctor once more resumed the
+movements of the arms. When Luisa returned
+with the hot flannels they began to rub the child's
+chest and bowels, he on one side, she on the other.
+Presently, noting Luisa's pallor, and the distortion
+of her features, he motioned to a girl to
+take her place. "You must give up," said he,
+for Luisa had made a protesting gesture. "Even
+I am tired. You cannot go on." Luisa shook
+her head without speaking and continued her
+work with convulsive energy. The doctor silently
+shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows,
+and gave his place to the girl, ordering Ester to
+bring more flannel with which to cover the child's
+legs. Ester went out and herself heated the
+flannel, for Veronica, on hearing what had happened,
+had disappeared and was nowhere to be
+found. In the corridor and on the stairs people
+were discussing the how and where of the event,
+and as Ester passed all inquired: "What news?
+What news?" Ester made a despairing gesture
+and went on without answering. Then the talk
+once more flowed on in an undertone.</p>
+
+<p>No one knew how long the child had been in the
+water. While the thunderstorm had been raging
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span>
+a certain Toni Gall had happened to be in the
+stables behind Casa Ribera. Reflecting that if
+the engineer's boat was not tied fast enough it
+would be dashed to pieces against the walls of the
+boathouse, he bounded down the steps, and seeing
+the door open, went in. The boat was being
+frightfully knocked about, and was drenched with
+the splashing of the waves that broke against the
+walls. It was tossing and writhing among its
+chains, and had set itself crosswise, with the stern
+knocking against the wall. Opposite the door
+that opens from the road, there runs a gallery
+from which two flights of steps lead down to the
+water, the first on the side of the prow, the second
+on the side of the stern. Toni Gall went down the
+second flight to tighten the stern chain. There,
+between the boat and the lowest step, where the
+water is from sixty to seventy centimetres deep, he
+saw Maria's little body. She was floating face
+downwards, with her back above the water. As he
+drew her out he saw a little tin boat lying on the
+bottom. He carried the child to the house, crying
+out with his terrible voice, bringing the whole
+town to the spot, and fortunately the doctor also,
+who happened to be in Oria, and then he helped
+Ester undress the poor little creature, who gave
+no sign of life.</p>
+
+<p>With whom had she been before going down to
+the lake? Not with Veronica, for before Luisa
+went out Veronica had been seen going into the
+storeroom where the flowerpots were kept, with
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span>
+her customs-guard. Nor had she been with Ester
+and the Professor. Ester had sent her to pray
+in the alcove-room, and had not seen her again.
+Cia had been sewing and Uncle Piero had been
+writing when they heard Toni Gall's shouts.
+Maria must have gone straight from the alcove-room
+to the boathouse to sail her boat, and as ill-luck
+would have it, she had found both the house
+door and the door of the boathouse open. It
+was Toni Gall's opinion that she had been in the
+water several minutes, for she was floating at
+some distance from the spot where the little tin
+boat lay. Standing in the hall where Cia, the
+engineer, the Professor, and others from the village
+were assembled, he was describing his frightful
+discovery for the hundredth time. All save
+Uncle Piero were sobbing. Seated on the sofa
+where Ester and the Professor had sat, he seemed
+turned to stone. He shed no tears and spoke
+never a word. Toni Gall's chattering was evidently
+annoying to him, but he held his peace.
+His noble countenance was rather solemn and
+grave than distressed. It was as if the shade of
+ancient Destiny had arisen before his eyes. He
+did not even ask for news; it was evident he was
+without hope. And it was also evident that his
+sorrow was very different from all this nervous,
+noisy, fleeting sorrow that surrounded him. His
+was the mute, calm grief of the wise and the
+strong.</p>
+
+<p>From the open door of the alcove-room came
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span>
+voices now commanding, now questioning, but
+for an hour and a half no one could have asserted
+that they had heard Luisa's voice. From time
+to time half-frightened, almost happy exclamations
+were heard. Some one in there had thought they
+perceived a movement, a breath, the glow of life.
+Then all who were outside would press forward.
+Uncle Piero would turn his face towards the door,
+and only at such moments would his expression
+become slightly troubled. Alas! Each time he
+saw the others turn slowly away, in heartbroken
+silence. It was past five o'clock now, and as it
+continued to rain the light had begun to fade.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, at half-past five, Luisa's voice was
+heard. She gave a loud and terrible cry, which
+froze the blood in the veins of all. The doctor's
+voice answered in accents of eager protest. It
+was whispered that he had made a gesture which
+said plainly: "It is hopeless now, let us desist," but
+at her cry he had once more renewed his efforts.</p>
+
+<p>The monotonous lament that the fine rain
+sent in through all the open windows made the
+stillness of the house seem more sepulchral than
+ever. The hall and the corridor were growing
+dark, and the pale candle-light from the alcove-room
+seemed brilliant by contrast. People began
+to go away silently and on tiptoe, one shadow
+after another, and presently steps and hushed
+voices and the beat of heavy boots were heard
+on the pavement of the street below. Cia went
+softly towards her master, and asked him in a
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span>
+whisper if he would not eat something. He
+silenced her by an imperious gesture.</p>
+
+<p>After seven o'clock, when all outsiders had
+left save Toni Gall, Ismaele, the Professor, Ester,
+and three or four women who were in the alcove-room,
+long, low groans, which seemed hardly
+human, broke the silence. The doctor came into
+the hall. It was now quite dark, and he knocked
+against a chair. "Is the engineer here?" he asked
+aloud. "Yes, sir," Toni Gall replied, and went
+for a candle. The engineer neither spoke nor
+moved.</p>
+
+<p>Toni Gall soon returned with a candle and Dr.
+Aliprandi&mdash;whom I am happy to recall here as a
+frank and upright man, possessed of a fine intellect
+and a noble heart&mdash;approached the sofa where
+Uncle Piero sat.</p>
+
+<p>"Engineer Ribera," said he with tears in his
+eyes, "it is time for you to do something now."</p>
+
+<p>"For me to do something?" said Uncle Piero,
+raising his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. We must at least try to get her away.
+You must come and speak a word. You are like
+a father to her. At such moments as these it is
+a father's place to speak."</p>
+
+<p>"Let my master alone," Cia grumbled. "He
+can't do these things. It would just be making
+him miserable to no purpose."</p>
+
+<p>Now pitying voices and kisses mingled with
+the groans.</p>
+
+<p>The engineer pressed his clenched fists upon the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span>
+sofa, and remained motionless for a moment,
+with bowed head. Then he rose, not without
+difficulty, and said to the doctor:</p>
+
+<p>"Must I go alone?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you wish me to be present?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. Our efforts may be of no avail.
+I should not wish to force her, but we must, at
+least, make an attempt."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor dismissed the women who were
+still in the alcove-room; then, standing in the
+doorway, he turned to the engineer and motioned
+to him to come in.</p>
+
+<p>"Donna Luisa," said he gently, "here is your
+uncle, who is coming to beseech you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The old man staggered as he came forward,
+although his face was composed. He advanced
+a few steps and then stopped. Luisa was seated
+upon the bed with her dead baby in her arms,
+holding her tight, kissing her face and neck, and
+uttering long, heart-rending groans as she pressed
+her lips to the little body.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, yes," she was saying, with almost
+a smile of tenderness in her voice. "It is your
+uncle, dear, your uncle, who is coming to see his
+little treasure, his little Maria, his little Missipiṕ,
+who loves him so much! Yes, yes, yes!"</p>
+
+<p>"Luisa," said Uncle Piero, "you must control
+yourself. Everything that could be done has
+been done. Now come with me&mdash;don't remain
+here any longer&mdash;come with me."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span>
+ "Uncle, Uncle!" cried Luisa, in a voice full of
+tenderness but without looking towards him,
+while she pressed the little dead body to her
+breast and rocked backwards and forwards.
+"Come here! Come here to your Maria! Come!
+Come to us, for you are our uncle, our dear uncle!
+No, dear, no, dear! Our uncle will not forsake us."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Piero shuddered. His grief overwhelmed
+him for a moment, and wrenched a sob from him.</p>
+
+<p>"Let her rest!" he murmured in a stifled voice.
+She did not appear to hear him, and continued:
+"We will go to our uncle, dear, you and I. Do
+you want to go to him, Maria? Yes, yes! Let us
+go!" She slid from the bed to the floor and went to
+Uncle Piero. Clutching her sweet, dead burden
+to her breast with one arm, she threw the other
+about the old man's neck, and whispered: "A
+kiss, a kiss, for your little Missipiṕ. One kiss,
+only one!"</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Piero bent down and kissed the little
+face, already sadly ravaged by death, wetting it
+with two great tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Look, look, Uncle!" she said. "Doctor,
+bring the candle! Yes, yes! Don't be cruel,
+doctor. Look, Uncle! See what a little treasure
+she is, doctor!"</p>
+
+<p>Aliprandi hesitated, and tried to resist her
+appeals, but in this mad grief there was something
+sacred, something that must be respected. He
+obeyed, and raising the candle, held it close to the
+tiny corpse, that was intensely pitiful with its
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span>
+half-open eyes and dilated pupils, this little corpse
+that had once been Maria, sweet little Missipiṕ,
+the old man's delight, the smile and the love of
+the house.</p>
+
+<p>"Look at this tiny breast, Uncle. See how we
+have abused it, poor treasure, how we have hurt
+it with all our rubbing. It was your mamma,
+Maria darling! Your horrid mamma, and that
+wicked doctor there."</p>
+
+<p>"Enough!" said the doctor resolutely, setting
+the candle on the writing-desk. "Talk to your
+child if you will, but not to this one. Talk to the
+one in Heaven."</p>
+
+<p>The effect of his words was terrible. All tenderness
+vanished from Luisa's face. She drew
+back, frowning fiercely, and pressing her dead
+child closer to her breast. "No!" she cried aloud.
+"No, not in Heaven! She is mine! She is mine!
+God is wicked! I will not give her to Him!"</p>
+
+<p>She drew ever farther back, back into the alcove,
+where, standing between the great bed and
+the little one, she once more began uttering those
+low groans which did not seem human. Aliprandi
+sent the trembling old man out of the
+room. "It will pass! It will pass!" he said. "We
+must have patience. I will stay with her now."
+Ismaele came into the hall and drew the Professor
+aside.</p>
+
+<p>"Has Signor Don Franco been informed?"
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>They consulted the uncle and it was decided that
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span>
+a telegram in Uncle Piero's name, and announcing
+serious illness, should be sent from Lugano the
+next morning, for it was now too late. There
+was some one else in the hall. Poor Barborin
+Pasotti, who had hastened thither while her husband
+was absent escorting the Marchesa back to
+Cressogno. She was sobbing, and in despair
+because she had given Maria the little boat.
+She wished to go to Luisa, but the doctor, hearing
+loud crying, came out and begged her to be calm
+and silent. Barborin went to cry in the loggia.
+The Curate, Don Brazzova, and the Prefect of the
+Caravina, who had been dining at Casa Pasotti, had
+accompanied Barborin. Later the Curate of
+Castello, Intrioni, arrived, weeping like a child.
+He was determined to go to Luisa in spite of the
+doctor's protests, and knelt in the centre of the
+room, entreating her to give her baby to the Lord.
+"Listen, Signora Luisa, listen. If you will not
+give her to God, give her to her grandmother
+Teresa, to your own dear mother who will be so
+happy to have her with her in Heaven."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa was touched, not by his words, but by
+his grief, and answered gently: "Can you not
+understand that I do not believe in your Heaven?
+My Heaven is here!"</p>
+
+<p>Aliprandi made a gesture of entreaty to the
+Curate, who went out, sobbing.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The doctor left Oria towards midnight with
+the Professor. The whole house was quiet, nor
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span>
+was any voice to be heard in the alcove-room.
+Aliprandi had spent the last two hours in the hall
+with the Professor and Ester, and not a single
+cry, not a groan, nor any movement had he
+heard. He had gone twice to look in. Luisa
+was sitting on the edge of her bed, her elbows on
+her knees and her face in her hands, contemplating
+the little bed which Aliprandi could not see.
+This state of immobility caused him more anxiety
+than the state of intense excitement that had
+preceded it. As Ester was going to remain all
+night he advised her to try and rouse her friend, to
+make her talk and weep.</p>
+
+<p>Some women from the village were to watch
+with Ester, and Ismaele would be there until five
+o'clock, when he must start for Lugano. Uncle
+Piero had gone to bed.</p>
+
+<p>Aliprandi and the Professor stopped on the
+square by the church to look at the lighted window
+of the alcove-room, and to listen. Silence.
+"Accursed lake!" the physician exclaimed, taking
+his companion's arm and once more starting forward.
+He was certainly thinking of the sweet
+little creature the lake had killed when he uttered
+the words, but in his heart there was also a great
+fear that other troubles might be approaching,
+that the treacherous waters had not yet done
+their worst; and he was overwhelmed with pity
+for the poor father, who, as yet, knew nothing.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XI<br />
+SHADOWS AND DAWN</h2>
+
+<p>On receiving the telegram Franco at once
+hastened to the office of the <i>Opinione</i>, in
+Via della Rocca. Perceiving his agitation, Dina
+said: "Ah! then you already know?" Franco's
+blood ran cold, but on hearing about the telegram
+Dina exhibited great surprise. No, no, of that he
+knew nothing. Information had reached him
+from the Prime Minister that the Austrian police
+had been searching houses and making arrests in
+Vall' Intelvi, and that among the papers of a
+certain doctor there was one in which the name
+of Don Franco Maironi was mentioned, with particulars
+of a compromising nature. Dina added
+that at a moment of such great anguish for a
+father, he would refrain from going into an explanation
+of Count Cavour's interest in him; suffice
+it to say that he himself had mentioned Franco to
+the Count, who had expressed his regret that a
+Lombard gentleman, bearing such a distinguished
+name, should be obliged to live in such straitened
+and obscure circumstances in Turin. Dina
+believed it was his intention to offer him a position
+in the Foreign Office. Now, of course, Franco
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span>
+must go. But the little girl would recover and
+he must return as soon as possible. Meanwhile
+he would stop at Lugano, would he not?
+He must, at least, await news there, and unless it
+became absolutely necessary, he must not venture
+into Lombardy. After this affair at Vall' Intelvi
+it would be extremely imprudent. As Franco
+remained silent, the director once more broached
+the subject before bidding him good-bye. "Be
+prudent! Don't let them take you!" But Franco
+would not answer.</p>
+
+<p>Ever since the receipt of the telegram Franco
+had walked the streets of Turin like one in a dream,
+deaf to the noise of his own footsteps, unconscious
+of what he saw, of what he heard, going
+mechanically wherever it was necessary for him
+to go at this juncture, wherever a certain servile
+and lower faculty of the soul might lead him, that
+faculty composed of reason and of instinct, which
+is capable of guiding us through a labyrinth of
+city streets, while the mind, concentrated upon
+some problem, some passion, takes no heed of our
+movements. He sold his watch and chain to a
+watchmaker of Doragrossa for one hundred and
+thirty-five lire, purchased a doll for Maria,
+stopped at Café Alfieri and Café Florio to leave
+word for his friends, and was at the station by
+eleven o'clock, although the train for Novara
+which he was to take did not start until half-past
+eleven. At a quarter-past the Paduan and the
+young man from Udine appeared. They endeavoured
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span>
+to encourage him with all sorts of rosy
+suppositions and unconvincing arguments, but
+he answered never a word and only longed intensely
+for the moment of departure, longed to be alone,
+to be hastening towards Oria, for he was determined
+to go to Oria, no matter how great the
+danger might be. He entered a third-class
+carriage, and when the locomotive whistled and
+the train began to move, he heaved a great sigh
+of relief, and gave himself up entirely to thoughts
+of Maria. But there were too many people about
+him, they were too many, too rough, and too noisy.
+At Chivasso, feeling he could no longer bear their
+chattering and laughter, he changed into an empty
+second-class carriage, where he began to talk
+aloud, his eyes fixed on the opposite seat.</p>
+
+<p>Good God! why had they not added another
+word to the telegram? Just one word more!
+At least the name of the illness.</p>
+
+<p>A terrible name flashed across his brain: Croup!
+He gasped with horror, and threw out his arms
+against this phantom, his muscles suddenly
+stiffening, then, letting his arms sink once more,
+he heaved a sigh so deep that it seemed to expel
+the very soul, even life itself, from his breast.
+It must indeed be a sudden illness, or Luisa would
+have written. Another name flashed across his
+mind. Brain-fever! He himself had been at the
+point of death with brain-fever when a child. Oh
+God! oh God! It must be that! God Himself had
+sent this thought to him. He was shaken by
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span>
+tearless sobbing. Maria, his treasure, his love,
+his joy! Yes, indeed it must be that. He could
+see her gasping, flushed, watched over by her
+mother and the doctor. In a moment he pictured
+to himself long hours spent by her bedside, long
+hours of anguish, then he pictured the birth of
+hope, heard the first whisper of that sweet voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Papa! my papa!"</p>
+
+<p>He started to his feet, clasping and wringing his
+hands in a mute impulse of prayer. Presently
+he sank back into his seat again, exhausted, and
+turned unseeing eyes upon the flying landscape,
+vaguely conscious of some connection between
+the misty Alps looming motionless there against
+the northern horizon and the thought that dominated
+him, looming motionless and torpid within
+his soul. From time to time the jolting of the
+train would rouse him from his stupor, suggesting
+the idea of a painful race, stimulating his
+heart to rush, to beat thus also. Sometimes he
+would close his eyes, the better to picture his
+arrival at home. Images would at once rise from
+his heart to his eyelids, but they were always
+changing, continually moving, and he could not
+hold them for more than a second. Now it was
+Luisa hastening towards him on the stairs; now
+the uncle holding out his arms to him from the
+door of the hall; now Dr. Aliprandi who was
+opening the door of the alcove-room to him, and
+saying: "She is better, she is better!" Now in
+the darkened room, filled with shadows, it was
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span>
+Maria herself who gazed at him with glassy,
+feverish eyes.</p>
+
+<p>When he reached Vercelli, he felt as if he were
+a thousand miles from Turin, and once more awoke
+to a sense of reality. How should he get from
+Lugano to Oria? What route should he take?
+Should he go openly by the lake, showing himself
+at the Custom-House? And what if they would not
+allow him to proceed because his passport had not
+been stamped on leaving Italy as the law demanded?
+Or, worse still, what if a warrant of
+arrest be out against him on account of those
+papers taken from the doctor at Pellio? He had
+better keep to the hills. They might arrest him
+later, but with his knowledge of the neighbourhood,
+acquired on his many hunting expeditions
+in 1848, he was almost sure of reaching home.
+This wearisome task of planning and arranging
+absorbed his attention for some time, and kept
+him occupied until he had passed Arona, on the
+Lake Maggiore steamer. He had arranged to
+reach Lugano in the middle of the night. Would
+there be some one there to meet him? If there
+were no one there, perhaps he might hear something
+at the Fontana pharmacy, where the Valsolda
+people were in the habit of congregating.
+If God would only permit reassuring news to
+reach him at Lugano he would postpone decision
+as to his journey to Oria until the morrow. He
+therefore determined to make no plans before
+reaching Lugano, and he prayed fervently that
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span>
+the Almighty would allow this good news to
+reach him. The sky was overcast; the mountains
+had already assumed their sad autumnal
+tints; a thin mist hung over the lake; the bells of
+Meina were ringing; on the steamer there were
+but few passengers, and Franco's prayer died in
+his heart, stifled by a crushing sadness, while his
+eyes unconsciously followed a flock of white gulls,
+that were winging their flight towards the distant
+waters of Laveno, towards that hidden country
+where his soul was.</p>
+
+<p>It was past seven when he reached Magadino.
+He climbed Monte Ceneri on foot, following the
+path that leads to the road-mender's house, took
+a carriage at Bironico and reached Lugano shortly
+after midnight. He alighted in the Piazza, near
+Café Terreni. The coffee-house was closed, the
+square was deserted and dark, and silence reigned;
+even the lake, which could be seen gently rising
+and falling in the gloom, was silent. Franco
+paused a moment on the shore, hoping that some
+one had come to meet him, and would presently
+appear. He could not see Valsolda, hidden behind
+Monte Brè, but that same water mirrored
+Oria, and slept in the boathouse at home. A
+wave of peace eased his heart somewhat; he felt
+he was among things familiar to him. Every
+human voice was hushed, but the great, dark
+hills spoke to him, Monte Caprino and the Zocca
+d'i Ment more than all, for they overlooked Oria.
+They spoke gently to him, suggesting comfort-bringing
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span>
+thoughts. Nineteen hours had passed
+since the telegram was sent. All danger might
+now be over.</p>
+
+<p>As no one appeared he went to the Fontana
+pharmacy, and rang the bell. For many years
+he had known that most worthy, cordial, and
+honest man, Signor Carlo Fontana, who has now
+passed away with the world of long ago. Signor
+Carlo came to the window, and was greatly surprised
+to see Don Franco. He had no news from
+Oria. He had spent the last two days at Tesserete,
+and had returned only a few hours before, so could
+tell him nothing. His assistant had started for
+Bellinzona that evening. Franco thanked him
+and walked away in the direction of Villa Ciani,
+for he was now determined to go to Oria at once.</p>
+
+<p>Two routes were open to him. He could either
+climb the Swiss slope of the Boglia from Pregassona,
+strike the heights of Bolla; cross the
+Pian Biscagno and the great beech wood, coming
+out at the venerable beech-tree of the Madonnina
+on the brow of the hill which slopes down into
+Lombardy, and then drop down on to Albogasio
+Superiore and Oria; or he could take the easy
+Gandria road, leading towards the lake, and then
+follow that treacherous and dangerous path which
+starts from Gandria, the last Swiss village, cuts
+along the face of the almost perpendicular cliff,
+crosses the frontier some hundred metres above
+the lake, runs on to the Origa farm, drops into the
+ravine of Val Malghera, rising once more to the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span>
+Rooch farm, where it joins the paved way which
+passes above Niscicoree and finally leads down to
+Oria. The first route was much longer and far
+more difficult, but it afforded a better chance of
+eluding the vigilance of the guards at the frontier.
+On leaving the Fontana pharmacy Franco had
+been fully determined to go that way, but when,
+on reaching Cassarago, where the roads to Pregassona
+and to Gandria meet, he saw how near
+the point of Castagnola was, and reflected that
+it would take him less than half an hour to go
+from Castagnola to Gandria, and that another
+hour and a half would take him from Gandria to
+Oria, the idea of climbing the Boglia, of walking
+seven or eight hours, became intolerable to him.
+Besides, if he went by the Boglia he would arrive
+in the daytime, and this, of course, would jeopardise
+his safety. He turned his face resolutely
+towards Castagnola and Gandria. The sky was
+now completely overcast with heavy clouds.
+Beneath the great chestnut trees that line the
+road to Castagnola, he could not see where to set
+his feet, but how much worse it would have been
+in the great beech forest of the Boglia if Franco
+had chosen that route. It was just as dark in
+Castagnola, and worse in the labyrinth of narrow
+lanes at Gandria. After wandering backwards
+and forwards among these lanes for some time,
+always mistaking his way, Franco at last found
+himself on the path leading to the frontier, and
+stopped to rest. Before starting forward again
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span>
+in the impenetrable darkness, before braving the
+dangers of a difficult path, and of a meeting with
+the Austrian guards, and then facing another
+terrifying step, that of entering his house, of putting
+the first question, of listening to the first
+answer, he raised his heart to God, and concentrated
+all the powers of his mind upon a determination
+to be strong and calm.</p>
+
+<p>Once more he started forward. Now he must
+give his whole attention to the path, in order not
+to fall or lose his way. The little fields of Gandria
+soon come to an end. Then wild tracts follow,
+that jut out over the lake, and are covered with
+a thick growth of low bushes; then come ravines
+with crumbling sides, that go tumbling straight
+downwards, and are half hidden by the bushes.
+In such places as these Franco was obliged to feel
+his way blindly, to cling first to one branch, then
+to another, plunging his face in among the leaves,
+that, at least, smelt of Valsolda, and dragging himself
+from bush to bush. He must explore the
+ground with his foot, trembling lest it give way
+beneath him, and seeking for traces of the path.
+The bundle he carried was small, but nevertheless
+it embarrassed him. The rustling of the foliage
+as he brushed past, irritated him; it seemed as
+if it must be heard a long way off, on the hills and
+on the lake, in the solemn hush of the night.
+Then he would stop and listen. He could hear
+only the distant thundering of the falls at Rescia,
+the hooting of owls in the woods over yonder,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span>
+across the lake, and from time to time, far below,
+a sharp stroke on the water, for which he could
+not account. It took him quite an hour to reach
+the frontier. There, between the Valle del Confine
+and the Val Malghera, the forest had been recently
+cut down, and the rocky slope was bare. This
+enhanced both the danger of falling, and that of
+discovery. He crossed this tract very slowly,
+often pausing, sometimes crawling on hands and
+knees. Before reaching Oria he heard the faint
+dip of oars far below. He knew the customs-guards'
+boat sometimes passed the shore of Val
+Malghera at night. Surely these were the guards.
+Beneath the chestnut trees of Origa he breathed
+freely once more. There he was hidden, and
+could walk noiselessly on the grass. He descended
+the western slope of Val Malghera and climbed up
+the other side without encountering any obstacles.
+On approaching Rooch his heart beat furiously.
+Rooch is a sort of outpost of Oria. There the little
+path ends that he had so often followed with
+Luisa on mild winter afternoons, gathering violets
+and laurel leaves, and talking of the future. He
+remembered that the last time, they had had a
+discussion concerning the most desirable husband
+for Maria, and the qualities he must possess.
+Franco had hoped he would be a country gentleman,
+but Luisa had been in favour of a civil
+engineer.</p>
+
+<p>Rooch is a little farmhouse perched above a
+few small fields which lie terraced against the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span>
+hillside, and form a small, light clearing among
+the surrounding woods. The stable, a room
+above it, a small portico in front of the stable,
+a cistern under the portico&mdash;that is all. The little
+portico is just above the narrow paved way that
+passes some two or three metres below. It is
+only a few steps from the comb of the ravine of
+Val Malghera, to Rooch. Having reached the comb,
+Franco heard low voices in the farmhouse.</p>
+
+<p>He paused and drawing aside, stretched himself,
+face downwards, upon the grass, beyond the
+path, and near a cluster of low chestnut trees.
+The voices became silent, but he heard a man's
+steps coming rapidly towards him; he lay quite
+still, holding his breath. The man stopped almost
+at his side, waited a moment, and then slowly
+retraced his steps, saying in a loud voice, with a
+foreign accent: "There is no one here, it must
+have been a fox."</p>
+
+<p>The guards! A long silence followed, during
+which Franco did not dare to move. The guards
+once more began to talk, and he decided to crawl
+noiselessly backwards, to drop down into Val
+Malghera and pass behind and above the house.
+Slowly, very slowly he pulled off his boots. He
+was about to move when he heard two or three
+guards leave the farmhouse, talking as they came
+towards him. He heard one of them say: "Is
+no one going to stay here?" and another answered:
+"It is not necessary."</p>
+
+<p>Four guards brushed past him without noticing
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span>
+him. They certainly had no suspicions, for they
+were talking unconcernedly. One was saying
+that a person may remain ten minutes under
+water without drowning; but another maintained
+that five minutes is long enough to cause death.
+The fourth passed him in silence, but hardly had
+he done so when he stopped. Franco shuddered
+upon hearing him strike a match. He lit his pipe,
+puffed at it two or three times, and then called
+out to his companions in a loud voice, for they had
+already gone some way down the slope of Val
+Malghera.</p>
+
+<p>"How old was she?"</p>
+
+<p>One of the others answered, louder still:</p>
+
+<p>"Three years and one month."</p>
+
+<p>Then the fourth guard puffed twice more and
+started forward. Three years and one month!
+Maria's age! Franco, lying on his face, raised himself
+upon his elbows, clutching convulsively at the
+grass. The noise of the steps died away down
+below in Val Malghera.</p>
+
+<p>"My God! My God!" he cried. Rising to his
+knees he repeated the terrible words in his heart,
+slowly, as if stupefied. "<i>She was!</i>" He wrung his
+hands, moaning once more: "My God! My God!"</p>
+
+<p>After this he was hardly conscious of his movements.
+He went down to Oria with the vague
+sensation of having grown suddenly deaf, and
+his arm which clasped the doll trembled violently.
+Reaching the Madonna del Romit he crossed the
+town, and instead of going down by the Pomodoro
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span>
+stairway he followed the path that joins the short
+cut to Albogasio Superiore, and descended those
+same stairs that Barborin Pasotti had descended
+the day before the catastrophe. On the wall of
+the church he noticed a pale light which was
+reflected from the alcove-room. He neither
+paused beneath the window, nor called out, but
+stepped under the porch and tried the door.</p>
+
+<p>It was open.</p>
+
+<p>From the coolness of the night he passed into
+a heavy, close atmosphere, laden with the unfamiliar
+odour of burnt vinegar and incense.
+With difficulty he dragged himself up the stairs.
+Before him, on the landing, half-way up, light fell
+from above. On reaching the spot he saw that
+the light came from the alcove-room. He went
+on and presently stood in the corridor. The door
+of the room was wide open; there must be many
+candles burning in there. Mingled with the odour
+of incense he recognised the perfume of flowers,
+and began to tremble so violently that he could
+not go on. No sound reached him from the room.
+Suddenly he heard Luisa's voice, speaking tenderly,
+quietly: "Do you want me to go where you
+are going to-morrow, Maria? Do you want your
+mamma under the ground with you?" "Luisa!
+Luisa!" sobbed Franco, and they found themselves
+in each others' arms, on the threshold of
+their nuptial chamber, where the memory of their
+love was still alive, but where its sweet fruit
+lay dead.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span>
+ "Come, dear. Come in," said she, and drew
+him forward. In the centre of the room, between
+four lighted candles, stood the little open coffin,
+in which lay poor Maria, under a mound of flowers,
+broken and wilted like herself. There were roses,
+heliotrope, jasmine, begonia, geraniums, verbena,
+flowering sprays of <i>olea fragrans</i>, and other blossomless
+sprays, all dark and shiny, from the carob
+tree she had loved so well, because it had been
+dear to papa. Flowers and leaves lay across her
+face as well.</p>
+
+<p>Franco fell upon his knees sobbing: "My God!
+My God!" while Luisa chose two tiny rosebuds,
+placed them in Maria's little hand, and kissed her
+brow.</p>
+
+<p>"You can kiss her hair," said she, "but not her
+face. The doctor does not wish it."</p>
+
+<p>"But you have just done so!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it is a different thing for me."</p>
+
+<p>But instead he pressed his lips to her icy lips,
+that showed among the geraniums and the carob
+leaves, touching them gently, as in a tender, but
+not despairing farewell to the outward wrapping
+now cast aside and empty, which had once belonged
+to his beloved baby, who had gone to
+dwell elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>"Maria! My darling Maria!" he whispered between
+his sobs. "What was the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>He had not realised the connection between the
+guards' talk about drowning and the rest of their
+conversation.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span>
+ "You have not heard?" said his wife calmly,
+and without surprise. They had told her how
+the telegram had been worded, but she was also
+aware that Ismaele was to have met Franco in
+Lugano. She did not know, however, that as
+Franco had not arrived by the coach from Ceneri,
+Ismaele had gone to bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Franco!" said she, kissing his hair almost
+maternally. "There was no illness."</p>
+
+<p>He started to his feet, terrified, and exclaiming:
+"What do you mean? There was no illness?"</p>
+
+<p>Leu, the person whom Franco had heard
+breathing heavily in her sleep, now came in with
+the intention of fumigating the room, but seeing
+Franco she stopped in amazement. "Come in,"
+said Luisa. "You may place the brazier outside
+the door; sprinkle whatever is necessary upon it,
+and then return to the kitchen and sleep, my good
+Leu." The woman obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>"There was no illness?" Franco repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Come," his wife answered. "I will tell you
+everything."</p>
+
+<p>She made him sit down on the <i>dormeuse</i> at the
+foot of their bed. He wished her to sit beside
+him, but she made a gesture of refusal, and of
+entreaty that he should not insist, that he should
+be quiet and wait; then, sinking down on the
+floor beside her baby, she began the painful story
+in a low, even voice, that sounded almost indifferent
+to the tragedy it was relating, a voice
+that resembled poor, deaf Barborin's, seeming to
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span>
+come from a far-away world. She began with her
+meeting with Peppina Bianconi at Campo, and&mdash;always
+in the same calm tone&mdash;told him all the
+thoughts, all the sentiments that had brought her
+to confront his grandmother, told him everything,
+down to the moment when she had realised that
+Maria was indeed dead. When she had finished
+she rose to her knees, and kissing her dead child,
+whispered to her: "Now your papa thinks that I
+killed you, but it is not true, dear, indeed, it is
+not true!"</p>
+
+<p>He rose, quivering with nameless emotion, and
+bending over her, raised her&mdash;neither yielding
+nor resisting&mdash;from the floor. Touching her
+resolutely but tenderly, he placed her on the
+<i>dormeuse</i> beside him. He encircled her shoulders
+with his arm, pressing her to him, speaking with
+his lips on her hair, wetting it with the hot tears,
+which from time to time choked his voice. "My
+poor Luisa! No, indeed you did not kill her! How
+could you suspect me of thinking such a thing?
+I bless you instead for all that you have done for
+her ever since she came into the world; I, who
+have done nothing, bless you who have done so
+much. Never say such a thing again! Never,
+dear. Our Maria&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A violent sob checked his words, but the man
+immediately exerted his strong will, controlled
+himself and continued:</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you know what our Maria is saying now?
+She is saying: 'My darling mamma, my darling
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span>
+papa, now you are all alone, you have only each
+other, you are more closely united than ever; give
+me to God that He may give me back to you; that
+I may become your little guardian angel, and lead
+you to Him at last, that we may dwell together
+in all eternity,' Do you hear her saying these
+words, Luisa?"</p>
+
+<p>She trembled in his arms, shaken by spasmodic
+quiverings; her face bent low, resisted Franco
+when he would have raised it. At last she took
+his hand and kissed it. Then he also kissed her
+on the hair, and murmured: "Answer me."</p>
+
+<p>"You are good!" Luisa replied, in a faint and
+despairing voice. "You wish to spare me, but
+you do not believe what you say. You must feel
+that I caused her death, that if I had adopted your
+sentiments, your ideas, I should not have left the
+house, and if I had not left the house this would
+not have happened, and Maria would still be alive."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't think of that, my dear, don't! You
+might have believed Maria was with Veronica;
+you might have remained in the room with the
+fiancés, and the accident would have happened
+just the same. Don't think of this any more,
+Luisa. Rather listen to what Maria is saying."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Franco! Poor, poor fellow!" said Luisa,
+with such bitterness of terrible hidden meanings,
+that his blood ran cold. He shuddered and was
+silent, unable to grasp her meaning, and at the
+same time dreading an explanation. Slowly they
+withdrew from each other's arms, Luisa being the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span>
+first to move. She again took her husband's
+hand and wished to carry it to her lips, but Franco
+drew her hand tenderly towards him and made a
+last attempt.</p>
+
+<p>"Why will you not answer me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should hurt you too much," she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>He began to realise the irreparable ruin of her
+soul, and was silent. He did not withdraw his
+hand, but felt his strength deserting him, felt
+darkness and icy cold creeping over him, as if
+Maria, whom he had evoked in vain, had died a
+second time. Anguish, fatigue, the heavy atmosphere,
+the mingled odours of the room,
+affected him so strongly that he was obliged to
+go out, or he would have fainted.</p>
+
+<p>He went to the loggia. The windows were
+open and the sweet, fresh air restored him. Out
+there in the dark he wept for his little daughter
+unrestrainedly, without even that restraint which
+light imposes. He knelt by one of the windows,
+crossed his arms on his breast and wept, his face
+raised towards heaven, tears and words flowing
+together, disjointed words of anguish and of faith,
+calling out to God for help, to God, to God who
+had dealt him the blow. With streaming eyes
+he cried out, begging that his tears might continue
+to flow, confessing that he knew full well
+why the child had died. Had he not prayed again
+and again that God would preserve her from the
+danger of losing her faith through her mother's
+influence? Ah! that last night! That last night
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span>
+when Maria had said to him: "Darling papa, a
+kiss!" and so many other tender things, and would
+not let go his hand, how he had prayed! The
+memory of it was a terror, a joy, a spasm to him.
+"Lord, Lord!" said he, gazing heavenward.
+"Thou wert silent, but my voice reached Thee.
+Thou hast answered my prayer in Thine own
+mysterious way. Thou hast taken my treasure to
+Thyself, she is safe, she is happy, she awaits me.
+Thou wilt reunite us." The fast-falling tears
+that accompanied his last words had no bitter
+taste, but presently, while thinking once more of
+that last night, he was bitterly sorry he had left
+Maria without telling her that he had deceived her.
+"Maria, my own Maria!" he entreated, weeping,
+"forgive me!" Good God! it seemed impossible
+that all this could be true; it seemed impossible
+that if he went into the alcove-room he should
+not find her there asleep in her little bed, her head
+drooping towards her shoulder and her tiny hands
+resting, palms upward, upon the sheet. Indeed
+she was still there, but&mdash;&mdash;! Oh! how awful it
+all was! Surely his tears would never end.</p>
+
+<p>Leu came in bringing a light and a cup of coffee.
+The Signora had sent her. He felt a thrill of
+tender gratitude towards his wife. Good God!
+Poor Luisa! How hopeless was her grief! And
+what an awful semblance of punishment for her
+in the blow which had fallen upon her at that very
+moment, that very moment! She herself had
+realised that he must think this, and he did indeed
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span>
+think it, but had denied his thought in order to
+spare her, and this she had also realised. And
+was this awful semblance of punishment destined
+not to bear any fruit whatsoever? She seemed
+to shrink from God more than ever now, and who
+could tell how far she might wander! Poor, poor
+Luisa! It was not Maria he should pray for, Maria
+did not need his prayers. He must pray for Luisa,
+pray night and day, trusting also in the prayers of
+the precious little soul now hidden in God.</p>
+
+<p>He talked with Leu, feeling more calm now, and
+had her tell him all she had seen, all she had heard
+of this terrible event. "The Lord wanted your
+little child for Himself," said Leu at last. "If
+you could only have seen her in church, with her
+little folded hands and her serious little face! She
+looked just like an angel. Indeed she did."
+Then she asked Franco if she should leave the
+light. No, he preferred to be in the dark. At
+what time was the funeral to take place? At
+eight o'clock, Leu thought. When Leu once
+began talking it was always hard for her to leave
+off, and perhaps now she was afraid of staying in
+the kitchen all alone. "Her papa!" she added,
+before going out. "Her dear papa! It isn't more
+than a week ago that I came here with some chestnuts
+for the Signora, and that blessed little creature,
+who spoke so well, for all the world like a
+lawyer, said to me: 'Do you know, Leu, my papa
+is coming to Lugano very soon, and I am going to
+see him.' Oh, dear! What a dreadful thing!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span>
+ His tears flowed afresh. Ah, God had taken
+the child to save her from the errors of the world.
+God had punished Luisa for her errors, but was
+not this awful punishment intended for him also?
+Was he not guilty also? Ah, yes! Very, very
+guilty! A clear vision of his past life rose before
+him, his life, barren of all useful labour, full of
+vanities, corresponding ill with the beliefs he
+professed, a life which rendered him responsible
+for Luisa's unbelief. The world accounted him
+virtuous for certain qualities he possessed through
+no merit of his own, for they were inborn in him,
+and he felt that for this very reason God's judgment
+of him must be doubly severe; for God had
+endowed him richly, and he had gathered no fruit.
+Once more he fell upon his knees and humbly
+accepted his punishment, in the desolate contrition
+of his heart, in his burning desire to expiate,
+to purify himself, to become worthy of re-union
+with Maria at last.</p>
+
+<p>A long, long time he prayed and wept. At last
+he went out to the terrace. Above Galbiga and
+the hills of the Lake of Como the sky was growing
+light; day was breaking. From neighbouring
+Boglia a cold north wind was blowing. From far
+and near, from the lake shore, from the lofty
+bosom of the valley, bells rang out. The thought
+that Maria and Grandmother Teresa were together
+and happy, rose suddenly, clear and sweet
+in Franco's heart. It seemed to him the Lord
+was saying to him: "I afflict thee, but I love thee.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span>
+Wait, be steadfast, and thou shalt know." The
+bells chimed far and near, from the lake shore
+and from the lofty bosom of the valley. The
+sky grew ever brighter above Galbiga and towards
+the Lake of Como, along the steep, black profile
+of the Picco di Cressogno; and the sweep of smooth
+water down there in the East, between the great
+shadows of the mountains, was like a shining pearl.
+The sprays of the passion-flower vine, touched by
+the north wind, waved silently above Franco's
+head, in quivering anticipation of the light, of
+the immense glory that was rising out of the
+east, colouring clouds and clear sky with itself,
+and welcomed by the bells.</p>
+
+<p>To live, to live, to work, suffer, adore, and
+ascend! That was what the light demanded!
+He must carry the living away in his arms, carry
+the dead away in his heart, return to Turin, work
+for Italy, die for her! The dawning day demanded
+this. Italy! Italy! Beloved Mother! Franco
+clasped his hands in a transport of desire.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa heard the bells also. She wished that she
+might not have heard them, wished that day
+might never dawn, bringing with it the hour in
+which Maria must be consigned to the grave.
+On her knees beside her baby's little body she
+promised her that every day of her life she would
+come and talk to her, bring her flowers, and bear
+her company; morning and evening she would
+come. Then she sank down and gave herself up
+to those dark thoughts which she had not wished
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span>
+to confess to her husband, and which had grown
+and matured in her during the last twenty-four
+hours, as a malignant infection of remote origin
+which has lain dormant in the system, being caught
+up at last in the current of the blood, suddenly
+bursts forth with overwhelming violence.</p>
+
+<p>All her religious views, her faith in the existence
+of God, her scepticism concerning the immortality
+of the soul were tending towards subversion.
+She was convinced that she was in no way responsible
+for Maria's death. If indeed there did exist
+an Intelligence, a Will, a Power which was master
+of men and of things, then the monstrous guilt was
+of this Intelligence, which had coldly pre-ordained
+Barborin Passotti's visit and gift; had withdrawn
+Maria from those who should have watched
+over her in her mother's absence; had lured her,
+defenceless, towards destruction; had killed her.
+That same Power had checked her, the mother,
+when she had been about to perform an act of
+justice. Fool that she was, ever to have believed
+in Divine Justice! There was no such thing as
+Divine Justice! Instead there was the altar allied
+to the throne; the Austrian God, a party to all
+injustice, all tyranny, author of suffering, and of
+evil, slayer of the innocent and protector of the
+wicked. Ah! if such a God did indeed exist, it
+were better that Maria be there in that body,
+better that no part of her should live on to fall
+into the toils of this fiendish Omnipotence!</p>
+
+<p>But it was possible to doubt the existence of
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span>
+this horrible God. And if He did not exist we
+might desire that a part of a human being should
+continue to live beyond the grave, live not miraculously,
+but naturally. That was perhaps easier
+to conceive than the existence of an invisible
+tyrant, of a Creator who was cruel to the beings
+of His own creation. The rule of nature without
+God was certainly preferable; better a blind
+master, who was not our enemy, not deliberately
+cruel. But henceforth, at least, no thought must
+be wasted in any way, either in this life or in the
+next&mdash;if, indeed, the next exist&mdash;upon that vain
+phantom, Justice!</p>
+
+<p>The faint light of dawn mingled with her
+thoughts as it had mingled with Franco's thoughts,
+solemn and consoling to him, hateful to her. He,
+the Christian, meditated an insurrection of wrath
+and of arms against brothers in Christ, for love of
+a dot upon the surface of one of Heaven's orbs;
+she meditated an immense rebellion, the liberation
+of the Universe. Her thought might be the
+greater, her intellect might appear the stronger,
+but he whom the human generations learn to know
+even better as they advance in civilisation and
+science; He who allows each generation to honour
+Him according to its strength, and who gradually
+transforms and raises the ideals of the nations,
+making use even of inferior and fleeting ideals,
+when He deems it opportune, in His government
+of the world; He who, being Peace and Life, has
+allowed Himself to be called the God of armies,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span>
+had impressed the sign of His judgment upon the
+face of the woman and upon the face of the man.
+While dawn burned into the glory of sunrise,
+Franco's brow became ever more brightly illumined
+by a light from within, and through his
+tears his eyes shone with the vigour of life; but
+Luisa's brow grew ever darker, and from the
+depths, the shadows mounted to her dull eyes.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>As the sun rose a boat came in sight off the point
+of Caravina. It brought the lawyer, V., who had
+come from Varenna in obedience to Luisa's call.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XII<br />
+PHANTOMS</h2>
+
+<p>On the evening of that same day a numerous
+company assembled in the Marchesa's
+red drawing-room. Pasotti had brought his
+unlucky wife by main force, and he had brought
+Signor Giacomo Puttini also, although that
+gentleman had held out for some time against the
+most gracious Controller's despotic caprices. The
+curate of Puria and Paolin had also put in an appearance,
+both being anxious to observe the effects
+of the tragedy on the old lady's marble countenance.
+Paolin of course dragged the worthy
+Paolon in his wake, he being still in a state of
+limp and sheepish resistance. The curate of
+Cima, who was devoted to the Marchesa, came
+also, as did the prefect of Caravina, whose heart
+really belonged to Franco and Luisa, but who,
+as parish-priest of Cressogno, was bound to treat
+their enemy with a certain amount of consideration.</p>
+
+<p>She received them all with her usual impassive
+expression, with her usual calm greeting. Signora
+Barborin, who had been cautioned by her master
+against alluding to the event at Oria, was made
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span>
+to sit on the sofa beside her hostess, who graciously
+accepted the homage of the others, put the usual
+questions to Paolin and Paolon concerning their
+respective consorts, and having satisfied herself
+that both Paolina and Paolona were enjoying the
+best of health, she folded her hands over her
+stomach and relapsed into dignified silence, her
+courtiers forming a semicircle around her.
+Pasotti, noting the absence of Friend, inquired
+for him with obsequious solicitude. "And Friend?
+Dear little Friend?" Although, had he had him
+in his clutches&mdash;<i>solus cum solo</i>&mdash;the nasty, little
+snarling beast which worried his trousers and
+his wife's skirts, he would have joyfully wrung his
+neck. Friend had been ill for two days. The
+entire company was greatly affected by this news,
+and loudly deplored the misfortune, secretly
+hoping the while that the accursed little monster
+might not recover. Barborin, not hearing a
+word, but seeing so many mouths at work, so
+many faces assuming a look of affliction, naturally
+supposed they were speaking of Oria, and turning
+to her neighbour Paolon, questioned him with
+her eyes, opening her mouth and pointing towards
+Oria. Paolon shook his head. "They are talking
+about the little dog," said he. The deaf woman
+did not understand, but she said: "Ah!" on
+general principles, and assumed an expression of
+affliction like the rest.</p>
+
+<p>Friend ate too much, and his food was too rich,
+and he was now suffering from a disgusting skin
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span>
+disease. Paolin and the curate of Puria gave
+much careful advice. The prefect of Caravina
+had elsewhere expressed the charitable opinion
+that the creature ought to be pitched into the lake
+with his mistress tied to his neck. While the
+others were discussing the favourite with such
+lively interest, the prefect was thinking of Luisa
+as he had seen her that morning, her features
+distorted, opposing mad resistance first to the
+closing of the coffin, and then to its removal.
+He was thinking how, in the cemetery, she with
+her own hands had cast the earth upon her child,
+telling her to be patient, that she herself would
+soon come and lie down beside her, and that that
+would be their Paradise.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of the animated and eager conversation
+concerning the mangy Friend, the phantoms of
+the dead child and the distracted mother were
+hovering in the room. Presently there came a
+moment of silence when no one could think of
+anything more to say about the dog, and then the
+two unhappy phantoms were heard by all, demanding
+that they speak of them, and all could
+see them distinctly in the eyes of one who loved
+them, in the eyes of poor, deaf Barborin. Her
+husband at once sought a diversion, and propounded
+a problem in <i>tarocchi</i> to Signor Giacomo.
+The other <i>tarocchi</i> enthusiasts immediately took up
+the question, the voices of the phantoms could no
+longer be heard, and every one breathed more freely.</p>
+
+<p>It was nine o'clock. Usually at that hour the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span>
+footman would come in with two lighted candles,
+and prepare the little <i>tarocchi</i> table in one corner
+of the room, between the great fireplace and the
+balcony on the West. Then the Marchesa would
+rise and say, with her habitual, drowsy calm:</p>
+
+<p>"If you are ready&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The two or three guests would invariably answer:
+"Quite ready," and then the three-handed
+or four-handed game would begin.</p>
+
+<p>The old footman&mdash;who was devotedly attached
+to Don Franco&mdash;hesitated that night about bringing
+the candles. He did not believe it possible
+that his mistress and her guests would have the
+courage to play. At five minutes past nine, as
+the footman had not yet appeared, each one
+began privately commenting upon the delay.
+Before entering the house Paolin had maintained
+that there would be no playing, while the prefect
+had maintained the contrary. He now cast a
+triumphant glance at his adversary, as did also
+Paolon, who, from a spirit of solidarity with the
+other Paul, was pleased that he should be in the
+right. Pasotti, who had felt sure of his game,
+began to show signs of uneasiness. At seven
+minutes past nine the Marchesa requested the
+prefect to ring the bell. It was now the prefect's
+turn to bestow a triumphant glance on Paolin,
+and he put into it all the silent contempt for the
+old woman that it would hold.</p>
+
+<p>"Prepare the table," said the Marchesa to the
+footman.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span>
+ He soon returned with the two candles. From
+the depths of his sorrowful eyes also, the phantom
+of the dead child looked forth. While he was
+busy arranging the candles, the cards, and the
+ivory counters on the table, the room was
+enveloped in that silence which always preceded
+the rising of the Marchesa. But the Marchesa
+showed no intention of rising. She turned to
+Pasotti, saying:</p>
+
+<p>"Controller, if you and the others wish to
+play&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Marchesa," Pasotti promptly replied, "my
+wife's presence must not deter you from enjoying
+your game. Barborin is not a good player, but
+she delights in looking on."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not play this evening," the Marchesa
+answered, and although the tone was mild, the
+refusal was decisive.</p>
+
+<p>The worthy Paolon, who was always silent and
+could not play <i>tarocchi</i>, believed he had at last
+discovered a word which was both wise and obsequious,
+and which he might safely utter:</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti gave him a surly glance, thinking:
+"What business is it of his?" but he did not venture
+to speak. The Marchesa appeared not to
+have noticed Paolon's utterance, and added:</p>
+
+<p>"The others can play if they like."</p>
+
+<p>"Never!" exclaimed the prefect. "We should
+not think of such a thing!"</p>
+
+<p>Pasotti drew his snuff-box from his pocket.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span>
+"The <i>Signor Prefetto</i>," said he, speaking very
+distinctly, and slightly raising his open hand,
+a pinch of snuff between the thumb and forefinger,
+"The <i>Signor Prefetto</i> must speak for himself.
+For my part, as the Signora Marchesa
+wishes us to play, I am quite willing to oblige her."</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa was silent, and the fiery prefect,
+encouraged by her silence, grumbled in an undertone:</p>
+
+<p>"After all, we are in a house of mourning."</p>
+
+<p>Never since Franco had left the house had his
+name been mentioned at these evening assemblies
+in the red drawing-room, nor had the Marchesa
+even alluded either to him or to his wife. She
+now broke the silence that had lasted four years.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry for the baby," said she, "but as
+for her father and mother, the Almighty has seen
+fit to punish them."</p>
+
+<p>No one spoke. After some minutes Pasotti
+said in a low and solemn tone:</p>
+
+<p>"A fearful punishment!"</p>
+
+<p>And the curate of Cima added in a louder voice:</p>
+
+<p>"A manifest punishment!"</p>
+
+<p>Paolin dared not remain silent, neither did he
+dare speak, so he ejaculated: "Dear, dear!"
+and this encouraged Paolon to repeat his "Exactly!"
+Signor Giacomo simply puffed.</p>
+
+<p>"A chastisement from the Almighty!" the
+curate of Cima repeated with emphasis. "And
+also, considering the circumstances, a mark of His
+especial regard for some one else."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span>
+ All, save the prefect, who was chafing inwardly,
+looked at the Marchesa as if the protecting hand
+of the Omnipotent were suspended above her wig.
+But instead that Divine Hand was hovering above
+the lofty bonnet of Barborin Pasotti, and was
+keeping her ears tightly closed, that they might
+not hear those contaminating and iniquitous
+words. "Curate," said Pasotti, "as the Signora
+Marchesa has proposed it, shall we have a little
+game? You, Paolin, Signor Giacomo, and I?"</p>
+
+<p>The four, seated in their corner at the little
+card table, at once gave themselves up to the
+luxury of unrestrained conversation, and to the
+enjoyment of certain stale, Ambrosian<a name="FNanchor_P_16" id="FNanchor_P_16"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_P_16" class="fnanchor">[P]</a> witticisms,
+which cling to the <i>tarocchi</i> cards like grease.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall get there first!" Pasotti exclaimed
+after the first round, laughing loudly, with the
+intention of proclaiming both his victory and his
+good spirits.</p>
+
+<p>The players had rid themselves of the phantoms;
+not so the others. The deaf woman, sitting stiff
+and motionless on the sofa, had suffered mortal
+anguish, dreading a gesture from her husband
+which should command her to play. Oh, dear
+Lord! was she to be made to suffer this also?
+By the grace of Heaven the sign was not given,
+and her first feeling upon seeing the four seat
+themselves at the little table had been one of
+relief. But at once bitter disgust seized her.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span>
+What an insult that game was to her Luisa!
+What contempt it showed for poor, dear little
+Maria, who was dead! No one spoke to her, no
+one noticed her, so she began to recite in her heart
+a string of <i>Paters</i>, <i>Aves</i>, and <i>Glorias</i>, for the soul
+of that wicked creature seated at the other end
+of the sofa, who was so old, so rapidly approaching
+the moment when she must appear before her
+God. She repeated, for her benefit, the prayer
+for the conversion of sinners which she had been
+in the habit of repeating night and morning for
+her husband's benefit, ever since she had discovered
+his over-familiarity with a certain menial
+attached to her household.</p>
+
+<p>When the prefect heard Pasotti's outburst of
+mirth, he rose to take his leave. "Wait," said
+the Marchesa, "you must have a glass of wine."
+At half-past nine a precious bottle of old San
+Colombano was usually brought in. "I shall
+not drink to-night," said the prefect heroically,
+"I have been greatly upset ever since this morning.
+Puria knows why."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear, dear!" said Puria softly. "Of course
+it was a terrible tragedy."</p>
+
+<p>Silence. The prefect bowed to the Marchesa,
+saluted Signor Pasotti with an expression that
+said: "You and I understand each other," and
+left the room.</p>
+
+<p>The curate of Puria, who was possessed of a big
+body and a level head, was studying the Marchesa
+without appearing to do so. Was she or was she
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span>
+not affected by the events at Oria? Her having
+refrained from playing seemed to him a doubtful
+symptom. She might have done so simply out of
+respect for her own flesh and blood. On closer
+observation the curate noticed that her hands
+trembled; this was unusual. She forgot to ask
+Pasotti if the wine was good; this also was unusual.
+Her face with its waxen mask, twitched
+violently from time to time; this was extremely
+unusual. "She is touched!" thought the curate.
+As she was perfectly silent, and as Signora Pasotti
+and Paolon were also silent, the whole group
+seemed turned to stone. Puria cast about for
+a means of breaking the ice, but could find nothing
+better than to induce those three heads to
+turn towards the card-table, while he commented
+upon Pasotti's exclamations, upon Paolin's and
+Signor Giacomo's ejaculations and puffings. The
+Marchesa roused herself somewhat, and expressed
+her satisfaction that the players were enjoying
+themselves. Barborin neither heard nor spoke
+a word, so the three others ended by talking about
+her. The Marchesa complained that she was so
+deaf it was impossible to converse with her. The
+other two lavished upon her all the praise she so
+richly deserved, the praise all those who remember
+her still lavish upon her. There she sat, sad and
+speechless, never suspecting that she was the subject
+of their conversation. The Lord protected
+her profound and simple meekness, by never
+allowing the praises of the world to enter into
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span>
+her ears, but only the scoldings of her worthy
+consort.</p>
+
+<p>Her great, sorrowful black eyes brightened
+when Signor Giacomo uttered a loud and final
+puff, and his companions, dropping their cards,
+threw themselves back in their respective chairs
+to rest a little and reflect upon the delights of the
+game. At last her master approached the sofa,
+and motioned to her to rise. For the first time
+in her life, perhaps, she was glad to get into the
+boat.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>When her guests had left, the Marchesa rang
+the bell for the rosary, which they had not been
+able to repeat at the usual hour. The rosary
+was a living thing in Casa Maironi, having its
+roots in the Marchesa's past sins, and its growth
+was steady, for it was always putting forth fresh
+<i>Aves</i> and <i>Glorias</i>, as the old lady became more
+advanced in years, and saw her own disgusting
+skull looming before her, ever more distinct, ever
+more apparent. Consequently her rosary was
+extremely long. The sweet peccadillos of her
+protracted youth did not trouble her conscience
+over-much, but there were certain other transgressions
+which could be computed in pounds,
+shillings, and pence, transgressions never properly
+confessed and therefore never properly forgiven,
+and these caused her great uneasiness; an uneasiness
+she was continually trying to stifle by means
+of rosaries, but which was forever bursting out
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span>
+afresh. While she was praying to the Great
+Creditor for the remission of her debts, she would
+feel perfect confidence in His power to remit
+them all, but later there would once more loom
+before her mind's eye the sorrowful faces of the
+lesser creditors, bringing with them doubts concerning
+the pardon received, and thus her avarice
+and her pride were ever struggling against the fear
+of a perpetual debtor's prison beyond the tomb.</p>
+
+<p>When they had recited the prayers for the
+conversion of sinners, and those for the healing of
+the sick, and were about to begin the <i>De Profundis</i>,
+she announced three new <i>Ave Marias</i>, without,
+however, stating for what purpose. The scullery
+maid, a simple peasant from Cressogno, supposed
+these <i>Ave Marias</i> were intended for the unhappy
+family at Oria, and recited them with extreme
+fervour. The scullery-maid's <i>Aves</i> clashed with
+and routed those of her mistress, which were asking
+for sleep, and rest for the nerves and conscience.
+As to the <i>Ave Marias</i> of all the others,
+they were repeated in the common hope that
+they might not remain definitely attached to the
+rosary, as too often happened. In short, no one
+succeeded in checking the onward march of the
+ghost.</p>
+
+<p>Towards eleven o'clock the Marchesa retired.
+She drank some citron-water, and the maid having
+begun to talk of Oria and of Don Franco, who, it
+was whispered, had returned, she ordered her to
+be silent. She was certainly affected. She saw
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span>
+continually before her eyes the image of Maria as
+she had once seen her when passing in her gondola
+below the little Gilardoni villa; a slight figure in
+a white apron, with long hair and bare arms, and
+strangely like a child of her own who had died
+when only three. Did she feel affection or pity?
+She herself could not tell what she felt. Perhaps
+it was only irritation and terror at not being able
+to rid herself of an annoying image; perhaps it was
+fear at the thought that if a certain great sin had
+not been committed long ago, if Marchese Franco's
+will had not been burnt, the child would not have
+died.</p>
+
+<p>When she was in bed she had the maid read
+some prayers to her, then she ordered her to put
+out the light, and finally dismissed her. She
+closed her eyes, trying not to think of anything,
+and saw beneath her eyelids, a shapeless, light
+spot, which little by little transformed itself into
+a small pillow, then into a letter, then into a large
+white chrysanthemum, and at last into a pale,
+drooping, dead face, that gradually grew smaller
+and smaller. She fancied she was falling asleep,
+but as a result of this last transformation the
+thought of the child shot through her heart, and
+although she saw nothing more beneath her eyelids,
+her drowsiness vanished, and she opened
+her eyes, vexed and uneasy. She determined to
+think out a game of <i>tarocchi</i> in order to drive away
+these troublesome fancies, and induce sleep. She
+thought of the game, and succeeded, by an effort,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span>
+in seeing in her mind's eye the little card-table,
+the players, the candles, the cards; but when she
+relaxed the tension of effort, in order to give herself
+up to a passive contemplation of these soporific
+phantoms, something totally different appeared
+beneath her eyelids&mdash;a head which was continually
+changing its features, its expression, its
+position, and which, at last, slowly drooped forward,
+as in sleep or death, so that she could only
+see the hair. This was another shock to her
+nerves. The Marchesa once more opened her
+eyes, and heard the clock on the stairs begin to
+strike. She counted the strokes; twelve o'clock.
+It was already midnight, and she could not get
+to sleep! She lay some time with wide open eyes,
+and now images began to appear in the dark as
+they had before appeared beneath her eyelids.
+At first there was only a formless nucleus, which
+soon began to undergo transformation. She saw
+the face of a clock which presently turned into the
+horrible eye of a fish, and then became an angry,
+human eye. Suddenly the Marchesa felt quite
+sure she would not be able to go to sleep at all, and
+once more the drowsiness that had already taken
+firm hold on her, was put to flight. Then she
+rang the bell.</p>
+
+<p>The maid let her ring twice, and then came in,
+half dressed and sleepy. She was ordered to
+place the candle upon a chair in such a position
+that the flame might not be visible from the bed,
+to get a volume of Barbieri's sermons, and to read
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span>
+in a low voice. The maid was in the habit of
+administering these narcotics. She began to read,
+but at the end of the second page, hearing her
+mistress's breathing grow deeper, she very gradually
+lowered her voice, until it became only an
+inarticulate murmur, and finally lapsed into
+silence. She waited a moment, listening to the
+deep and regular breathing, then rose and went to
+look at the dark face turned upwards on the
+pillows, with wrinkled brow and half-open mouth.
+Then she took up the candle and went out
+on tiptoe.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa was asleep and dreaming. She
+was dreaming that she was stretched on a bed of
+straw in a great dark dungeon, chains upon her
+ankles, and accused of murder. The judge entered
+with a light, sat down beside her, and read
+her a sermon on the necessity of confession.
+She kept protesting that she was innocent, and
+repeating: "Don't you know she was drowned?"
+The judge made no answer, but went on reading
+in a mournful and solemn voice, while the Marchesa
+insisted: "No, no! I did not kill her!" In her
+dream she was no longer phlegmatic, but writhed
+like one in despair. "Remember that the child
+herself says so," the judge replied. He rose to
+his feet, repeating: "She says so." Then he
+struck the palm of one hand loudly upon the palm
+of the other, and called out: "Enter!" Thus far
+the Marchesa had been conscious in her dream
+that she was dreaming; at this point she thought
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span>
+she awoke, and saw with horror, that some one
+had indeed entered the room.</p>
+
+<p>A human form, slightly luminous, was seated
+in the armchair heaped with clothes that stood
+beside her bed, but in such a position that she
+could not distinguish the lower part of the apparition.
+Its shoulders, arms, and clasped hands
+were of a whitish hue, and indistinct in outline,
+but its head, that rested against the chair-back,
+was distinctly visible, and surrounded by a pale
+light. The dark, living eyes were staring at the
+Marchesa. Oh, horror! It was indeed the dead
+child! Oh, horror! Oh, horror! The eyes of the
+apparition spoke, and accused her. The judge was
+right, the child was saying so&mdash;without words&mdash;with
+her eyes! "It was you who did it, Grandmother,
+you! I should have been born, should
+have lived under your roof. You would not
+have it. Your punishment shall be death everlasting!"</p>
+
+<p>The eyes alone, the staring, sad, pitiful eyes
+said all these things at once. The Marchesa
+uttered a long groan, and stretched out her arms
+towards the apparition, trying to say something,
+and succeeding only in gasping out: "Ah&mdash;ah&mdash;ah&mdash;"
+while the hands, the arms, the shoulders
+of the phantom vanished in a mist, the outlines
+of its face became blurred, and only the gaze
+remained, staring intently, and then finally becoming
+veiled was absorbed, as it were, into a
+deep and distant Self, nothing remaining of the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span>
+apparition save a slight phosphorescence which
+was presently lost in the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>The Marchesa awoke with a start. In her
+agitation she forgot the bell, and tried to call out,
+but could not raise her voice. By an effort of
+her will, which was still strong in spite of her
+failing bodily strength, she thrust her legs out of
+bed, and stood upright. She staggered forward
+a step or two in the dark, stumbling against the
+easy-chair, and clutched at another chair, dragging
+it down with her as she fell heavily to the ground,
+where she lay moaning.</p>
+
+<p>The noise of the fall roused the maid, who
+called out to her mistress, but receiving no answer,
+and hearing the moaning, she lighted her
+candle and hastened into the room, where, in the
+dim light between the armchair and the bed she
+saw something large and white that was writhing
+on the floor like some huge marine monster, that
+has been cast upon the shore. She screamed and
+rushed to the bell, rousing the whole house at
+once, and then hastened to help the old woman,
+who was groaning: "The priest! The priest!
+The prefect! The prefect!"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<div class="fn">
+<h4>Footnotes</h4>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_P_16" id="Footnote_P_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_P_16">
+<span class="label">[P]</span></a> Ambrosian: From St. Ambrose, patron of Milan. Therefore, Milanese.
+[<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII<br />
+FLIGHT</h2>
+
+<p>At half-past two that same night Franco,
+Lawyer V., and their friend Pedraglio were
+sitting in the loggia in the dark, and in silence.
+Suddenly Pedraglio started up exclaiming: "What
+can that fool be about?" Going out to the terrace
+he listened a moment and then returned to
+the room. "No sign of him," said he. "Oh,
+I say! Are we to sit here like idiots and wait
+for them to come and take us, and all on account
+of that silly ass, who has probably fallen asleep?
+Maironi, you are fairly well acquainted with the
+road, and we all three have plenty of courage. If
+it should be necessary to pitch into anybody we
+should be quite equal to the occasion. Don't
+you think so, V.?"</p>
+
+<p>The night before, between seven and eight
+o'clock, Pedraglio had happened to be on the road
+between Loveno and Menaggio. At the spot that
+goes by the name of "Bertin's Cove" a man had
+begged of him, had pressed a note into his hand,
+and had then walked rapidly away. The note
+ran as follows: "Why does Carlino Pedraglio
+not go to Oria at once, to see Signor Maironi and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span>
+the lawyer from Varenna, and take a nice little
+walk with his dear friends over beyond the stake?"</p>
+
+<p>Ever since the arrest of his friend the doctor at
+Pellio, Pedraglio had been expecting some sign
+from the police, and this note was not the first
+timely and ungrammatical warning which had
+reached a patriot. The note spoke plainly; he
+must pass the stake that marked the frontier
+without delay. Pedraglio knew nothing of Franco's
+misfortune and return, nor was he aware of the
+lawyer's presence in Oria. He did not stop to
+speculate, however, but hastened to Loveno,
+provided himself with money, and started off on
+foot. He would not risk going to Porlezza, but
+took the path that from a spot near Tavordo rises
+upwards through a lonely ravine to the Passo
+Stretto. As nimble as a chamois, he reached
+Oria in four hours, and found Franco and the
+lawyer preparing to start, another mysterious
+warning having reached them through the curate
+of Castello, who had been to Porlezza, and had
+there been charged with the message, in the confessional.
+Ismaele was to guide them across the
+frontier. The passes of Boglia were very carefully
+guarded, and Ismaele proposed passing between
+Monte della Neve and Castello; then they
+would drop down into the valley, making straight
+for the Alpe di Castello below the Sasso Grande,
+and from there descend to Cadro, an hour above
+Lugano.</p>
+
+<p>But Ismaele was to have been there at two
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</a></span>
+o'clock, and at half-past two he had not yet
+appeared.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa was also up. She was in the alcove-room
+mending a pair of Maria's stockings, which she
+intended to place on the little bed, where she had
+arranged all of the child's little garments with the
+same care as when the little one was alive. She
+had not wished to see either the lawyer or Pedraglio.
+After her intense excitement at the funeral
+her grief had once more assumed that gloomy
+aspect which caused Dr. Aliprandi still greater
+anxiety. She was no longer excited; she did
+not even speak, and she had never yet wept.
+Her manner towards Franco exhibited nothing
+but pity for this man who loved her, and whose
+affection and presence were, in spite of herself,
+perfectly indifferent to her. Franco, relying upon
+obtaining the position his director had talked so
+much about, had proposed taking the whole
+family back to Turin with him. Uncle Piero,
+poor old man, was quite ready to make this new
+sacrifice, but Luisa had stated explicitly that rather
+than leave her little daughter, she would end her
+days in the lake.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Upon hearing the proposal to start without
+Ismaele, Franco rose and said he would go and
+take leave of his wife. Just at that moment the
+lawyer heard a step in the street below.
+"Silence!" said he. "Here he is." Franco
+went out to the terrace. Some one was, indeed,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</a></span>
+coming from the direction of Albogasio. Franco
+waited until the wayfarer had reached the church-place,
+and then called out in a low voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Ismaele?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is I," a voice answered that was not Ismaele's.
+"It is the prefect. I am coming up-stairs."</p>
+
+<p>The prefect at that hour? What could have
+happened? Franco went to the kitchen, lighted
+a candle, and then hastened downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>Five minutes passed and he had not returned
+to his friends. But meanwhile Ismaele's wife
+had appeared to say that her husband was feeling
+very ill, and could not stir. She stood in the
+square, and spoke to Pedraglio, who was on the
+terrace. He hastened to summon Franco, and
+found him on the stairs, coming up with the prefect.
+"The guide is ill," said he, knowing the
+priest to be an honest man. "Let us start at
+once, and not waste any more time." Franco
+replied that he could not start immediately, and
+that they must go on ahead. How was this?
+Why could he not start? No, he could not. He
+ushered the prefect into the hall, called the lawyer,
+and tried to persuade both Pedraglio and him to
+start at once. Something extraordinary had
+happened, about which he must consult his wife,
+and he could not say what he might decide to do.
+His friends protested that they would not forsake
+him. The jovial Pedraglio, who was in the habit
+of spending more money than his father approved
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</a></span>
+of, observed that if the worst came to the worst,
+they would be able to live more economically and
+more virtuously at Josephstadt or Kufstein than
+in Turin, and that this would be a consolation to
+his "governor." "No, no!" exclaimed Franco.
+"You must go! Prefect, you persuade them!"
+And he went towards the alcove-room.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ready to start?" said Luisa, in that
+voice which seemed to come from a far-away
+world. "Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>He came to her side, and stooped to kiss the
+little stocking she held. "Luisa," he whispered,
+"the Prefect of Caravina is here." She did not
+express the slightest astonishment. "Grandmother
+sent for him an hour or two ago," Franco
+continued. "She told him she had seen our
+Maria, shining like an angel."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what a lie!" Luisa exclaimed, in a tone
+full of contempt, but not angrily. "As if it were
+possible she would go to her and not come to me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Maria has touched her heart," Franco went
+on. "She begs us to pardon her. She fears she
+is dying, and entreats me to come to her, to bring
+her a word of peace from you also."</p>
+
+<p>Franco himself did not believe in the apparition,
+being profoundly sceptical of everything that was
+supernatural outside of religion, but he did believe
+that Maria, in her higher state, had already
+been able to work a miracle, and touch his grandmother's
+heart, and the thought caused him
+indescribable emotion. Luisa remained like ice.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span>
+She was not even irritated, as Franco had feared
+she would be, by the proposal to send a friendly
+message. "Your grandmother fears hell," she
+observed with her mortal coldness. "Hell does
+not exist, and so all this amounts to nothing more
+than a fright. The suffering is not great. Let
+her bear it, and then die as we all must, and so,
+'Amen.'" Franco saw it would be useless to
+insist. "Then I will go," said he. She was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I shall be able to come back this
+way," Franco added. "I shall have to take to
+the hills."</p>
+
+<p>Still no answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Luisa!" the young man said softly. Reproach,
+grief, passion, all these were in his appeal.
+Luisa's hands, that had never once paused in their
+work, now became still. She murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"I no longer feel anything. I am like a stone."</p>
+
+<p>Franco turned faint. He kissed his wife on her
+hair, said good-bye, and then entered the alcove,
+where, kneeling beside the little bed, he threw
+his arms across it, recalling his treasure's little
+voice: "One kiss more, papa!" A paroxysm
+of weeping assailed him, but he controlled himself,
+and hurriedly left the room.</p>
+
+<p>In the hall his friends were impatiently awaiting
+his return. How could they start? They did
+not know the way. The lawyer was, indeed,
+acquainted with the Boglia road, but was that the
+best way to go if they wished to avoid the guards?
+On hearing that Franco was going to Cressogno
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span>
+they were filled with amazement, and Pedraglio
+gave vent to his indignation, saying it was shameful
+to forsake his friends in this fashion, when they
+were in trouble. When the prefect realised how
+matters stood he took Pedraglio's part, and
+offered to explain Franco's absence to his grandmother,
+and proposed that Franco should write a
+line or two, which he himself would carry to Cressogno.
+But Franco was convinced that his
+Maria wished him to take this step, and he would
+not yield. He suddenly remembered that the
+prefect was as familiar as a hare with all the
+mountain paths. "You go!" said he, addressing
+the priest. "You accompany them!" The prefect
+was about to reply that perhaps the Signora
+Marchesa might need him, when the lawyer exclaimed:
+"Hush! Look there!"</p>
+
+<p>Directly in front of the house, where the shadow
+of Monte Bisgnago lay obliquely upon the rippling
+water, a boat had stopped. Franco recognised
+the customs-guards' launch.</p>
+
+<p>"I am willing to wager those hogs are watching
+for us," Pedraglio murmured. "They are afraid
+we shall escape by boat. Anyway, they are on
+the lookout."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" the lawyer repeated, approaching
+the window that overlooked the church-place.</p>
+
+<p>All held their breath in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Children," said V., turning quickly from the
+window, "we are done for!" Franco went
+to the window, and saw a solitary figure
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span>
+running towards the house. He concluded the
+lawyer had given a false alarm, but the man&mdash;it
+was he who went by the nickname of "the hunted
+hare," and who knew and saw everything&mdash;flung
+two words upwards as he passed beneath the
+window: "The police!" At the same moment they
+heard the noise of many feet. "Come with me!
+You also, Prefect!" cried Franco, and the others
+following, he made for the little courtyard between
+the house and the hillside, and, passing
+through a woodshed, reached the short cut that
+leads to Albogasio Superiore. It was so dark that
+no one noticed a customs-guard, standing,
+carbine in hand, not two steps from the door of
+the wood-shed. Fortunately this guard, a certain
+Filippini, from Busto, was an honest fellow, who
+ate the bread of Austria unwillingly, and simply
+because he could find no other. "Be quick!"
+said he in an undertone. "Cut across the fields,
+and then take the Boglia road! The path below
+the Madonnina on the left." Franco thanked
+the man, and, with his companions, started up
+the steep path that comes out on the narrow
+communal road of Albogasio Superiore. Half-way
+up they all jumped into a field of maize on
+the right, and stopped to listen. They heard
+steps on the stairs leading upwards from the
+church-place, and then on the path where the
+guard was posted. Evidently the police wished
+to make sure that all the exits were well guarded.
+The four crawled swiftly away through the maize,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span>
+and on reaching the spot below a great boulder
+called "Lori's Rock," they stopped to hold a
+consultation. They might take the path that
+comes out on the Albogasio road at the very door
+of Pasotti's garden, and then climb up from field
+to field, as far as the Boglia road. But the path
+would be hard to find at this hour, and fearing to
+lose too much time, they determined to make for
+the stairway that leads up from Albogasio Inferiore
+to Puttini's house, then, leaving Casa
+Puttini on the right, they could reach the Boglia
+road in no time. It was already less dark. In
+one way this was a disadvantage, but at least
+it would enable them to find their way through
+that labyrinth of small fields and low walls. All
+were silent. Only Pedraglio would utter an oath
+in Milanese from time to time, as he stumbled
+over a stone or scratched his hands on a hedge.
+Then the others would hush him. They reached
+the narrow stairway preceded by the prefect, who
+jumped walls and hedges like a squirrel. When
+they were all together on the stairs Franco withdrew
+from the group. On the Boglia road they
+would not need him; he was going to Cressogno.
+In vain Pedraglio seized him by the arm, in vain
+the prefect implored him not to expose himself
+to certain arrest, and probable imprisonment.
+He believed he was obeying Maria's voice, and
+felt that he was acting according to the dictates
+of conscience. He tore himself from Pedraglio,
+and disappeared up the stairs, for he did not wish
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span>
+to go to Cressogno by way of S. Mamette&mdash;that
+would be too dangerous.</p>
+
+<p>"Follow me!" said the prefect. "The man is
+mad, and we have ourselves to think of."</p>
+
+<p>As they were about to turn the corner of Puttini's
+house, they heard people approaching who
+were probably going down the stairs. The door
+of Puttini's house was open. The friends slipped
+inside. The people passed, talking. They were
+peasants, and one was saying: "Where the deuce
+can he be going at this hour?" Alas, they had met
+and recognised Franco! If the gendarmes and the
+guards should start out to hunt for the fugitives
+and come across these people, they would discover
+a trace at once. Towards dawn one is
+always sure of meeting people. This time they
+had been able to avoid being seen, but a second
+time they might be less fortunate, and a meeting
+might prove as fatal to Pedraglio and the lawyer
+as this one would probably prove to Franco. "If
+you could only disguise yourselves as peasants!"
+said the priest. A happy thought struck the
+lawyer, who had something both of the poet and
+the artist, and who was well acquainted with
+Puttini. He would take <i>Scior Zacomo's</i> clothes
+for Pedraglio, who was also short, and the big,
+fat servant's clothes for himself; stuff their own
+things into a <i>gerla</i>,<a name="FNanchor_Q_17" id="FNanchor_Q_17"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_Q_17" class="fnanchor">[Q]</a> fasten it upon his back, and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span>
+start for Boglia. The "first political deputy" of
+Albogasio might have a hundred reasons for visiting
+the forest belonging to the commune. No
+sooner said than done! They proceeded upstairs,
+and the prefect, who was familiar with the house,
+went straight to call Marianna. She did not
+answer, and her room was empty. The prefect
+guessed at once that the unfaithful servant had
+gone to S. Mamette for some secret business transaction,
+like that of the oil. That was why they
+had found the door open. They went to the
+kitchen and lighted two candles. The lawyer took
+one and the prefect pointed out <i>Scior Zacomo's</i>
+room to him. Meanwhile Pedraglio explored <a name="the" id="the"></a>the
+kitchen by the light of the other candle, in
+search of "something wet, something to brace
+him up."</p>
+
+<p><i>Scior Zacomo</i> slept in a corner room beyond the
+hall which the lawyer crossed on tiptoe, picking
+his way between piles of chestnuts, walnuts,
+filberts, and pears. He approached the door&mdash;it
+was closed. He listened&mdash;silence. Very slowly
+he turned the handle and pushed. The beastly
+door squeaked&mdash;he heard a formidable snort,
+and <i>Scior Zacomo</i> cried out angrily: "Go away!
+Let me alone! Go away!" The lawyer entered
+without further parley. "Away with you, you
+accursed woman! Go away, I tell you!" cried <i>Scior
+Zacomo</i>, the point of his white night-cap rising out
+of the pillows. On catching sight of the lawyer
+he began to groan: "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</a></span>
+dear me! For pity's sake, forgive me! I thought
+it was my servant. Most distinguished Advocate,
+for the love of Heaven, tell me what has happened."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, nothing, <i>Scior Zacomo</i>!" said
+the lawyer. "Only the Commissary of Porlezza
+is here&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, good Lord!" and <i>Scior Zacomo</i> started to
+stick his legs out of bed.</p>
+
+<p>"It is nothing, nothing! Be calm, be calm!
+Cover yourself up; cover yourself up again! We
+are going up to Boglia on account of that accursed
+bull, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Lord! What are you talking about?
+There is no bull at Boglia at this time of the year.
+Oh! I am all bathed in sweat!"</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind. I tell you we are going to see
+the place, to see where he used to be. But the
+Commissary has very good reasons for strictly
+forbidding you to accompany us; he forbids you,
+moreover, to go out until we return, and
+he has even ordered me to remove your clothes."</p>
+
+<p>Then <a name="he" id="he"></a>he began rapidly collecting Puttini's
+garments, commanding him in the name of the
+Commissary to be silent. He took possession of
+the tall hat, seized the bamboo walking-stick,
+ordered the wretched man to bolt the door as soon
+as he should have left the room, and to open it
+to no one, to speak to no one, until the Commissary's
+return; all this in the name of that dreaded
+functionary. Then, leaving the poor man more
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</a></span>
+dead than alive, he once more joined his companions,
+who, by dint of much searching, had
+found a filthy dress of Marianna's, a big, red
+kerchief for the head, a <i>gerla</i>, and a bottle of
+<i>Anesone triduo</i>.<a name="FNanchor_R_18" id="FNanchor_R_18"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_R_18" class="fnanchor">[R]</a> "The deuce!" swore the lawyer,
+on examining the loathsome garments he must
+don. His disguise was indeed most unsatisfactory.
+The skirt was too short, and the kerchief did not
+hide his face sufficiently. However there was no
+time to look for anything better. But Pedraglio,
+in the tall hat, with the bamboo walking-stick
+in his hand, was a perfect <i>Scior Zacomo</i>. The
+lawyer thrust an old manuscript pamphlet he
+found in the kitchen under his friend's arm, and
+showed him how to walk and puff. Finally he
+took the keys to the wine-cellar, two enormous
+keys, gave one to Pedraglio and put the other in
+his own pocket. These would prove valuable
+weapons in case of need; one, he said, would strike
+in the treble key, the other in the bass. And so
+they went out, the prefect first, followed by the
+false <i>Scior Zacomo</i> puffing like a steam-engine, and
+then the false Marianna and her <i>gerla</i> bringing up
+the rear. Hardly had they reached the street
+when the real Marianna appeared, returning from
+S. Mamette with an empty flask. Catching sight
+of her master's tall hat looming in the uncertain
+light, she faced about and made off as fast as her
+legs would carry her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</a></span>
+ "Miserable thief!" the prefect exclaimed. "Excellent!
+Your disguise is splendid!" In five minutes
+they had reached the Boglia road. Then
+the prefect turned homewards, and presently,
+hearing people coming up from Albogasio Superiore
+talking of gendarmes and guards, he went to
+meet them and inquired what had happened.
+Oh, nothing very important; only the gendarmes
+and soldiers had been to Casa Ribera to arrest
+Don Franco Maironi, and, it would appear, lawyer
+V. also, for they were sure he must have been
+there, and they had been asking every one about
+him. However, they had found neither one nor
+the other of the friends, although the customs-guards
+had been watching the house since midnight.
+Now the police were searching all the houses in
+Oria, in the belief that the two men must have
+escaped by the roof. While the prefect was listening
+to this news a boy came running towards
+them from the direction of Albogasio Superiore.
+They stopped him. "The guards!" he gasped;
+"the gendarmes!" He was as white as a sheet;
+why he was running away he himself could not
+tell, and they found it impossible to gather from
+him where the gendarmes were. A woman appeared
+on the scene who was able to give them
+more information. Four customs-guards and
+four gendarmes had just now crossed the square
+in Albogasio Superiore. It was rumoured that
+Don Franco had been seen on the road to Castello,
+and two gendarmes with two guards had started
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</a></span>
+towards the Boglia. The priest shuddered. "Of
+course," some one said, "they will cut him off on
+the Boglia road." The prefect took some comfort
+in the thought that both gendarmes and
+guards were now searching for Franco only. He
+was so tall, so slender, that neither the false Puttini
+nor the false Marianna could possibly be suspected
+of being him. Their fate was now beyond his
+control, but for Franco he could still do much.
+He started for Cressogno, confident that Franco
+would reach that place in safety, if the gendarmes
+did not discover any fresh traces, for they would
+search for him on all the paths leading from
+Castello to the frontier, but not on the road to
+Cressogno.</p>
+
+<p>Pedraglio and the lawyer accomplished the
+first part of the journey from Albogasio to the
+stables of Püs, creeping up the precipitous slope
+like cats, with long and cautious steps. The lawyer
+advanced in silence, but the other was continually
+cursing his garments in an undertone.
+That "beastly hat," that made his forehead
+slippery with grease, that "infernal tail-coat,"
+that smelt strong of the sweat of ages. They
+reached Püs without having met a living being.
+At Püs an old woman came out from between the
+stables just after they had passed, and exclaimed
+in amazement: "You up here, <i>Scior Giacomo</i>?
+At this hour?" "Puff!" murmured the lawyer,
+and Pedraglio began to blow, "Apff! Apff!"
+like a pair of bellows. "Such paths as these take
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</a></span>
+the breath away, my good sir," said the old
+woman. They met no one else until they reached
+Sostra.</p>
+
+<p>Sostra, a stable about half-way up the mountain,
+with a barn, a shed, and a cistern, lies some distance
+back from the path. That path is the very
+worst in the whole of Valsolda. It would make
+even a wild goat hang its tongue out. Pedraglio
+and the lawyer, panting and wet through with
+perspiration, turned into the Sostra for a moment's
+rest. There all was silence and solitude.
+At that height they already breathed a different
+air. And how much lower the mountain-tops
+had become! And the lake down there in the
+depths looked like a river! The lawyer cast
+anxious glances upwards towards the first crest
+of the Boglia, where the great beech forest begins.
+Only half an hour more of climbing! "Come
+along!" said he. But Pedraglio, in whose legs
+there still lingered the memory of that other long
+walk from Loveno to Oria by way of the Passo
+Stretto, wanted to rest a little longer, and began
+calmly turning over the leaves of Puttini's old
+manuscript. It was a monkish poem by some
+unknown Cremonese of the seventeenth century.
+"Come along," his companion repeated after a
+minute or two, and was already preparing to
+rise when he heard some one approaching. He
+had barely time to whisper, "Look out!" and
+turn his back that his face might not be seen.
+Pedraglio, though he kept his manuscript close to
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</a></span>
+his nose, saw first two customs-guards and then
+two gendarmes appear upon the path. He
+warned his friend of this in a low tone, and without
+turning his head. The two guards halted.
+One of them saluted: "My respects, Signor Puttini."
+Turning to the gendarmes, he said: "This
+gentleman is the first political deputy of
+Albogasio." The gendarmes saluted also, and
+Pedraglio raised his hat, and held the manuscript
+a little higher. The guards wished to rest
+awhile, but one of the gendarmes ordered them to
+move on, and when the rest of the company had
+started forward, he himself approached the Sostra.
+He was from Ampezzo, and spoke Italian very
+fluently. "You dog! I hope you don't know
+me!" thought Pedraglio, vaguely conscious of
+his dual personality. "We are in for it, anyway!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Signor Deputato Politico</i>," said the man, "did
+you happen to see Signor Maironi at Oria this
+morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"I? No, indeed. Signor Maironi is in bed and
+asleep at this hour."</p>
+
+<p>"And you yourself&mdash;&mdash;where are you
+going?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am going up that mountain, up that accursed
+Boglia, to see about the communal bull."</p>
+
+<p>"Idiot!" groaned the lawyer inwardly. "He
+is making it communal now!" But the "communal"
+was allowed to pass unchallenged. The
+gendarme, who had a face like a bull-dog, stared
+hard at his interlocutor. "You are a political
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</a></span>
+deputy," said he insolently, "and you wear that
+thing on your chin?" Instinctively Pedraglio's
+hand went to his thin, black, pointed beard, the
+abhorred beard of the liberals. "I will cut it
+off," said he, with mock seriousness. "Most
+certainly, my dear sir! Are you also going up the
+Boglia!" Very stiffly the gendarme moved away,
+without answering, and all unconscious of the
+shameful gibbet to which the political deputy
+was consigning him.</p>
+
+<p>The two friends congratulated themselves on
+their narrow escape, but they recognised that
+the game had become very serious. Now they
+had the guards to reckon with, who knew Puttini
+well, and they must find a means of avoiding them.
+And what if that bull-dog of a gendarme should
+blab about the beard? "Come on! Come on!"
+said the lawyer. "Let us follow them, and if we
+see or hear them turn back we must take to our
+heels and make off to the left, towards the
+frontier." This would have been a desperate
+move, for they were unacquainted with the ground,
+with which the guards were undoubtedly familiar.</p>
+
+<p>But in order to catch up with his companions
+the bull-dog had to sweat and pant so hard that
+when he reached them he had no desire left to
+speak of beards. Pedraglio and the lawyer
+climbed slowly upwards, and saw the enemy
+reach the crest of the hill at the Madonnina beech-tree.
+There they halted for some time and then
+disappeared.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</a></span>
+ The venerable beech-tree, which had the honour
+of bearing upon its trunk an image of the Madonna,
+which, on its death, it bequeathed to a small
+chapel, stood like a sentinel before the great forest
+of Boglia, like a soldier posted in this dip of the
+crest, to keep watch over the precipitous hillside,
+the lake, and the sloping ground of Valsolda. The
+venerable army of colossal beeches stood marshalled
+in another silent hollow between the slope
+of Colmaregia, the easily climbed Dorsi della
+Nave, the rocky base of the Denti di Vecchia or
+Canne d'Organo, and that other saddle of the
+Pian Biscagno, between Colmaregia and the
+Sasso Grande, and faced the depths of Val Colla
+from Lugano to Cadro. An open, grass-grown
+strip of ground stretched along the edge of the
+crest, between the Madonnina beech-tree and the
+forest. The two fugitives stopped to consider
+their position. Which way should they go?
+Should they look for the little path below the
+beech-tree, of which the guard who had saved them
+had spoken, or should they enter the forest? No,
+it would be unwise to take to the woods, in the
+wake of the game they had just seen enter them.
+In the forest they were sure to find the dead
+leaves lying ankle-deep, and it would be impossible
+to pass through without attracting the attention
+of the blood-hounds that were roaming there,
+and their disguise would not bear close inspection.
+The path? There were more paths than one beneath
+the beech-tree. Which was the right one?
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</a></span>
+Pedraglio swore at the absent Franco for not having
+accompanied them, but the lawyer was studying
+the Colmaregia, which could be climbed without
+entering the forest. He had twice made the
+ascent of the Colmaregia, that superb, slender,
+grass-grown peak of the Boglia, which the line
+of the frontier cuts in halves. He knew that
+from there they would be able to descend to the
+Swiss village of Brè, and he resolved to try that
+route. No one was visible on the crest that rises
+from the Madonnina beech towards the Colmaregia,
+and the summit was enveloped in clouds.</p>
+
+<p>Just below the beech-tree they were overtaken
+by a wave of mist which had rolled up one side of
+the mountain and was rapidly pouring down
+the other; a cold, thick mist, a mist "as bad as
+they make them," so V. said. They could not
+see five steps ahead, and thus it happened that
+near the beech-tree Pedraglio ran almost into the
+arms of a customs-guard.</p>
+
+<p>He was one of the four, and had been told off
+to guard the open space between the brow of the
+hill and the forest. Catching sight of the little
+man in the top-hat, he exclaimed: "On the
+Boglia, Sig&mdash;&mdash;" The lawyer quickly cast aside his
+<i>gerla</i>, and the guard did not finish his sentence,
+but stared a moment, open-mouthed, and then
+exclaimed: "How is this?"</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer did not wait for further
+explanations.</p>
+
+<p>"This is how it is," said he calmly, and drawing
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[Pg 454]</a></span>
+his fists into position on his breast, he hit out
+suddenly, and dealt the guard a tremendous blow
+in the stomach that sent him rolling on the grass,
+his heels in the air. In a flash Pedraglio was
+upon him, and snatched his carbine from him.</p>
+
+<p>"If you yell, you dog, I shall do for you!" said
+he. But how could he possibly yell? With a
+blow like that in the stomach, it was all he could
+do to breathe for at least fifteen minutes. In fact
+the man lay like one dead, and it was some time
+before they could even make him groan faintly:
+"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's nothing, nothing at all," V. told him
+with his usual, mocking calm. "Shocks like that
+are good for the health. You will see. Now, my
+friend, you are just going to pick yourself up and
+stand nice and firm on your legs, and accompany
+us to Colmaregia. You will see how well you will
+be able to walk. I was careful not to use this."
+And he showed him the key.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what a blow!" groaned the guard. "Oh,
+what a terrible blow!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is indeed a rather stiff climb," the lawyer
+went on, taking the carbine from Pedraglio, "but
+with your permission we will help you up from
+behind with the point of this instrument. Thus
+climbing will become a delight. Then you must
+bear us company down to Brè. We will carry
+your carbine for you, but you, in return, must
+carry this little <i>gerla</i>. Is my meaning quite clear
+to you? Now, march!"</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[Pg 455]</a></span>
+ But the wretched man could not get to his feet
+and they certainly could not leave him there and
+run the risk of his calling out for help.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor fellow!" said Pedraglio. "You hit him
+too hard."</p>
+
+<p>V. replied that he had touched him with the
+gentleness of a woman, and passing the carbine
+to Pedraglio, he seized the guard by the collar of
+his uniform, pulled him to his feet, and made him
+run his arms through the straps of the <i>gerla</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Go ahead, you fraud!" said he. "March,
+lazy-bones!"</p>
+
+<p>Up, up, ever upwards they climbed through the
+thick mist. The hillside was extremely steep,
+and it was all they could do to find foothold between
+the clumps of soft grass. They slipped,
+they laboured with hands and feet, but they
+heeded naught, struggling ever upwards for
+freedom's sake. Up, up, ever upwards, through
+the thick mist, invisible as spirits, first the false
+Marianna, then the guard puffing and groaning
+under the heavy <i>gerla</i>, then the false <i>Scior Zacomo</i>
+promising him a fine view from the top, and from
+time to time encouraging him with the point of
+the carbine. The carbine worked miracles. In
+half an hour the three had reached the crest, from
+whence the hill slopes down towards Brè, lying
+only a short distance below the summit. Then,
+sitting upon the grass, they let themselves slide
+rapidly downwards. Presently it began to rain,
+and the mist grew thinner, and below them, at
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[Pg 456]</a></span>
+their feet, they could see the red of the woodlands.
+<i>Scior Zacomo's</i> venerable top-hat was the first to
+reach the spot, hurled from above by Pedraglio
+with a joyful "Hurrah for Italy!" as he himself
+slid onwards, arm in arm with the guard. At
+Brè Pedraglio called the whole town together by
+firing off the carbine in sign of exultation, and
+then he distributed <i>anesone triduo</i> among the men,
+and administered it in smaller doses to the girls.
+He begged the curate to allow him to hang the
+tail-coat in the church as a votive offering, sat
+down to eat with the guard, got the priest to preach
+him a sermon on the duty of pardoning blows in
+the stomach, and read a verse of the monkish
+poem to him, which ended thus:</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At this point the good priest did exclaim:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My views are no longer the same.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>After this he had no difficulty in demonstrating
+to him that if this Padre Lanternone had suddenly
+changed his opinions, he, the guard, would be
+fully justified in changing his, and he finally
+persuaded him to desert. The guard ended by
+casting aside his uniform and donning the tail-coat,
+amidst the laughter and applause of all
+present. The only one who did not join in the
+laughter was the lawyer. "What may not have
+happened to poor Maironi?" said he.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Franco did not cross Castello. Upon reaching
+the little Rovajà chapel he hastened downwards
+by the path that leads to the fountain at Caslano,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[Pg 457]</a></span>
+reached the narrow lane that goes to Casarico and
+followed it upwards as far as the last turning just
+below Castello, where the church of Puria becomes
+visible beneath its amphitheatre of crags;
+then he turned into the valley on the right, hastening
+along a path fit for goats only, climbed upwards
+once more below the church of Loggio, and
+reached Villa Maironi without having met any
+one.</p>
+
+<p>Carlo, the old servant who opened the door for
+him, nearly fainted with emotion as he kissed
+Franco's hands. At that moment the doctor was
+in the sick room. Franco decided to wait until he
+should come out, and meanwhile took the faithful
+old man into his confidence, telling that the gendarmes
+were at his heels. Dr. Aliprandi soon came
+out, and Franco, who knew him to be a patriot,
+confided in him also, for he must show himself,
+and make inquiries about his grandmother. Aliprandi
+had been called in the night, after the
+prefect had left for Oria. He had found the
+Marchesa in a state of nervous excitement, tormented
+by a terrible fear of death, but exhibiting
+no symptoms of illness. At present she seemed
+quite calm. Franco had her informed of his
+arrival, and was ushered into the room by the
+maid, who looked at him with obsequious curiosity,
+and then withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>The half-open shutters of the room where the
+Marchesa lay, admitted only two slanting streaks
+of grey light, which did not reach the face, thrown
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[Pg 458]</a></span>
+back upon the pillow. On entering Franco
+could not see that face, but he heard the familiar,
+sleepy voice saying:</p>
+
+<p>"Is that you, Franco?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, grandmother. Good-morning," and he
+stooped to kiss her. The waxen mask was unruffled,
+but there was a vague and gloomy expression
+about the eyes that seemed at once desire
+and terror. "I am dying, you know, Franco,"
+said the Marchesa. Franco protested, and repeated
+what the doctor had said to him. His
+grandmother listened, gazing eagerly at him, trying
+to read in his eyes if the doctor had really
+spoken thus. Then she answered:</p>
+
+<p>"It makes no difference. I am quite ready."</p>
+
+<p>From the changed expression on her face and
+in her voice Franco understood perfectly that she
+was quite ready to live twenty years longer. "I
+am sorry for your bereavement," said she, "and I
+forgive you."</p>
+
+<p>Franco had not expected words of pardon from
+her. He had believed it was for him to bring
+forgiveness, not to receive it. Comforted and
+reassured, the Marchesa of every day was gradually
+reappearing beneath the Marchesa of an
+hour. She was willing to purchase peace of mind,
+but she was like the sordid miser who, having
+yielded to the temptation of gratifying some
+desire, allowed the price of his enjoyment to
+escape painfully from between his tightly-clasped
+fingers, trying the while to keep back as much
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[Pg 459]</a></span>
+as possible behind his nails. At another time
+Franco's wrath would have burst forth, he would
+have rejected that forgiveness angrily, but now,
+with his sweet Maria in his heart, he could not feel
+thus. He had however noticed that his grandmother
+had proffered her forgiveness to him alone.
+This was too much; he could not pass this over.</p>
+
+<p>"My wife, my wife's uncle, and I myself have
+suffered much beside this last bereavement,"
+said he, "and now we have lost our only comfort.
+Uncle Ribera I leave out of the question; you, I
+myself, all must bow before him, but if my wife
+and I have sinned against you, let us make forgiveness
+mutual."</p>
+
+<p>This was a bitter pill, but the Marchesa swallowed
+it in silence. Although she no longer saw
+death at her bedside, her heart still trembled with
+the terror inspired by the apparition, and by
+certain words the prefect had spoken on hearing
+her confession. "I shall make a will," she said,
+"and I wish you to know that the whole Maironi
+property will go to you."</p>
+
+<p>Ah, Marchesa, Marchesa! Poor, icy creature!
+Did she believe she could purchase peace at this
+price? In this the prefect also had blundered, for
+it was he who had advised her to make this declaration
+to her grandson, kind, honest man that
+he was, but entirely without tact, and incapable
+of understanding Franco's lofty soul. The idea
+that she might think he had been prompted by
+sordid motives to come to her, was intolerable to
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[Pg 460]</a></span>
+Franco. "No, no!" he exclaimed, quivering,
+and fearing his hot temper would get the better
+of him after all. "No, no! Don't leave me anything.
+It will be quite enough if you will allow
+the interest on my own money to be paid at Oria.
+Grandmother, you must leave the Maironi property
+to the Ospitale Maggiore. I fear my ancestors
+did very wrong to keep it."</p>
+
+<p>His grandmother had not time to answer, for
+there came a knock at the door. The prefect
+entered, and offering as an excuse that he would
+tire the invalid, persuaded Franco to say good-bye.
+"You must make haste," said he, when they
+were outside. "You have done more than your
+duty here. Too many people are now aware of
+your presence, and the gendarmes may appear
+at any moment. I have arranged everything
+with Aliprandi. He considers a consultation
+necessary for the Marchesa, and will take the
+Villa Maironi gondola and go to Lugano for a
+doctor. The two boatmen will be Carlo and yourself.
+There are those oil-cloth cloaks with hoods.
+Put on one of those and remain in the stern. Now
+we must shave off that pointed beard of yours,
+and then with the hood drawn over your head,
+no one will possibly be able to recognise you.
+You will be perfectly safe. Perhaps you may
+not even be obliged to put in at the customs-house.
+At any rate, they will not recognise you.
+If there is any talking to be done, Carlo can do it."</p>
+
+<p>The idea was good. The Marchesa's gondola
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[Pg 461]</a></span>
+was always looked upon by the agents of Austria
+with the greatest respect; as if it were carrying
+an egg of the double-headed eagle. Even when
+returning from Lugano it was made to stop at the
+customs-house simply <i>pro forma</i>.</p>
+
+<p>It was past eight o'clock when the gondola
+left the boathouse. From the lofty summits the
+mist had descended upon the lake, and it was
+raining. Sad, sad day! Sad, sad journey!
+Neither Franco, the servant, nor Aliprandi spoke
+a word. They passed S. Mamette and Casarico,
+and then, amidst the mist beyond the olives of
+Mainè, the white walls of Maria's resting-place
+appeared. Franco's eyes filled with tears. "No,
+dear," he thought; "no, love; no, my life, you
+are not there; and I thank my God, who tells me
+not to believe this horrid thing!" A few strokes
+more and there was the little house of happy days,
+of bitter hours, of misfortune; there was the window
+of the room where Luisa was giving herself
+up to black grief, the loggia where, henceforth,
+poor old Uncle Piero would spend his days alone,
+that just man who was going down to the grave
+in silence, in tribulation, in weariness. Franco
+longed to know what had happened after his departure;
+if the police had worried Uncle Piero
+and Luisa. In vain he strained his eyes: no
+living being was to be seen either on the terrace,
+in the little garden, or at the windows of the
+loggia. All was silent, all was calm. He stopped
+rowing, searching for some sign of life. Dr.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[Pg 462]</a></span>
+Aliprandi opened the door of the <i>felze</i><a name="FNanchor_S_19" id="FNanchor_S_19"></a>
+ <a href="#Footnote_S_19" class="fnanchor">[S]</a> and
+begged him to resume his rowing, begged him not
+betray himself. At that moment Leu came to
+the parapet of the little garden, with a jug in her
+hand; she glanced at the gondola and then entered
+the loggia. Uncle Piero must be in the
+loggia, and they were taking him the customary
+glass of milk, so probably nothing had happened.
+Franco once more began to row, and Dr. Aliprandi
+closed the door. They glided past the little garden,
+past the other houses of Oria, and the gondola
+turned towards the landing-stage of the
+customs-house.</p>
+
+<p>Bianconi, sitting under an umbrella and fishing
+for tench, spied the gondola, and, dropping his
+pole, came forward to pay his respects to the
+Marchesa. But he found Dr. Aliprandi instead,
+who so upset him by his alarming account of the
+lady that he felt called upon to summon his
+Peppina and impart the news to her; and Peppina,
+poor woman, was obliged to act a little
+comedy of affliction under her Carlascia's umbrella.
+Both husband and wife exhorted Aliprandi
+to make haste, to return quickly. The
+big mastiff gave him permission to cross directly
+from Gandria to Cressogno on the way back.
+Then the doctor turned to Franco, and gave the
+order to proceed. Franco had listened to the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[Pg 463]</a></span>
+conversation standing motionless, his hands clasping
+his oar, and hoping to hear something about
+his friends or his family. But no word was
+breathed concerning either police, arrests, or
+flights, and Casa Ribera might have been in
+China. The gondola backed slowly away from the
+landing-stage, turned its prow towards Gandria,
+gliding ever further and further away until it had
+slipped across the frontier, and vanished in the
+mist.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>On reaching the Lugano shore, Dr. Aliprandi
+opened the door, and called Franco into the little
+cabin. Their acquaintance was only slight, but
+they embraced like brothers. "When the cannonading
+begins I shall be there also," Aliprandi
+said.</p>
+
+<p>They must say good-bye here, and Franco must
+go ashore first and alone, for Lugano was full
+of spies and the doctor must also be cautious.
+Besides, Aliprandi was in no hurry. He was
+more anxious to find a boatman than a physician.
+Franco drew his hood over his eyes, stepped ashore
+and went directly to the Albergo della Corona.</p>
+
+<p>Some hours later, when the gondola had started
+homewards, he went out in search of some one
+from Valsolda who might give him news, and
+directed his steps towards the Fontana pharmacy.
+Under the arcades he met his two friends, who
+had just left the pharmacy. They fell upon his
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[Pg 464]</a></span>
+neck, and wept with emotion. They also had
+been in search of news, and at the pharmacy they
+had heard that Franco had been arrested. What
+joy to find him here, and to feel they were standing
+on free soil!</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<div class="fn">
+<h4>Footnotes</h4>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_Q_17" id="Footnote_Q_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_Q_17">
+<span class="label">[Q]</span></a> <i>Gerla</i>: a basket the peasants both in Switzerland and in North
+Italy carry fastened upon their backs. [<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_R_18" id="Footnote_R_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_R_18">
+<span class="label">[R]</span></a> <i>Anesone triduo</i>: a sort of very coarse and very strong anisette.
+[<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_S_19" id="Footnote_S_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_S_19">
+<span class="label">[S]</span></a> <i>Felze</i>: the cover which is placed upon gondolas in winter or in bad
+weather. It forms a tiny cabin. [<i>Translator's note.</i>]</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[Pg 465]</a></span></p>
+<h1>Part III</h1>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<h2>CHAPTER I<br />
+THE SAGE SPEAKS</h2>
+
+<p>No less than three springs had come and gone
+since the autumn of 1855 without bringing
+to the banks of the Ticino that mustering of armies
+and of banners that the Italians had expected. In
+February, 1859, all were convinced that a fourth
+spring could not pass thus. Great events, duly
+pre-announced by a splendid comet, were approaching.
+The old world was quivering and
+creaking inwardly, as does a frozen river on the
+eve of a thaw. That deadly cold and awful silence
+which had lasted ten years, was about to disappear,
+to be swept away amidst the clamour of
+strife and destruction, by new currents, warm
+and brilliant. Carlascia was playing the braggart,
+and would talk to his guards (who made no comments)
+of an impending military expedition to
+Turin. Signor Puttini had never entirely recovered
+from the shock he had received on that
+memorable morning; and the lawyer's treachery,
+the tragic end of the top-hat, the comic end of the
+tail-coat, had deeply affected him, and he had lost
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[Pg 466]</a></span>
+all respect for patriots. Dr. Aliprandi was already
+in Piedmont. A veteran subaltern of the
+army of Napoleon, who lived in Puria, was secretly
+furbishing up his old uniform, with the intention
+of presenting himself before the French Emperor
+when he should enter Italy. Whenever Intrioni,
+the curate of Castello, met Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri,
+he would remind him of a certain rhyme
+of 1796 which he, Don Giuseppe, had gone about
+repeating in 1848, but which he had soon hidden
+away again.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The mighty Ulans<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came here from Hungary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the Frenchman's arms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made them all promptly flee!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Don Giuseppe, greatly alarmed, would cry:
+"Hush! Hush!"</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the violets continued to grow as
+peacefully on the slopes of Valsolda as if nothing
+were happening. On the evening of the twentieth
+of February, Luisa carried a bunch to the cemetery.
+She was still in mourning. Pallid and emaciated,
+her eyes had become larger, and there were many
+silver threads in her hair. She seemed to have
+grown twenty years older since her bereavement.
+Upon leaving the cemetery she turned towards
+Albogasio, and joined some women from Oria,
+who were going to recite the Rosary in the parish
+church. She no longer seemed the same dark
+phantom that had laid the violets on Maria's
+grave. She talked calmly, almost gaily, first
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[Pg 467]</a></span>
+with one, then with another of the women; inquired
+after a sick animal, praised and caressed a
+little girl who was going to the Rosary with her
+grandmother, and told her to sit very still in
+church, as her Maria had always done. She
+said this and mentioned Maria very quietly, but
+the women shuddered and were filled with astonishment,
+for Luisa herself never went to church
+now. She asked one of the girls if the young men
+were going to act a play as usual, and if her brother
+was to take part. Upon receiving an answer in
+the affirmative she offered to help with the costumes.
+She left the others on the church-place
+of the Annunciata, and as she went down the
+Calcinera alone her face once more resumed its
+spectral appearance.</p>
+
+<p>She was on her way to Casarico to see the Gilardonis,
+who had been married three years. The
+professor's happiness and his adoration of Ester
+would deserve to be told in verse! Uncle Piero
+said of him that he had grown feeble-minded.
+Ester feared he might become ridiculous, and
+would not allow him to assume certain ecstatic
+poses before her when there was anyone present.
+The only person in whose presence she did not
+insist upon the observance of this rule was Luisa.
+But Gilardoni always showed the greatest deference
+for Luisa; to him she was still a superhuman
+being; to his respect for the woman herself
+had been added his respect for her grief, and in her
+presence his behaviour was always most circumspect.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[Pg 468]</a></span>
+Luisa had been going to Casa Gilardoni
+almost every evening for about two years now,
+and if anything could have troubled the couple's
+happiness it would have been these visits.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, their motive was a strange one, and one
+repugnant to Ester, but Ester's affection for her
+friend, and her pity for her bereavement, were so
+great, while her heart was so full of remorse for
+not having looked after Maria more carefully on
+that terrible day, that she did not dare to resolutely
+oppose her wishes, or dissuade her husband
+from gratifying them. She expressed her disapproval
+to Luisa, and begged her at least to
+maintain secrecy concerning the nightly doings in
+the professor's study, but she went no further.
+The professor, on the contrary, would have enjoyed
+these séances had it not been for his wife's
+disapproval. It was already dark when Luisa
+rang the bell at the little door of Casa Gilardoni.
+Ester herself opened it. Luisa did not return her
+greeting, which she felt was full of embarrassment.
+She simply looked at her, but when they
+reached the little parlour on the ground-floor
+where Ester was in the habit of spending her
+evenings, she embraced her so passionately that
+Ester burst into tears. "Have patience with me!"
+Luisa said. "It is all that is left me!" Ester
+tried to comfort her, telling her that happier times
+were coming for her; that she and Franco would
+soon be reunited. In a few months Lombardy
+would be free, and Franco would come home.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[Pg 469]</a></span>
+And then&mdash;and then&mdash;so many things might happen!
+Perhaps Maria might return! Luisa started
+violently and caught her friend's hands. "No!"
+she cried. "Do not say such things! Never!
+Never! I am all hers! I belong to Maria alone!"
+Ester could not answer, for at that point the
+smiling professor came bustling into the room.</p>
+
+<p>He saw that his wife's eyes were wet with tears
+and that Luisa was greatly excited. He greeted
+her very quietly and sat down in silence beside
+Ester, in the belief that they had been discussing
+the usual subject, which was so painful to his wife.
+She would have liked to send him away and resume
+her conversation with Luisa, but did not
+venture to do so. Luisa was shuddering at that
+spectre of future danger which would sometimes
+stand vaguely outlined before her mind's eye,
+but which she had always banished with horror,
+never pausing to examine it, and which now,
+evoked by her friend's words, rose before her,
+naked and distinct. After a long and painful
+silence Ester sighed, and said in a low voice:</p>
+
+<p>"You may go if you like. Go, both of you."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa, moved by an impulse of gratitude, fell
+on her knees before her friend and buried her face
+in her lap. "You know," she said, "I no longer
+believe in God. At first I thought there must be
+a cruel God, but now I do not believe in the existence
+of any God. But if a loving God, such as
+He in whom you believe, did really, surely exist,
+He would not condemn a poor mother who has
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[Pg 470]</a></span>
+lost her only child, and who is struggling to persuade
+herself that a part of that child still lives!"</p>
+
+<p>Ester made no reply. Almost every night for
+two years Luisa and her husband had evoked the
+spirit of the dead child. Professor Gilardoni, in
+whom there was a strange mingling of the free-thinker
+and the mystic, had read with great interest
+the marvellous tales that were told concerning
+the Fox sisters&mdash;Americans&mdash;and the experiments
+of Eliphas Levi, and had closely followed the
+spiritualistic movement which had spread rapidly
+in Europe, in the form of a mania that upset both
+heads and tables. He had spoken to Luisa about
+this movement, and Luisa, possessed and blinded
+by the idea that she might ascertain if her child
+did still exist, in which case she might in some
+way be able to communicate with her, seeing
+nothing else in all the marvellous facts and strange
+theories save this one luminous point, had besought
+him to make some experiments with Ester
+and herself. Ester believed in nothing supernatural
+outside the doctrines of Christianity, and
+did not, therefore, take the matter seriously. She
+willingly consented to place her hands on a small
+table, in the company of her friend and her husband,
+who, on the contrary, exhibited great zeal,
+and had faith in their chances of success. The
+first experiments were disappointing. Ester, who
+found them tedious, would have liked to discontinue
+the attempts, but one evening, after
+twenty minutes of waiting, the little table tipped
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[Pg 471]</a></span>
+to one side, lifted a leg in the air, righted itself,
+and then tipped again, to Ester's great chagrin,
+but to the great joy of Luisa and the professor.
+The next night five minutes sufficed to make the
+table move. The professor taught them the alphabet,
+and then tried to summon a spirit. The table
+responded, knocking with its leg upon the floor
+according to the alphabet that had been arranged.
+The spirit evoked gave its name: Van
+Helmont. Ester was frightened and trembled
+like a leaf; the professor was trembling also, but
+with excitement. He wished to tell Van Helmont
+that he had his works in his library, but Luisa
+besought him to inquire where Maria was. Van
+Helmont answered: "Near!" Then Ester rose,
+as pale as a ghost, protesting that she would not
+continue, and neither Luisa's tears nor entreaties
+could move her. It was sinful, sinful! Ester's
+religious sense was not deep, but she had a wholesome
+fear of hell and the devil. For some time
+it had been impossible to resume the séances&mdash;she
+had a horror of them, and her husband did
+not venture to oppose her wishes. It was Luisa
+who, by dint of prayers and entreaties, at last
+obtained a compromise. The séances were resumed,
+but Ester took no part in them.</p>
+
+<p>She did not even wish to know what took place.
+Only, whenever her husband seemed worried or
+preoccupied, she would throw out an uneasy
+allusion to the secret dealings in the study. Then
+he would be troubled, and offer to desist, but
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[Pg 472]</a></span>
+Ester had not the courage to face Luisa. For
+she had discovered indirectly that Luisa really
+believed she held communication with the child's
+spirit. Once she had said: "I shall not come
+to-morrow night because Maria does not wish it."
+At another time she had said: "I am going up
+to Looch because Maria wants a flower from her
+grandmother's grave." To Ester it seemed incredible
+that a head so clear and strong could be thus
+deluded. At the same time she realised the extreme
+difficulty of convincing her by gentle means,
+and all the cruelty of using harsh measures with
+her.</p>
+
+<p>The professor lit a candle and went upstairs to
+the study, followed by Luisa. We are acquainted
+with this study that was like a ship's cabin, its
+shelves filled with books, its little fireplace, its
+windows overlooking the lake and the armchair
+in which Maria had gone to sleep one Christmas
+Eve. The room now contained something else.
+Between the fireplace and the window stood a
+small round table, with one central leg only, that
+branched out into three feet, about a hand's
+breadth from the floor.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very sorry to cause Ester so much pain,"
+said the professor as they entered the room. He
+placed the light on the writing-desk, but instead
+of preparing the little table and the chairs as usual
+he went to look out of the window at the pale
+light on the water and in the sky, amidst the
+surrounding shadows of night. Luisa stood motionless,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[Pg 473]</a></span>
+and suddenly he faced about as if some
+magnetism had revealed her anguish to him.
+He saw appalling anguish on her face, and understood
+that she believed he had made up his mind
+to stop the séances, whereas he had only been
+tempted to do so, and, greatly moved, he seized
+her hands, telling her that Ester was good, that
+she loved her so much, that neither he nor she
+would ever willingly cause her suffering. Luisa
+did not answer, but the professor had all he could
+do to prevent her kissing his hand. While he was
+arranging the little table and the two chairs in the
+centre of the floor, she sank into the armchair,
+in a state of great depression.</p>
+
+<p>"There!" said the professor.</p>
+
+<p>Drawing a letter from her pocket Luisa handed
+it to him.</p>
+
+<p>"I need Maria and you so much to-night,"
+said she. "Read that. It is from Franco. You
+can begin with the fourth page." The professor
+did not hear these last words, but going to the
+light, began to read aloud:</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<div class="signature">"Turin, <i>February 18, 1859</i>.</div>
+
+<p>"My <span class="smcap">own Luisa</span>,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know you have not written to me for
+a fortnight!"</p>
+
+<p>"You can skip that," said Luisa, but at once
+corrected herself. "No, perhaps you had better
+read it." The professor continued.</p>
+
+<p>"This is my third letter to you since yours of
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[Pg 474]</a></span>
+the sixth. Perhaps I was too violent in my first
+letter, and wounded you. What a temper is this
+of mine, that makes me speak, and sometimes
+even write such harsh words when my blood is up!
+And what blood is this of mine that at two-and-thirty
+is as quick to boil as at two-and-twenty!
+Forgive me, Luisa, and permit me to return to the
+subject, and take back those words that may
+have offended you.</p>
+
+<p>"At present there is no more talk here either
+of tables or of spirits, but only of diplomacy and
+war; in former years, however, spiritualism was
+very widely discussed, and several persons I both
+respect and esteem believed in it. I knew positively
+that many among them were simply deluded
+but I never doubted their good faith when they
+told me of conversations they had had with spirits.
+It would indeed seem that our imagination, when
+inflamed, can make us see and hear things that
+do not really exist. But I am willing to admit
+that in your case you are not deceived by your
+imagination; that your little table does really move
+and express itself exactly as you say. I was
+wrong to doubt this&mdash;I confess it&mdash;in the first place
+because you are so sure of not being mistaken, and
+secondly, because I am well aware of Professor
+Gilardoni's honesty. But to me this is a question
+of sentiment. I know that my sweet Maria lives
+with God, and I cherish the hope that some time
+I, with other souls dear to me, may go where she
+is. If she should appear before me unbidden, if,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[Pg 475]</a></span>
+without having summoned her, I should hear the
+sound of her voice, clear and distinct, perhaps
+I should not be able to bear such joy. But I
+could never summon her, never force her to come
+to me. The thought is repugnant to me; it is
+contrary to that sense of veneration I feel for a
+Being who is so much nearer God than I am.
+Dear Luisa, I also speak to our treasure every day,
+speak to her of myself and of you as well; I am
+convinced that she sees us, that she loves us, that
+she can still do much for us even in this life. How
+I wish that your intercourse with her might be of
+the same nature! If, in answering your letter
+in which you allude to a communication from her
+I expressed myself too harshly, forgive me, not
+only in consideration of my hasty temper, but still
+more in consideration of my sentiments, which are
+indeed a part of my nature.</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive me also in consideration of the atmosphere
+of intense excitement in which I am living
+here. My throat is perfectly well. Since war
+has been talked of, I have cast aside both camphor
+and sedative waters, but my nerves are in a state
+of such extraordinary tension that it seems as if,
+were they touched, sparks must fly from them.
+All this is partly due to the amount of work to be
+accomplished at the Home Office, where it is no
+longer a question of regular hours, but where
+even the humblest secretary, if he be conscientious,
+must strain every muscle. When I first
+obtained this position through the kindness of
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[Pg 476]</a></span>
+Count Cavour, I felt I was not really earning the
+bread the government gave me. This is no longer
+the case, but I am about to withdraw from this
+field of strenuous labour; and this brings me to
+another topic, to something I have long had in my
+heart, and which I now impart to you with feelings
+of indescribable emotion.</p>
+
+<p>"In a week my friends and I are going to enlist
+in the army as volunteers, for the duration of the
+coming campaign. We are entering the ninth
+infantry regiment, stationed in Turin. Here at
+the Home Office they would like to keep me some
+time longer, but I intend to become familiar with
+my duties in the regiment before the campaign
+opens, and I have therefore simply promised not
+to leave the Office until the day before we enlist.</p>
+
+<p>"Luisa, we have not seen each other for three
+years and almost five months! It is true you are
+under police surveillance, and that you may not
+go to Lugano, but I have several times proposed
+means to you of meeting me, at least at the frontier,
+or on the mountains, and you have never
+even answered. I believed I knew why. It
+was because you could not tear yourself away
+even for a short time, from a certain sacred spot.
+This seemed too much, and I confess I had many
+bitter feelings. Then I reproached myself, I felt
+I was selfish, and I forgave you. Now, Luisa,
+circumstances have changed. I have no forebodings
+of evil; indeed, it seems impossible that
+I should be destined to end my days on a battlefield,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[Pg 477]</a></span>
+nevertheless this is not impossible. I am
+going to take part in a war that promises to be one
+of the greatest, one of the longest and most desperate,
+for if Austria is risking her Italian provinces,
+we, and perhaps Emperor Napoleon as well, are
+risking everything. It is said we shall spend
+next winter beneath the walls of Verona. Luisa,
+I cannot run the risk of dying without seeing you
+once more. I shall have only twenty-four hours,
+I cannot come to the frontier or to Lugano, and
+I should not be satisfied to spend ten minutes with
+you. Ask Ismaele to get you to Lugano in some
+way on the morning of the twenty-fifth of this
+month. Leave Lugano in time to reach Magadino
+at one o'clock, for you cannot go by way of Luino.
+At Magadino you must take the boat that leaves
+at about half-past one. At four or thereabouts
+you will reach Isola Bella, where I shall arrive at
+about the same hour from Arona. At this time
+of year Isola Bella is a desert. We can spend the
+evening together, and in the morning you will
+leave for Oria, I for Turin.</p>
+
+<p>"I am writing to Uncle Piero to ask his forgiveness
+for depriving him of your company for one day.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not apprehend any danger. The Austrians
+are thinking only of their arms, and their
+police are letting thousands of young men escape
+them, young men who come here to take up
+arms. The Austrians would be terrible the day
+after a victory, but, God willing! that day shall
+never dawn for them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[Pg 478]</a></span>
+ "Luisa, can it be possible I shall not find you at
+Isola Bella, that you may think you are pleasing
+Maria by not coming? But don't you know that
+if some one had said to my Maria, to my poor little
+darling&mdash;run and say good-bye to your papa, who
+is perhaps going away to die&mdash;how fast&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>The reader's voice trembled, broke, and was
+lost in a sob. Luisa hid her face in her hands. He
+placed the letter on her knees, saying with difficulty:
+"Donna Luisa, can you hesitate?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am wicked," Luisa murmured. "I am
+mad!"</p>
+
+<p>"But do you not love him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes I think I love him very much, at
+other times not at all."</p>
+
+<p>"My God!" the professor exclaimed. "But
+now? Are you not moved by the thought that
+you may never see him again?"</p>
+
+<p>Luisa was silent, she seemed to be crying.
+Suddenly she started to her feet, pressing her
+hands to her temples, and fixed her eyes on the
+professor's face, eyes in which there were no tears,
+but in which there shone a sinister and angry
+light. "You don't know," she cried, "what
+there is here in my head! What a mass of contradictions,
+how many opposite thoughts that
+are struggling together, and always changing
+places with each other! When I received the letter
+I cried bitterly, and said to myself. 'Yes, my
+poor Franco, this time I will go!'&mdash;And then there
+came a voice that spoke here in my forehead, and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[Pg 479]</a></span>
+said: 'No, you must not go because&mdash;because&mdash;because&mdash;&mdash;'"</p>
+
+<p>She ceased speaking, and the professor, terrified
+by the flashes of madness he saw in those eyes
+that were fixed on his, did not dare to ask for an
+explanation. The eyes, which still stared into
+his, gradually softened and became veiled with
+tears. Luisa took his hands, and said gently,
+timidly: "Let us ask Maria."</p>
+
+<p>They sat down at the table and placed their
+hands upon it. The professor sat with his back
+to the light, which fell full upon Luisa's face. The
+little table was in the shadow. After eleven minutes
+of profound silence, the professor murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"It is beginning to move."</p>
+
+<p>In fact the table was gradually leaning over to
+one side. Presently it righted itself, and knocked
+once, lightly. Luisa's face brightened.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are you?" said the professor. "Answer
+with the usual alphabet."</p>
+
+<p>There came seventeen, then fourteen, then
+eighteen knocks, and then one alone. "Rosa,"
+said the professor softly. Rosa was a little sister
+of his wife's who had died in infancy, and the
+table had knocked out this name on several previous
+occasions. "Go away," said Gilardoni.
+"Send Maria to us."</p>
+
+<p>The table soon began to move again, and
+knocked out the words:</p>
+
+<p>"It is I, Maria!"</p>
+
+<p>"Maria, Maria, my own Maria!" whispered
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[Pg 480]</a></span>
+Luisa, her face assuming an expression of intense
+joy.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know the contents of the letter your
+father has written to your mother?" Gilardoni
+inquired.</p>
+
+<p>The table answered:</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"What is your mother to do?"</p>
+
+<p>Luisa was trembling from head to foot in anxious
+suspense. The table did not move.</p>
+
+<p>"Answer," said the professor.</p>
+
+<p>This time the table moved, but knocked out
+only an incomprehensible confusion of letters.</p>
+
+<p>"We do not understand. Repeat."</p>
+
+<p>The little table did not move again. "Repeat,
+I tell you!" said the professor, rather
+sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no!" begged Luisa. "Don't insist.
+Maria does not wish to answer." But the professor
+was bound to insist. "It is not admissible
+that a spirit should not answer. You know very
+well we have often before been unable to understand
+what they said."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa rose, greatly agitated, saying that rather
+than force Maria she should prefer to cut the
+séance short. The professor remained seated,
+lost in thought. "Hush!" said he at last.</p>
+
+<p>The table moved and once more began to
+knock.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes!" exclaimed Gilardoni, his face radiant.
+"I inquired mentally if you should go, and the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[Pg 481]</a></span>
+table has answered 'yes.' Now you yourself
+must ask aloud."</p>
+
+<p>Five or six minutes passed before the table
+began to move. In answer to Luisa's question:
+"Shall I go?" there came first thirteen, then
+fourteen knocks. The answer was "no."</p>
+
+<p>The professor turned pale, and Luisa questioned
+him with her eyes. He was silent for some time,
+and then said with a sigh:</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps it was not Maria. Perhaps it was
+a lying spirit."</p>
+
+<p>"And how can we find out?" Luisa inquired
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"We cannot find out. It is impossible."</p>
+
+<p>"Then how about the other communications?
+Is there never any certainty?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never."</p>
+
+<p>She lapsed into terrified silence. Then presently
+she murmured: "It was bound to end
+thus. This also was to be taken from me."</p>
+
+<p>She rested her forehead upon the table. The
+candle light fell upon her hair, upon her arms and
+hands. She was motionless, nothing moved in
+the room save the little flickering flame of the
+candle. Another little flame, the last light of
+hope and of comfort, was dying out in this poor
+head which had gone down before the onslaught
+of a bitter and invincible doubt. What could
+Gilardoni do or say? He saw that Ester's wish
+would soon be gratified, but not by his means.
+Three or four minutes later they heard Ester's
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[Pg 482]</a></span>
+voice, and steps on the floor below. Luisa
+rose slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us go," said she.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps we should pray," Gilardoni observed
+without rising. "Perhaps we should ask the
+spirits if they confess Christ."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no!" Luisa exclaimed in an undertone,
+at the same time protesting with a hostile
+gesture. The professor silently took up the
+candle.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>On her way back to Oria Luisa went up to the
+gate of the cemetery. Resting her forehead
+against it she sent a stifled good-bye towards
+Maria's grave, then she went down the hill again.
+On reaching the church-place she crossed over to
+the parapet and gazed down upon the lake sleeping
+in the shadow. She stood there some time,
+letting her thoughts roam at will. Placing her
+elbows on the parapet, she leaned forward and
+rested her face upon her hands, still gazing at the
+water, the water that had taken Maria. Her
+thoughts were beginning to take a definite shape,
+not within her, but down there in the water.
+She contemplated this shape. To die, to end it
+all! She was familiar with the thought, she had
+seen it once before when gazing into the water
+thus, long ago, before the experiments with the
+professor began. After that it had disappeared.
+But now it had returned again. It was a sweet
+and merciful thought, full of rest, of self-surrender,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[Pg 483]</a></span>
+and of peace. It was good to gaze upon it
+now that her faith in the spirits was gone also.
+To die, to end it all! On that former occasion the
+image of her old uncle had been strong in helping
+to dispel the fascination. Now it was not so
+strong. Since Maria's death Uncle Piero had
+lapsed into a state of almost complete silence
+which Luisa believed to be the beginning of the
+apathy of old age. She did not understand that
+in the old man's soul profound disapproval was
+mingled with grief, nor did she understand how
+great was his aversion to these daily and repeated
+visits to the cemetery, the flowers, the mysterious
+journeys to Casarico, and above all, how he regretted
+her complete abandonment of the church.
+If she had not been so engrossed in her dead child
+she might have understood her uncle better, at
+least on this last point, the church, for now the
+silent old man himself went to Mass oftener than
+before, his heart returning to the religion of his
+father and mother, which, heretofore, he had
+practised coldly, from habit, and out of respect
+for family traditions. It seemed to Luisa that he
+had grown very dull, and that if only his personal
+needs were attended to, he would be quite content.
+Cia was there to attend to his comforts, and the
+means that had sufficed for three would be more
+than sufficient for two. Luisa thought she saw
+the water rise a hand's breadth. And Franco?
+Franco would be in despair, would mourn for a
+few years, and then he would be happier than ever.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[Pg 484]</a></span>
+Franco knew the secret of speedy consolation.
+The water seemed to rise another hand's breadth.</p>
+
+<p>At the same moment in which she had approached
+the parapet, Franco, passing the church
+of S. Francesco di Paolo in Via di Po, had seen
+lights and heard the organ. He went in. Hardly
+had he said a short prayer when the one dominant
+thought took possession of him once more; the
+sound of the organ became the noise of trumpets
+and drums, the clash of arms; and while a hymn
+of peace was rising from the altar, he, in imagination,
+was furiously charging the enemy. Suddenly
+he saw before his mind's eye the image of
+Luisa, pale, and dressed in mourning. He began
+to think of her, to pray for her with intense
+fervour.</p>
+
+<p>Then, standing there on the church-place of
+Oria, she turned cold and was filled with dread,
+while the tempting thought gradually vanished.
+She tried to recall it, but could not. The water
+subsided. An inward voice said to her: "What
+if the professor be mistaken? What if it be not
+true that the table answered first yes and then no?
+what if it be not true about the lying spirits?"
+She drew back from the parapet, and with slow
+steps, went up to her house.</p>
+
+<p>She found her uncle in the kitchen sitting in the
+chimney-corner, the tongs in his hand, and his
+glass of milk beside him. Cia and Leu were
+sewing.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Uncle Piero, "I have been to the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">[Pg 485]</a></span>
+Custom-House. The Receiver is in bed with the
+jaundice, but I spoke with the <i>Sedentario</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"What about, uncle?"</p>
+
+<p>"About Lugano. About your journey to Lugano
+on the twenty-fifth. He has promised to
+close an eye and let you pass."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa was silent, and stood thoughtfully watching
+the fire. Presently she gave Leu some orders
+for the next day, and then begged her uncle to
+come into the parlour with her.</p>
+
+<p>"What for?" said he, with his habitual simplicity,
+"You can't have any great secrets to tell.
+Let us stay here where the fire is."</p>
+
+<p>Cia lit a candle. "We will go out," said she.</p>
+
+<p>The uncle made his usual grimace, expressive of
+compassion for the weaknesses of others, but
+remained silent. Draining his glass of milk, he
+passed it to Luisa. She took the glass, and said
+softly: "I have not decided yet."</p>
+
+<p>"What?" the uncle exclaimed sharply. "What
+is it you have not decided?"</p>
+
+<p>"Whether I shall go to Isola Bella."</p>
+
+<p>"Now what the deuce&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Piero was utterly incapable of grasping
+such a thing as this.</p>
+
+<p>"And why should you not go?"</p>
+
+<p>She answered calmly, and as if stating a perfectly
+obvious fact:</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid I shall not be able to leave Maria."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, come now!" Uncle Piero exclaimed.
+"Sit down over there," and he pointed to a bench
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">[Pg 486]</a></span>
+in the chimney-corner opposite him. Then he
+said, in that serious, honest voice of his, which
+seemed to come from his heart:</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Luisa, you have lost your bearings!"</p>
+
+<p>And raising his arms, he uttered a long "Ah!"
+and then let them fall upon his knees once more.</p>
+
+<p>"Lost your bearings completely!" he repeated.
+He sat silent for a time, his head bent, while
+behind his pursed lips there was the rumbling of
+words in course of formation, which presently
+burst forth.</p>
+
+<p>"I would never have believed it! It does not
+seem possible! But when," and here he raised his
+head and looked Luisa straight in the face, "but
+when we once begin to lose our bearings it is all
+up with us. And you, my dear, began to lose
+yours a long time ago."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes indeed!" Uncle Piero cried in a loud
+voice. "You began losing yours a long time ago.
+And now this is what I wish to say to you. Listen.
+My mother lost children, your mother lost children,
+I have seen many mothers lose children, but not
+one of them acted as you act. What can you expect?
+We are all mortal, and must adapt ourselves
+to our circumstances. Other mothers become
+resigned, but you do not. And this running two,
+three, and even four times a day to the cemetery!
+And the flowers, and I know not what all besides!
+Oh, dear me! And all that foolishness at Casarico
+with that other poor imbecile, which you think
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">[Pg 487]</a></span>
+is such a secret, while every one is talking of it,
+even Cia. Oh, dear me!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, uncle," said Luisa, sadly but calmly.
+"Don't talk of these things. You cannot understand
+them."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly!" the uncle retorted with all the
+irony of which he was capable. "I cannot understand!
+But there is something else. You no
+longer go to church. I have never mentioned
+this to you because I have always made it a rule
+to let people do as they like, but when I see you
+losing your good sense, losing your common-sense
+even, the least I can do is to remind you that this
+is all you do by turning your back on the Almighty.
+And now this idea of not going to see your husband,
+under similar circumstances! It is past
+belief. Well, well," he said after a short pause,
+"I will go myself."</p>
+
+<p>"You?" Luisa exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not? Yes, I. I had intended to accompany
+you, but if you will not go I must take the
+journey alone. I will go and tell your husband
+that you have lost your head, and that I hope I
+may soon be called to join poor Maria."</p>
+
+<p>No one had ever heard such bitter words from
+Uncle Piero's lips. Perhaps it was for that reason,
+perhaps it was the authority of the man, perhaps
+it was Maria's name pronounced in that way, but
+at any rate Luisa was conquered.</p>
+
+<p>"I will go," she said, "but you must stay here."</p>
+
+<p>"Most certainly not!" cried Uncle Piero, greatly
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">[Pg 488]</a></span>
+pleased. "It is forty years since I saw the islands.
+I must avail myself of this opportunity. And
+who knows but what I may enlist in the cavalry?"</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>"Well?" said Cia, when the uncle had gone to
+bed. "Does my master really intend to go? For
+the love of Heaven, don't let him, my dear!" And
+she told Luisa that two hours before he had rolled
+his eyes in a strange manner, letting his head sink
+upon his breast, and when she had called to him
+he had not answered. Presently he had recovered,
+and had been provoked at her anxious questions,
+protesting that he had not been ill, that he had
+simply felt rather sleepy. Luisa listened to her,
+standing with her candle in her hand, her eyes
+glassy, and her attention divided between the
+words she was hearing and another very different
+thought, a thought very far removed from Uncle
+Piero, from the house, from Valsolda.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">[Pg 489]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER II<br />
+THE SUMMONS TO ARMS</h2>
+
+<p>On the morning of the twenty-fifth of February,
+the day fixed for their journey,
+Uncle Piero rose at half-past seven, and went to
+the window. A heavy, white fog hung over the
+lake, hiding the mountains so that they appeared
+only as short black streaks, one on the right, the
+other on the left, between the lake and the fog.
+"Alas!" the uncle sighed. He had not finished
+dressing when Luisa came in, and using the unpleasant
+weather as a pretext, once more begged
+him to remain at home, and let her go alone. Cia
+was greatly distressed, and had entreated her to
+urge him not to go, for she knew he had had an
+attack of giddiness on the twentieth, and that on
+the twenty-second he had gone to confession without
+mentioning it to any one. Seeing that he was
+growing impatient, Luisa decided it would be
+wiser to desist, and let him have his own way.
+Poor Uncle Piero, he had always enjoyed the best
+of health, and now he was extremely apprehensive,
+and the slightest disturbance alarmed him. But
+he did not feel that Luisa should be allowed to set
+out alone in her present state of mind, and so he
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">[Pg 490]</a></span>
+was going to sacrifice himself for her. He finished
+dressing and returning to the window called out
+triumphantly to Luisa, who was in the little
+garden below.</p>
+
+<p>"Look up!" said he. "Look up at the Boglia!"</p>
+
+<p>High up above Oria through the smoking fog,
+the pale gold of the sun shining on the mountain
+could be seen, and still higher up all was clear and
+transparent.</p>
+
+<p>"Fair weather!"</p>
+
+<p>Luisa did not reply, and the old man came down
+to the loggia in a cheerful frame of mind, and went
+out to the terrace to enjoy the magnificent
+struggle between fog and sun.</p>
+
+<p>The stretch of water towards the east between
+the Ca Rotta, the last house of S. Mamette on the
+left, and the gulf of the Doi on the right, was one
+immense white sea. The Ca Rotta could just be
+distinguished, coming out of the fog like some
+spectre. At the gulf of the Doi, the narrow black
+streak of the mountains began, making a gap
+between the leaden lake and the fog, which, little
+by little, was assuming a bluish hue. Vague
+lights broke in the sky towards Osteno; at the end
+of the eastern sea a new brightness trembled,
+streaks and spots, dark with the breeze, were forming;
+the eye of the sun appeared and disappeared
+among the whirling clouds above Osteno, until at
+last, growing rapidly larger, it shone forth triumphant.
+The fog fled in all directions in sheets
+and puffs, of which many sped past Oria, large
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">[Pg 491]</a></span>
+and swift, while others cast themselves upon the
+shore; but the largest rolled away into the far
+east, where, behind and above a heavy white
+curtain, the mountains of the lake of Como rose,
+glorious in the blue.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Piero called Luisa to witness the spectacle,
+the last splendid scene of the drama, the triumph
+of the sun, the flight of the mists, the glory of the
+hills. He admired nature in a simple manner,
+without the refinement of the artistic sense, but
+with youthful ardour, and with the ring of sincerity
+in his voice; his admiration was that of an old man
+who has lived a life of purity, who has not exhausted
+the freshness of his spirit, who still retains
+a certain simplicity of imagination. "Look,
+Luisa!" he exclaimed, "we must indeed cry out,
+'Glory be to the Father, the Son, and the Holy
+Ghost!'" Luisa did not answer, but went quickly
+indoors, that she might not see that white enclosure
+beyond the kitchen-garden that was
+drawing her so strongly, with its tacit cry of
+reproach and grief. She had gone there that
+morning at six o'clock, and had remained an hour,
+seated on the wet grass.</p>
+
+<p>The uncle remained on the terrace lost in contemplation
+until the moment of departure arrived.
+Had he been a vain poet he might have imagined
+that Valsolda was offering him this farewell spectacle
+to speed him on his way; that she wished to
+show herself more beautiful than he had, perhaps,
+ever seen her before. However, these poetic
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">[Pg 492]</a></span>
+fancies did not come to him, and, besides, his
+journey was to be so short. But the image of
+Maria came to him instead; he saw her running
+round him, he took her upon his knee, and repeated
+the old rhyme to her:</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Proud shade of the river<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Missipiṕ&mdash;&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Enough!" he sighed. "It was a terrible
+thing!" and in answer to a summons from Cia he
+went slowly towards the little garden where Luisa
+was awaiting him, ready to go down to the boat.
+"Here I am," said he. "And you, Cia, be careful
+not to let the house tumble into the lake while we
+are away!"</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>During the journey on Lake Maggiore on board
+the <i>San Bernardino</i>, Luisa remained in the second-class
+cabin most of the time. She went on deck
+once to try and persuade Uncle Piero to go below
+also, but, although the wind was cold, Uncle Piero,
+wrapped in his heavy grey travelling cloak, would
+not stir from the deck, where he sat calmly watching
+the hills and villages, and chatting with a priest
+from Locarno, with a little old woman from Belgirate,
+and with other second-class passengers.
+Luisa was obliged to leave him there, while she
+herself went below again, preferring to be alone
+with her own thoughts. As they approached Isola
+Bella a sense of inward excitement and a vague
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">[Pg 493]</a></span>
+foreboding of many things took possession of her.
+How would the meeting with Franco take place?
+How would he treat her? Would he repeat Uncle
+Piero's sermon to her? His letters were indeed
+always compassionate and tender, but who does
+not know that we write in one way and speak in
+another? How and where would they spend the
+evening? And then that other question, that
+question it so terrified her to think about&mdash;&mdash;?
+All these anxious thoughts were rising higher and
+higher, threatening to become dominant, to place
+themselves in bold opposition to that image of
+the cemetery of Oria, which from time to time
+would return with impetuous violence, as if to
+snatch back its own. At the station of Cannero,
+Luisa heard the noise of many steps and of loud
+talking above her head, and went upstairs to look
+after her uncle. A party of soldiers, recalled to
+service, had come out to the steamer in two large
+barges. Other small boats bore women, children,
+and old men, who were crying and waving good-bye.
+The soldiers, most of whom were <i>Bersaglieri</i>,
+fine jolly young fellows, answered the greeting
+with shouts of "Hurrah for Italy!" and made
+promises of presents from Milan. One old woman,
+all dishevelled, but tearless, had three sons among
+those soldiers, and was calling out to them to
+remember our Lord and the Madonna. "Yes,
+yes," grumbled an old sergeant who was escorting
+them, "Remember our Lord, and the Madonna,
+and the Bishop, and don't forget the <i>prevosto</i>, the
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">[Pg 494]</a></span>
+parish priest!" The soldiers, who were well acquainted
+with the <i>prevosto</i>, or military prison,
+laughed loudly at the joke, as the steamer started
+forward. There were cries, and waving of handkerchiefs,
+and then the men burst into song, a
+song shouted by fifty strong voices.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Addio, mia bella, addio,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">L'armata se ne va.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The soldiers were all clustered together at the
+prow, among piles of bags and barrels, some sitting,
+some lying down, others standing, and all singing
+at the top of their voices to the dull accompaniment
+of the paddles as the steamer glided straight
+towards that background of sky, against which
+rose the pointed hills of Ispra, dividing the immense
+expanse of water from the Ticino beyond.
+The young men would soon be crossing the Ticino,
+probably to the cry of "Savoy for ever!" and
+amidst the fury of cannonading. Death was
+awaiting many of them down there under that
+clear sky, but all sang gaily, and only the dull noise
+of the paddles seemed to be aware of their fate.
+The free hills of Piedmont, past which the boat
+was gliding, although they stood in the shadow,
+seemed to shine with pride and satisfaction at
+having given their sons to the captive hills of
+Lombardy, which wore an air of tragedy, although
+illumined by the sun. Luisa felt her blood begin
+to tingle, felt her once ardent patriotism begin to
+stir. And those mothers who had seen their sons
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">[Pg 495]</a></span>
+depart thus? She foresaw whither her thoughts
+were tending, and hastened to assure herself that
+she also would gladly have given a son to Italy,
+that the grief of those mothers could not in any
+way be compared to hers. But what a difference
+there was between reading a letter in Valsolda,
+telling of the war, and feeling the very breath,
+hearing the very noise of war all about her, feeling
+it in the air itself! In the quiet of Valsolda, war
+was a shadow without substance; here the shadow
+became incarnate. Here Luisa's personal grief,
+that immense grief which filled the lifeless air
+surrounding her in Oria, seemed to shrink before
+the emotion of many, and her consciousness of
+this gave her an indefinable sense of discomfort
+and trouble. Was it the dread of losing a part of
+her own grief, a part, as it were, of herself? Was
+it the desire to escape from a comparison from
+which she shrank? At the same time the idea that
+Franco was going to this war, the idea that had
+affected her so slightly in Valsolda, was now assuming
+a new aspect of reality in her mind, was
+making her heart quiver, and it also was wrestling
+with the image of the cemetery of Oria. For the
+first time this image of the past was no longer the
+one, all-powerful master of her soul, and although
+her soul was indignant and regretful, new images,
+images of the present and of the future, were
+assailing it.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Piero began to feel cold and came down to
+the cabin.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496">[Pg 496]</a></span>
+ "In little more than an hour we shall be at Isola
+Bella," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you tired?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not in the least. I feel wonderfully well."</p>
+
+<p>"But nevertheless, you will go to bed early
+to-night?"</p>
+
+<p>The uncle, whose thoughts were wandering, did
+not answer, but presently he exclaimed: "Do
+you know what I was thinking? I was thinking
+that now there ought to be another Maria."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa, who was sitting beside him, sprang up
+shuddering, and went to the little window opposite,
+standing with her back to Uncle Piero, who did
+not understand in the least, and, concluding she
+was embarrassed, went to sleep in his corner.
+The steamer touched at Intra. Now there was
+only Pallanza before Isola. They were skirting
+the coast; through the little oval window Luisa
+could see the banks, the houses, the trees slipping
+by. How fast the boat was gliding, how
+fast!</p>
+
+<p>Pallanza. The steamer stopped five minutes.</p>
+
+<p>Luisa went on deck and inquired when they
+would reach Isola Bella. They would not stop
+either at Suna or Baveno, so it was a question of
+only a few minutes now. And when would the
+steamer from Arona arrive? The steamer from
+Arona appeared to be late. She went below once
+more to awaken Uncle Piero, who presently came
+on deck with her. The last part of the journey
+was accomplished in silence. The uncle watched
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497">[Pg 497]</a></span>
+Pallanza, which they were leaving behind, while
+Luisa had fixed her gaze on Isola Bella, which
+they were rapidly approaching, and she saw nothing
+else.</p>
+
+<p>The boat reached the landing-stage at Isola
+Bella at forty minutes past three. There was no
+sign of the steamer from Arona. A porter told
+Luisa that it was always late now because the train
+from Novara was never on time, owing to the
+movement of troops. No one else went ashore at
+Isola, no one was on the beach save the attendant
+at the landing-stage. When the boat had left, he
+himself conducted the two travellers to the <i>Albergo
+del Delfino</i>. He said it was a mere chance their
+finding the hotel open at this season. A large
+family were spending the winter there. They were
+English people. Indeed, it seemed the Island of
+Silence. The lake lay about it, motionless and
+silent, the shore was deserted, no living being
+was to be seen in the porches of the poor little
+houses clustered together about the bay, between
+one of the round bastions of the gardens and the
+hotel. The English people had gone out in a boat;
+the hotel was as silent as the shore and the water.
+The new arrivals were given two large rooms on
+the second floor, both of which faced south, and
+overlooked the melancholy strait between the
+island and the wooded strip of coast that runs from
+Stressa to Baveno. The first room was on the
+western corner of the house, and its window looked
+out on the little church of S. Vittore, which rises
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498">[Pg 498]</a></span>
+beside the hotel, and upon the small Isola dei
+Pescatori in the distance. Uncle Piero planted
+himself at the window contemplating the little
+island, the little pile of houses rising out of the
+mirror of the lake and culminating in a campanile;
+the great mountains of Val di Toce and Val di
+Gravellone, half hidden in a thin mist through
+which the sun was shining. Luisa, seeing that the
+room contained two beds, hastened to the other
+room, where an alcove also held two beds.
+"There," said Uncle Piero, coming in, a moment
+later, "this will do nicely for you two." Luisa
+asked the proprietor, in an undertone, if they
+could not have three rooms instead of two. No,
+it was impossible. "But this is all right," Uncle
+Piero repeated. "This is a perfect arrangement.
+You take this room, and I will have the other."
+Luisa was silent, and the proprietor withdrew.
+"Don't you see you have an alcove, just as at
+home?" It never struck the simple old man that
+the very sight of that alcove was a torment to
+Luisa. She told him she preferred the other
+room, which was lighter and more cheerful.
+"Amen!" said the uncle. "Do as you like. I
+am quite willing to be alcoved."</p>
+
+<p>This corner of the hotel soon lapsed into silence
+once more. Luisa posted herself at the window.
+The boat from Arona must be very near now; the
+man who had accompanied them to the hotel was
+walking slowly towards the landing-stage, and in
+a few minutes she heard the noise of the paddles
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[Pg 499]</a></span>
+in the distance. Uncle Piero told Luisa he was
+tired, and remained in his room.</p>
+
+<p>She went down towards the landing-stage and
+stopped behind a small house that hid the boat
+from view, but she could hear it distinctly. Suddenly
+the prow of the <i>San Gottardo</i> glided slowly
+in front of her and stopped. Luisa recognised her
+husband in the midst of a noisy group. Franco
+saw her, and springing ashore, ran towards her,
+while she came forward a few steps to meet him.
+They embraced, he speechless and blind with
+emotion, laughing and crying, full of gratitude,
+but uncertain as to her state of mind, as to how he
+should regulate his conduct; she more composed,
+extremely pale, and serious. "God bless you!
+God bless you!" he kept repeating, as they turned
+towards the hotel. Then Franco overwhelmed
+her with questions, first about her journey and
+the passing of the frontier, and then about Uncle
+Piero. When he mentioned the uncle, Luisa
+raised her head and said: "Look!" The old man
+was at the window waving his handkerchief and
+calling out his welcome in a ringing voice. "Oh!"
+cried Franco in amazement, and he ran forward.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Piero was waiting for him on the landing,
+his face wearing an expression of satisfaction that
+seemed to spread all over his peaceful breast.
+"How are you, my boy?" said he, taking both
+his hands and shaking them heartily, but, nevertheless,
+holding him at a distance. He did not
+want kisses, feeling that at such a moment they
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[Pg 500]</a></span>
+would mean thanks; but he could not hold out
+against Franco's impetuosity. "Did you fancy
+a lady of the house of Maironi could travel without
+a courier?" said he, when he had extricated
+himself from the young man's arms. "Moreover,
+I came to enlist in the <i>Bersaglieri</i>!" And the
+man who had said he was tired started downstairs,
+saying he was going to order dinner.</p>
+
+<p>There was no sofa in their room. Franco drew
+Luisa to a seat on the bed, and sat down beside
+her, encircling her shoulders with his arm. He
+could not talk to her, could only keep on repeating:
+"I thank you! I thank you!" as he lavished
+eager caresses, eager kisses, and tender names
+upon her. Luisa did not respond in any way,
+but trembled violently with bowed head. Presently
+he checked himself, and, taking her head
+in his hands like some sacred thing, fell to touching
+with his lips the white hairs he saw here and
+there. She knew he was searching out the white
+hairs, understood those timid kisses, and was
+moved. She felt her heart of ice melting, and,
+seized with terror, struggled to defend herself
+more against her own emotions than against
+Franco. "You don't know," she said, "how
+cold my heart is. I did not even want to come,
+did not want to leave Maria or give you the pain of
+finding me in this state. But I came on Uncle
+Piero's account. He was determined to set out
+alone, and that I could not allow."</p>
+
+<p>When she had pronounced these cruel words she
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[Pg 501]</a></span>
+felt Franco's lips withdrawn from her hair, felt
+his arm forsake her shoulders. Both were silent
+for a time, then Franco murmured with great
+gentleness:</p>
+
+<p>"Only thirteen hours more. Then perhaps I
+shall never trouble you again." At that moment
+Uncle Piero entered and announced that dinner
+was ready. Luisa took her husband's hand and
+pressed it in silence; it was not a lover-like pressure,
+but it told him she shared his emotion.</p>
+
+<p>At dinner neither Franco nor Luisa could eat.
+But the uncle had a good appetite, and talked a
+great deal. He did not approve of Franco's
+enlisting. "What sort of a soldier do you expect
+to become?" said he. "What will you do
+without your camphor, your sedative water, and
+all the rest?"</p>
+
+<p>Franco replied that he had cast aside all remedies,
+that he felt as if he were of steel, and that he
+should become the most robust soldier of the whole
+ninth regiment. "Maybe," the uncle grumbled,
+"maybe. And you, Luisa, what do you say
+about it?" Luisa believed it would be as her
+husband had said. "Then that is enough!"
+the uncle cried. "And so, hurrah!" He had
+a great opinion of the strength of Austria, and did
+not view matters in the same rosy light as did
+Franco. According to Franco there was not the
+slightest doubt that the Italians would be victorious.
+He had seen one of Niel's adjutants,
+who had come to Turin on a secret mission, and
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">[Pg 502]</a></span>
+had heard him say to some staff officers: "<i>Nous
+allons supprimer l'Autriche!</i>" Of course they
+fully expected to leave at least fifty thousand
+Italians and Frenchmen between the Ticino and
+the Isonzo.</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse me, Signori," said the waiter who was
+serving them, "but did the gentlemen speak of
+enlisting in the ninth regiment?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"The Queen's Brigade! A splendid brigade!
+I served in the tenth. We covered ourselves with
+glory in 1848, as you may remember. Goito,
+Santo Lucia, Governolo, and Volta. Now it will
+be your turn."</p>
+
+<p>"We will do our best."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa shuddered slightly. The English people,
+who were dining at a table near them, heard this
+dialogue and looked at Franco. For some minutes
+no one in the room spoke; there passed before
+them the vision of a column of infantry charging
+with fixed bayonets, amidst a shower of grapeshot.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner the uncle remained at the hotel
+for his usual nap, and Franco went out with Luisa.
+They turned to the right towards the Palace.
+It was rather dark and a few infrequent drops of
+rain were falling. The steps leading from the
+shore to the courtyard of the villa were slippery,
+and Franco offered his arm to his wife, who took it
+in silence. They stopped between the deserted
+courtyard and the stairs that lead to the landing-stage,
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[Pg 503]</a></span>
+to count the hours which the clock on the
+Palace was ringing out. Six o'clock. Two hours
+had passed, and there now remained only eleven
+before the separation, before the unknown! They
+walked on slowly and silently, following the
+straight path between the lake and the side of
+the Palace, as far as the corner which commands
+a view of the Isola dei Pescatori, where some
+lights were already visible. Two women came
+towards them, chattering, and walking arm in
+arm. Franco allowed them to pass, and then
+asked his wife if she remembered the Ranc̣.</p>
+
+<p>Two years before their marriage they had made
+an excursion with a party of friends to Drano
+and the Ranc̣, high pasture-lands of the Valsolda,
+on the way to the Passo Stretto. They had had a
+lively dispute, and had sulked and suffered for an
+hour. "Yes," Luisa replied, "I remember."
+At the same moment both realised how different
+was the present hour, and how painful it was to
+have to admit the difference. They did not
+speak again until they reached the corner. Bells
+rang out on the Isola dei Pescatori. Franco
+dropped his wife's arm, and leaned upon the parapet.
+The misty lake was silent; nothing was to
+be seen save the lights on the other island. The
+lake, the mist, those lights, those bells, which
+might have belonged to a ship lost at sea, the
+silence of all things, even the infrequent, tiny rain-drops,
+everything was so sad!</p>
+
+<p>"And do you remember afterwards?" Franco
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">[Pg 504]</a></span>
+murmured, without turning his head. Luisa was
+also leaning against the parapet. She was silent
+for a moment, and then answered in an undertone:</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear."</p>
+
+<p>And in her "dear," there was a slight and hidden
+beginning of warmth, of affectionate emotion.
+Franco felt it, and thrilled with joy, but controlled
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I am thinking," he went on, "of the letter I
+wrote you as soon as I got home, and of the three
+words you said to me next day, at Muzzaglio,
+when the others were dancing under the chestnut-trees,
+and you passed close to me on your way to
+get your shawl, which you had left on the grass.
+Do you remember?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>He took her hand and raised it to his lips.</p>
+
+<p>"And do you also remember that I slipped
+before we reached the bridge, and that you said:
+'My dear sir, it is your place to support me!'"</p>
+
+<p>Luisa did not answer, but pressed his hands.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been good for nothing," he added
+sadly. "I have not known how to support you."</p>
+
+<p>"You have done all you could."</p>
+
+<p>Luisa's voice, as she spoke these words, was
+indeed faint, but very different from when she
+had said: "My heart is so cold."</p>
+
+<p>Once more her husband drew her arm through
+his, and they returned to the landing-stage. The
+dear arm was less passive than before, and betrayed
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[Pg 505]</a></span>
+agitation and a struggle. Franco stopped,
+and said softly:</p>
+
+<p>"And if I am called to join Maria? What shall
+I say to her from you?"</p>
+
+<p>She began to tremble, and resting her head on
+his shoulder, whispered: "No, stay here!"
+Franco did not hear the words, and repeated:
+"What?" There was no answer, and very
+slowly he bent his head towards her, saw her lips
+seeking his, and pressed his own upon them. His
+heart was beating fast, faster than when he had
+kissed Luisa for the first time as her lover. He
+raised his head, but could not speak. At last he
+succeeded in saying these words: "I will tell
+her you have promised&mdash;&mdash;" "No," murmured
+Luisa, in great distress. "I cannot do
+that. You must not ask it of me! It is no
+longer possible!"</p>
+
+<p>"What is not possible?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you understand quite well! I also understood
+what you meant!"</p>
+
+<p>She started forward as if to flee from the subject,
+but still clinging to Franco's arm, and he
+held her back.</p>
+
+<p>"Luisa," said he gravely, almost severely, "will
+you let me go away like this? Do you realise
+what it means to me to go away like this?"</p>
+
+<p>Then she slowly withdrew her arm from his,
+and turned towards the parapet on the right,
+leaning upon it, and gazing into the water as she
+had done that night at Oria. Franco stood
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[Pg 506]</a></span>
+quietly beside her; waited a few moments, and
+then begged her to answer his question.</p>
+
+<p>"It would be better for me to end it all in the
+lake," she said bitterly. Her husband passed
+his arm round her waist, pulled her away from
+the parapet, and then letting her go, threw up his
+arm with a gesture of protest. "You!" said he
+indignantly. "You talk thus? You who used
+to prate of looking upon life as a battle? And
+is this the way you fight? Once I believed you
+were the stronger of us two. Now I know it is I
+who am the stronger. Much the stronger! Can
+you not even imagine what I have suffered during
+all these years? Can you not&mdash;&mdash;" For a
+moment his voice failed him, but he quickly controlled
+himself and went on. "Can you not even
+understand what you are to me, and what I
+would give to be able to spare you the slightest
+pain? While you, it would seem, do not care how
+cruelly you rend my soul!" She flung herself
+into his arms. In the silence that ensued,
+broken only by her spasmodic and suppressed
+sobbing, Franco heard steps approaching, and
+with difficulty freed himself from her embrace and
+induced her to turn with him towards the hotel.
+"You naughty girl!" he whispered. "And it is
+you who don't want me to be glad to die, when
+I can die so gloriously for my country!" Luisa
+pressed his arm without speaking. They met
+two young lovers, who looked curiously at them
+in passing. The girl smiled. When they reached
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[Pg 507]</a></span>
+the short flight of steps that leads down to the little
+square in front of S. Vittore, they heard voices
+of women and girls. Luisa paused a moment on
+the first step, and said softly the three words she
+had spoken at Muzzaglio.</p>
+
+<p>"I love you!"</p>
+
+<p>Franco did not answer, but pressed her arm.
+Very slowly they went down the stairs, and entered
+the Albergo del Delfino.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Some young men who were drinking, smoking,
+and laughing, rose as Franco and Luisa entered,
+and came towards them. "Signora," said the
+first to present himself to Luisa, "your husband
+has probably announced to you the visit of the
+Seven Wise Men." A great hubbub immediately
+ensued, because Franco had forgotten to tell
+Luisa that his friends had accompanied him from
+Turin, but, not wishing to intrude, had gone on to
+Pallanza promising to come and pay their respects
+to the Signora in the evening. They had come
+over from Pallanza in a row-boat, and had intended
+returning immediately, but Franco ordered
+a couple of bottles of wine and, soon, in spite of
+Luisa's presence, their hilarity became such that
+the proprietor begged them, for love of his
+English family, to make less noise.</p>
+
+<p>After arranging with Franco to meet him in the
+morning on board the first steamer, the Wise Men
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[Pg 508]</a></span>
+took themselves off. Franco accompanied them
+to the boat and Luisa went to look after Uncle
+Piero. He had left word for them with the proprietor
+that, feeling very sleepy, he had gone to
+bed. In fact Luisa could hear him snoring noisily.
+She put the candle down, and waited for
+Franco.</p>
+
+<p>He came up almost immediately, and was surprised
+to hear that the uncle was already asleep.
+He had wished to say good-bye to him before
+going to bed, as his boat was leaving so early in
+the morning&mdash;at half-past five. The door between
+the two rooms was closed, but nevertheless
+Luisa begged her husband to step and speak
+softly. She told him what Cia had confided to
+her. The uncle needed rest. She hoped he
+would remain in bed until nine or ten o'clock,
+and she intended to start at one, and spend the
+night at Magadino, in order not to tire him too
+much. She laid great stress upon her apprehensions
+concerning Uncle Piero's health, and
+talked incessantly, nervously, anxious to avoid
+other topics, seeking thus to escape too tender
+caresses. At the same time she was continually
+moving about the room, repeatedly taking up and
+putting down the same objects, and this partly
+from nervousness, partly with the intention that
+her husband should go to bed before her. He,
+for his part, was intent upon a side-bag, which
+he was finding difficulty in opening. At last he
+succeeded, and, calling his wife to him, gave her
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[Pg 509]</a></span>
+a roll containing fifty twenty-franc pieces. "I
+know," said he, "that I shall not be able to send
+you anything for some months. This money is
+not mine, I have borrowed it." Then he drew
+a sealed letter from his pocket. "And this,"
+he added, "is my will. I have little to leave, but
+of course I must dispose of that little. I have
+made only one legacy. My father's scarf-pin,
+which you have, is to go to Uncle Piero. I have
+also set down the name of the person who loaned
+me the thousand francs. Besides the will the
+letter contains a few words for you alone. That
+is all." He spoke with grave sweetness, and
+without agitation. Her hands trembled as she
+took the letter. "Thank you," she said, and
+began to unbraid her hair, but she immediately
+twisted it up again, hardly conscious of what she
+was doing, in her struggle with the phantom of
+the dead child, and with another vision of war
+and death. She said brokenly that, as she must
+be up so early to accompany Franco to the boat,
+she thought she would lie down with her clothes
+on, and not loosen her hair. Franco made no
+comment, but having said a short prayer, began
+to undress. From his neck he unclasped a little
+chain from which hung a small gold cross. This
+had belonged to his mother. "I wish you to
+keep this," said he, offering it to Luisa. "It will
+be safer. It might, perhaps, fall into the hands
+of the Croatians." She was horrified, she shuddered,
+hesitated a moment, then threw her arms about
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[Pg 510]</a></span>
+his neck, and pressed him to her in a passionate
+embrace.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>The waiter knocked at their door at about half-past
+four. At five Franco took the candle and
+went into Uncle Piero's room. He was already
+awake. Franco said good-bye to him, and then
+proposed to Luisa that they also take leave of each
+other in the privacy of their own room. In her
+face and voice there was an expression of grave
+and painful stupor. She displayed no agitation,
+and did not weep, but embraced and kissed her
+husband as one in a dream, and, still in a dazed
+state, followed him downstairs. Did a flash from
+the thought that was filling her soul pass into his?
+If so, it happened in the little hotel parlour, while
+he was taking his coffee, his wife seated opposite
+him. He seemed suddenly to discover something
+in that glance, in that expression, for he paused to
+study her, cup in hand, while ineffable tenderness,
+anxiety and emotion overspread his face. She
+evidently had no wish to speak, but he longed to
+do so. A hidden word quivered in all the muscles
+of his face, and shone in his eyes, but his mouth
+did not venture to utter it.</p>
+
+<p>Hand in hand they went down to the landing-stage,
+and leaned against the wall where Luisa
+had leaned the day before. When they heard the
+noise of the paddles, they embraced for the
+last time and said good-bye without tears,
+troubled rather by the hidden thought harboured
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[Pg 511]</a></span>
+by both than afflicted by the separation. The
+steamer came in noisily, the ropes were flung
+ashore and made fast. A bell rang. One kiss
+more! "God bless you!" said Franco, and hurried
+on board.</p>
+
+<p>She lingered as long as she could hear the noise
+of the paddles, as the steamer glided towards
+Stressa. Then she returned to the hotel, sank
+upon the bed, and sat there as one turned to stone,
+engrossed in the idea, in the instinctive certainty,
+that maternity awaited her a second time.</p>
+
+<p>Although this was precisely what she had so
+greatly feared it cannot be said that now she was
+grieved. All other sentiments were subdued by
+the wonder of listening to a strong, inward voice,
+that was so clear and still so inexplicable. She
+was dazed. Since Maria's death she had firmly
+believed that the Book of Destiny could contain
+nothing new for her, that certain secret fibres of
+her heart were dead. And now a mysterious voice
+was speaking within that heart, saying: Know
+that one page in the book of your destiny
+is finished, and the leaf has been turned. For
+you there is still a future of intense living. The
+drama that you believed had come to an end at
+the second act, is to continue, and if I Myself announce
+it to you, it must indeed prove wonderful!</p>
+
+<p>For three hours, until Uncle Piero called her,
+she sat there, absorbed in this voice.</p>
+
+<p>The uncle rose at half-past nine; he was feeling
+very well. The weather was still damp, almost
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[Pg 512]</a></span>
+rainy, but he would not hear of remaining in the
+house until it was time to start for Magadino, as
+Luisa wished him to do. He knew, for he had
+inquired of the proprietor, that the gardens could
+be visited after nine o'clock, so at ten he drank his
+milk and then started out to visit them with Luisa.
+When they passed S. Vittore he wished to go in
+and see the paintings. Mass was being sung, and
+at that moment the officiating priest turned towards
+them and said <i>Benedicat vos omnipotens
+Deus</i>. Uncle Piero crossed himself devoutly,
+and lingered to hear the last gospel. He did not
+attempt to examine the paintings, for there was
+little light in the church, but said with his accustomed
+cheerfulness: "Now that I have received
+that blessing I feel quite happy!"</p>
+
+<p>It was not possible to hurry in his company.
+He stopped at every step, examining everything
+that seemed artistic, everything that was in a
+position to be examined. He studied the front
+of the church, the triple stairway of the landing-stage
+of Villa Borromeo, all three sides of the courtyard,
+and the great palm in the centre, which he
+was much scandalised to learn Luisa had not
+even noticed when she had passed it the night
+before with Franco. When the custodian ushered
+them into the palace, it took the uncle at least
+ten minutes to climb and admire the great stairway.
+As they reached the top a ray of sun glinted
+forth, and the custodian proposed that they
+should take advantage of this and visit the gardens.
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[Pg 513]</a></span>
+He turned to the left and led the visitors
+through a suite of empty rooms to the iron gate,
+where he rang the bell. A gardener appeared,
+a civil lad, to whom Uncle Piero took a great fancy,
+for he explained everything willingly, and the
+uncle's questions were not few. The camphor-tree
+near the entrance cost him five minutes.
+Luisa was distressed, for she feared the uncle
+would tire himself too much, and she herself was
+weary of looking at so many trees, of hearing so
+many names, both Latin and Italian, and of having
+to watch the uncle, while her thoughts called
+for silence and solitude. The gardener proposed
+going up to the Castello di Nettuno. Uncle Piero
+would have liked to inspect more closely the
+unicorn of the Borromei, which stood rampant
+up there, but there were many stairs to climb,
+the air was heavy, and he hesitated. Luisa took
+advantage of that moment of hesitation to ask the
+gardener where she might find a seat. "Just
+below here," said he. "On the left, where the
+<i>Strobus</i> are." Uncle Piero finally consented to go
+down and visit the clump of <i>Strobus</i>.</p>
+
+<p>He was tired, but he continued to look at everything,
+to ask questions about everything. As
+they walked towards the <i>Strobus</i> they heard in
+the distance, over towards Isola Madre, the rolling
+of the drums of the National Guard of Pallanza,
+which was drilling on the shore. "Now it is all
+play," said the young man. "Not exactly play,
+but.... Next month we shall go to work in
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[Pg 514]</a></span>
+earnest. We have a lesson to give to a huge
+beast. There it is, over there, the monster!"
+The monster was the Austrian war steamer <i>Radetzky</i>,
+called by the inhabitants of the Piedmontese
+shore, <i>el Radesc̣n</i>. "The ship is just entering the
+bay of Laveno," said the young fellow, "coming
+from Luino. Come this way if you wish to see
+her plainly."</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Piero knew his eyes were not strong
+enough to see the steamer, so he sat down on the
+first bench he found under the <i>Strobus</i>, which
+stood just in front of a group of bamboos, and was
+flanked by two groups of large azaleas. Behind
+the bamboos, between the great twisted trunks
+of the <i>Strobus</i>, he could see the mirror of white
+water trembling as far as the black line of the hills
+of Ispra. The sky, dark towards the north, was
+clear in that quarter. Luisa and the gardener
+went to the gate which bears the coat of arms, and
+which faces the green Isola Madre, Pallanza, and
+the upper lake. Luisa looked out over the immense
+expanse of leaden water, crowned by misty
+giants from the Sasso di Ferro group above Laveno
+to the mountains of Maccagno, and to the distant
+snows of the Splügen. The smoke of the <i>Radetzky</i>
+was more plainly visible than its body, and the
+drums of Pallanza were still rolling. Uncle Piero
+called the gardener and Luisa went to lean against
+the parapet beside the gate, and near the yew-tree
+that rises from the terrace below. The tree
+shut out the view on the east. She was glad to
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[Pg 515]</a></span>
+be alone at last, to rest her eyes and her thoughts
+on the grey of the great mountains and of the
+great waters. Presently the gardener came back
+to point out to her the yellow acacias and the white
+heather that were blossoming on the lower terrace.
+"The <i>bruyères blanches</i> bring luck," said he.
+Seeing that Luisa was lost in thought, and did not
+heed him, he started towards the hot-house containing
+the begonias. "An old <i>Strobus</i>," said he,
+speaking in a loud voice that the visitors might
+hear him, but without looking around, "An old
+<i>Strobus</i> that has been struck by lightning. If you
+wish to visit the private gardens&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Luisa turned from the parapet and went to
+fetch the uncle, and give him her arm if necessary.
+The gardener, who was waiting at the entrance of
+the little grove of laurels, saw her start towards
+the old gentleman, who was still sitting on the
+bench, saw her quicken her pace and then rush to
+his side with a cry.</p>
+
+<p>Like the innocent and aged tree Uncle Piero
+also had been struck down. His body was resting
+against the back of the bench, his head had fallen
+forward, and his chin touched his breast. His
+eyes were open, fixed and expressionless. It had
+indeed been a farewell spectacle his beloved Valsolda
+had offered him the day before. Uncle
+Piero, the dear, venerable, old man, wise, upright,
+and fatherly, the benefactor of his own people,
+Uncle Piero was gone, gone forever. He had come
+to enlist, but God had called him to a higher service;
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[Pg 516]</a></span>
+the bugle had sounded, and he had answered
+the call. The drums of Pallanza still rolled, rolled
+for the end of the old world, and rolled for the
+advent of the new. In Luisa's womb there lay
+a vital germ which was preparing to fight the
+battles of a new era, preparing to taste other joys,
+other griefs than those which the man of the old
+world was leaving thus peacefully, blessed unconsciously,
+at the last moment, by that strange
+priest of Isola Bella, who had, perhaps, never
+uttered the holy words to one more worthy.</p>
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[Pg 517]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><i>A Selection from the<br />
+Catalogue of</i></h2>
+
+<h1>G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS</h1>
+
+<h3>Complete Catalogues sent<br />
+on application</h3>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_519" id="Page_519">[Pg 518]<br />[Pg 519]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p><b>"Signor Fogazzaro is at the present moment undoubtedly
+the greatest of Italian novelists. His nobility of feeling,
+his wide sympathy, his kindliness and breezy humor entitle
+him to a high place among writers of fiction."&mdash;</b></p>
+
+<div class="signature"><b>From Villari's "Italian Life."</b></div>
+</div>
+
+<h2>The Trilogy of Rome</h2>
+
+<h4>BY<br />
+ANTONIO FOGAZZARO</h4>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>The Patriot</h3>
+
+<h4>PICCOLO MONDO ANTICO&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Crown 8vo. $1.50</i></h4>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p><b>A picture of "the little ancient world" of Vasolda in the troubled
+period of 1848&ndash;49, when the "spirit of patriotism mourned its
+fiercest." The book is a wonderful portrayal of the social life of
+the period.</b></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>The Sinner</h3>
+
+<h4>PICCOLO MONDO MODERNO&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Crown 8vo. $1.50</i></h4>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p><b>An impassioned love story involving faithful pictures of the life of
+the Italian world of fashion and introducing the character that
+becomes the central figure of <i>The Saint</i>.</b></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>The Saint</h3>
+
+<h4>IL SANTO&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Crown 8vo. $1.50</i></h4>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p><b>"An exceptional, remarkable, profoundly interesting work. It
+is eloquent with intense earnestness, with a deep-rooted sense of
+a duty to perform, a fervent message to deliver. You lay it aside
+with an abiding sense of having read something eminently worth
+while, something very genuine and sincere."&mdash;<i>The Bookman.</i></b></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_520" id="Page_520">[Pg 520]</a></span></p>
+<h4>"<i>A Remarkable Book</i>"</h4>
+
+<h2>SAN CELESTINO</h2>
+
+<h3>BY JOHN AYSCOUGH</h3>
+
+<h4>Author of "MAROTZ," "DROMINA," etc.</h4>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p><b>In form, it is almost exactly like a novel with
+frequent conversations, and going, in minor matters
+at least, far beyond the record of history. The narrative
+opens with Petruccio as a child in the home
+of his parents, who belong to the minor nobility
+of the Abruzzi. It follows his career at Salerno,
+where he attended the University as a lonely figure
+making few friends. Afterwards he became a
+hermit and the story tells how disciples gathered
+round him, beginning with two worldly young men
+who had known him at Salerno. The Order of
+the Celestines thus founded grew in numbers and
+importance through fifty quiet years, when the call
+to the Papacy came. From this point, Mr. Ayscough's
+chronicle moves swiftly and dramatically&mdash;the
+poor simple old man dragged weeping from his
+hermit's cave and borne to the triumph from which
+he shrank in horror,&mdash;the miserable weeks in
+Rome, touching examples of his simplicity and
+guilelessness. Then the peace which came with
+the renunciation, and his last days passed quite
+happily as a captive in a prison cell.</b></p>
+</div>
+
+<h4><i>Crown 8vo.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;$1.50</i></h4>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_521" id="Page_521">[Pg 521]</a></span></p>
+<h4>"One of the most striking novels of the
+year."&mdash;<i>British Weekly.</i></h4>
+
+<h2>MAROTZ</h2>
+
+<h3>By John Ayscough</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p><b>A story of the present day, containing
+vivid word pictures of Southern Italian
+and Sicilian life, written by a distinguished
+Catholic. The passionate peoples of the
+South, tempered by the sweet influences of
+religion, despite science and modernity, are
+depicted with great fidelity. It is safe to
+say that no truer account of Convent life
+has ever been printed.</b></p>
+</div>
+
+<h4>"A literary masterpiece."&mdash;<i>The Observer.</i></h4>
+
+<h4><i>Crown octavo.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;$1.50</i></h4>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_522" id="Page_522">[Pg 522]</a></span></p>
+<h2><i>Alluring Novels for Summer Reading</i></h2>
+
+<h3>HENRY OF NAVARRE&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By May Wynne</h3>
+
+<h4>A Romance of August, 1572</h4>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p><i>Frontispiece</i> by H. M. Brock.</p>
+
+<p><i>Listed as one of the six best selling novels in England.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Vividly and vigorously recounted, the dialogue is brisk
+and ingenious, the plot well contrived, and action swift and
+skilfully managed."&mdash;<i>N. Y. Sun.</i> Crown 8vo. <b>$1.50</b></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>JUDITH of the CUMBERLANDS&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By Alice MacGowan</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p>Author of "The Last Word," "Return," "Huldah," etc.
+<i>With Six Full-Page Illustrations in Color</i> by George Wright.</p>
+
+<p>"A book that combines historical value with so good a
+story is a book to be praised."&mdash;<i>N. Y. Times.</i></p>
+
+<p>"An admirable tale."&mdash;<i>The Outlook.</i> Crown 8vo. <b>$1.50</b></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>PRINCESS NADINE&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By Christian Reid</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p>Author of "The Chase of an Heiress," "The Man of the Family," etc.
+<i>With Frontispiece in Colors</i> by John Edwin Jackson.</p>
+
+<p>"A dramatic and splendid piece of fiction, the love element
+is delicately treated, while it sparkles with wit and is
+captivating in style."&mdash;<i>Buffalo Courier.</i> Crown 8vo. <b>$1.50</b></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>FRATERNITY&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By John Galsworthy</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p>"It has warmth and color, and that spiritual exaltation of
+insight into the heart of humanity which is one of the attributes
+of genius. In conception and in execution <i>Fraternity</i>
+must be justly termed <i>a great novel</i>."&mdash;<i>N. Y. Times.</i></p>
+
+<p>Crown 8vo. Fixed price, <b>$1.35</b> net (by mail, <b>$1.50</b>)</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>PLAYS&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By John Galsworthy<br />
+THE SILVER BOX&mdash;JOY&mdash;STRIFE</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p>"By the power of his conceptions John Galsworthy
+must be recognized as a distinctive and important figure
+among the younger English novelists. Still in his thirties,
+he is nevertheless a master."&mdash;<i>Chicago Evening Post.</i></p>
+
+<p>Crown 8vo. Fixed price, <b>$1.35</b> net</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>DROMINA&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By John Ayscough</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p>"Spacious in scope, splendid in vigor and coloring, and
+rich in human feeling and sentiment ... the whole
+romance thrills and glows with a real and splendid effect
+of life, and I commend it heartily."&mdash;<i>Dundee Advertiser.</i></p>
+
+<p>Crown 8vo. <b>$1.50</b></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>MAROTZ&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By John Ayscough</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p>"One of the most striking novels of the year."&mdash;<i>British<br />
+Weekly.</i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Crown 8vo. <b>$1.50</b></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523">[Pg 523]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>The<br />
+Trilogy of Rome</h2>
+
+<h4>By</h4>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Antonio Fogazzaro</span></h3>
+
+<h4><i>The Greatest of Italian Novelists</i>"<br />
+(Authorized American Editions)</h4>
+
+<h3>1. The Patriot</h3>
+<h4>(Piccolo Mondo Antico)</h4>
+<h3>2. The Sinner</h3>
+<h4>(Piccolo Mondo Moderno)</h4>
+<h3>3. The Saint</h3>
+<h4>(Il Santo)</h4>
+
+<div class="blockquot2">
+<p>The first of these romances is an impassioned
+story of lovers struggling to break the barriers
+of aristocratic prejudice that oppose their marriage.
+It is also a story of patriotism&mdash;of the freeing of
+Italy from the Austrian yoke.</p>
+
+<p>In <i>The Sinner</i>, the second book of this Trilogy,
+we read the dramatic story of Piero Maironi, the
+son of the hero of <i>The Patriot</i>, and of his love for
+the beautiful Jeanne Dessalle,&mdash;a story that presents
+a vivid picture of the Italian world of rank
+and fashion, and involves, too, a study of political
+and ecclesiastical life.</p>
+
+<p>In <i>The Saint</i>, the concluding novel in the series,
+the hero of <i>The Sinner</i> and the lover of Jeanne
+Dessalle appears as a penitent full of religious
+zeal that finds a double outlet&mdash;in asceticism
+and works of mercy and in an attempt to reform
+the Church of Rome from within.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="hr2" />
+
+<h3>G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS</h3>
+
+<h4>New York&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;London</h4>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="tn">
+<h4>Transcriber's Note:</h4>
+<ul class="corrections">
+<li>The table of contents corresponds to a different edition.</li>
+<li>The footnotes have been moved to the end of the respective chapters.</li>
+<li>Obvious punctuation errors have been corrected.</li>
+<li>Archaic and inconsistent hyphenation was retained as printed.</li>
+<li>Pg <a href="#one">3</a> "once" replaces "one" (the voice groaned one more)</li>
+<li>Pg <a href="#piena">40</a> "plena" replaces "piena" (Ave Maria, gratia piena)</li>
+<li>Pg <a href="#the">444</a> removed repeated word "the the" (Meanwhile Pedraglio explored
+the the kitchen...)</li>
+<li>Pg <a href="#he">445</a> "he" replaces "be" (Then be began rapidly collecting ...)</li>
+</ul>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PATRIOT***</p>
+<p>******* This file should be named 33778-h.txt or 33778-h.zip *******</p>
+<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br />
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/3/7/7/33778">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/7/7/33778</a></p>
+<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.</p>
+
+<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.</p>
+
+
+
+<pre>
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license)</a>.
+
+
+Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
+paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works. See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+ the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+ you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is
+ owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+ has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+ Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments
+ must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+ prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+ returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+ sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+ address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+ the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+ you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+ does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+ License. You must require such a user to return or
+ destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+ and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+ Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+ money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+ electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+ of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+ distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS,' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+ Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+ Chief Executive and Director
+ gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's
+eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII,
+compressed (zipped), HTML and others.
+
+Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over
+the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed.
+VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving
+new filenames and etext numbers.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org">http://www.gutenberg.org</a>
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000,
+are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to
+download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular
+search system you may utilize the following addresses and just
+download by the etext year.
+
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/</a>
+
+ (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99,
+ 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90)
+
+EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are
+filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part
+of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is
+identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single
+digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For
+example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at:
+
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234
+
+or filename 24689 would be found at:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689
+
+An alternative method of locating eBooks:
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a>
+
+*** END: FULL LICENSE ***
+</pre>
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/33778.txt b/33778.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..36bebcd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/33778.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,14003 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Patriot, by Antonio Fogazzaro, Translated
+by M. Prichard-Agnetti
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Patriot
+ Piccolo Mondo Antico
+
+
+Author: Antonio Fogazzaro
+
+
+
+Release Date: September 20, 2010 [eBook #33778]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PATRIOT***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Julia Neufeld, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+THE PATRIOT
+
+(PICCOLO MONDO ANTICO)
+
+by
+
+ANTONIO FOGAZZARO
+
+Author of "The Saint"
+
+Translated from the Italian by M. Prichard-Agnetti
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+G. P. Putnam's Sons
+New York and London
+The Knickerbocker Press
+
+Copyright, 1906
+by
+G. P. Putnam's Sons
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+_The Patriot (Piccolo Mondo Antico)_ was published in Milan in 1896, and
+has reached its forty-fourth edition, which is in itself sufficient
+proof of its popularity; for Italians do not purchase books largely, and
+one volume will often make the tour of a town, coming out of the
+campaign in rags and a newspaper cover.
+
+Although _The Patriot_ is not an historical novel in the true sense of
+the term, it certainly throws a wonderful side-light on those ten years
+of "deadly cold and awful silence," a silence broken only from time to
+time by the cries of the martyrs of Mantua, by the noise of inward
+strife in the Papal States, and by the weeping of mothers who saw their
+sons disappear behind the clanging doors of Austrian fortresses. These
+ten years stretched drearily from the disastrous field of Novara to the
+glorious days of Magenta, Solferino and San Martino (1849-59).
+
+Antonio Fogazzaro, born in Vicenza in 1842, was a child when the battle
+of Novara was fought and lost; but when the French drove the Austrians
+from the bloody field of Magenta, he, a youth of seventeen, was ready to
+be fired with patriotic enthusiasm.
+
+During those years, there was little the patriots could do save to feed
+the fire of hatred against the foreign oppressors, and prepare, as best
+they could, in secret and in constant danger of death, for the moment
+when Piedmont should once more give the signal of revolt.
+
+In the night that succeeded the battle of Novara, King Carlo Alberto,
+who had risked all for the freedom of the rest of Italy--for it must be
+remembered that his own kingdom of Sardinia was independent of
+Austria--discouraged, mortified, and impoverished, abdicated in favour
+of his son, Victor Emmanuel. It was no longer possible to continue
+hostilities, and Carlo Alberto hoped that his son, whose wife, Maria
+Adelaide, was the daughter of an Austrian grand-duke, might obtain more
+favourable conditions from Austria for his unhappy country. On the
+following day the young King and Field-Marshal Radetzky met, and a peace
+was signed, the conditions of which Victor Emmanuel found great
+difficulty in persuading his parliament to ratify. But in the end
+Piedmont paid Austria an indemnity of seventy-five million francs.
+
+Victor Emmanuel had not, however, abandoned the idea of United Italy,
+and could say with Massimo D'Azeglio: We will begin over again, and do
+better! Count Camillo Benso di Cavour, one of the greatest statesmen of
+modern times, stood by the King from the first. They immediately turned
+their attention towards bettering the condition of their impoverished
+country, and soon succeeded in rendering the little capital, Turin, one
+of the brightest and most prosperous cities of the Continent. The
+patriots, the best men in Italy, flocked to Turin from all those states
+where Austria or her tools held sway. The Piedmontese government granted
+subsidies to some of these refugees, and found employment for others,
+receiving all with open arms.
+
+Meanwhile, Mazzini and Garibaldi were working, sometimes at home,
+sometimes in exile, while in Mantua brave patriots, among them several
+saintly priests, were suffering torture and death at the hands of the
+Austrians. The records of their trials revealed such palpable and
+flagrant violation of all justice, all law, that when the Austrians were
+at last expelled from Mantua, they were careful to remove these to
+Vienna, where they are still preserved. The aged mother of one of the
+priests who suffered execution appealed to the young Empress Elisabeth,
+begging that her son's body might be restored to her, and receive burial
+in consecrated ground. But Elisabeth was deaf to the unhappy woman's
+prayers. During the long and desolate years of her own affliction, how
+often must the unfortunate Empress have thought of the tears of blood
+the mothers of Italy had shed! It was Field-Marshal Haynau of inglorious
+memory, he who for his cruelties in that city had been dubbed the "hyena
+of Brescia," who tortured these martyrs of Mantua and signed their
+death-warrants.
+
+All these things were happening during those ten years of heavy silence
+when Fogazzaro was a child. We can fancy how eagerly he listened to the
+accounts of these horrors, and to the long and animated discussions his
+father (Franco Maironi of _The Patriot_) and his uncle (Uncle Piero)
+held with the brilliant company that assembled at Casa Fogazzaro. His
+father took an active part in the defence of Vicenza in 1848, while his
+mother, whom he has portrayed for us in the lovely character of Signora
+Luisa Rigey, busied herself with scraping lint and making cockades for
+the soldiers. These events and scenes, which so deeply impressed the
+child, were ever present to the mind of the man, and the long cherished
+project of immortalising those personages and places which were both
+familiar and dear to him, was at last realised in the pages of _The
+Patriot_, in which, evoking personal memories of the past, he gives us a
+stirring account of the petty persecutions and base meanness to which
+the mighty Austria stooped during that period of suspense and anxiety.
+The intrigues of the rogue Pasotti, the skirmishes of the wicked old
+Marchesa with the adjutant of the great Radetzky himself, fill us with
+indignation and contempt, while we thrill with patriotic emotion when
+Luisa raises her glass and whispers: "Hurrah for Cavour!"--_whispers_
+the words, because in those days the very walls had ears, and in her
+toast there breathed sedition!
+
+As the years passed and peace and prosperity settled over United Italy,
+another question, that of the religious life, began to occupy the
+master-mind of Antonio Fogazzaro. Intensely but broadly religious
+himself, he could not fail to introduce into his work the burning
+question of belief or unbelief which, from long contemplation and study,
+had become, as it were, a part of himself. The artistic motive of the
+book, the struggle between an unbelieving wife and an intensely
+religious husband, came to the Italian reader as a new revelation. Had
+Fogazzaro been influenced by certain works which had already excited
+much comment and discussion in England and America? Perhaps so; but at
+all events he has treated the subject differently, and in his own
+masterly fashion; he has spared us the long and tedious tirades of
+personages who are, after all, simply mouthpieces, and has given us
+instead two warm and palpitating human beings, who live and act in
+accordance with their opinions, and whose innermost souls are laid bare
+to us by their own deeds, their own actions. Franco and Luisa do not
+discuss and argue, they simply _feel_, feel intensely, and by a few
+burning words here, a few delicate touches there, our author leads us to
+feel with them, to understand and sympathise with their impulses, their
+passions, and their weaknesses.
+
+We may not agree with Fogazzaro's conclusions, but we cannot but admire
+the masterly delineation of character, the unstudied and thoroughly
+artistic arrangement of the work, and the skilful handling of so many
+different elements.
+
+The very simplicity and directness of his language give to his style a
+grandeur all its own, and lend a peculiar charm to his descriptions of
+nature, which form some of the most fascinating pages of _The Patriot_.
+With a few broad strokes, he spreads before us a landscape of ineffable
+beauty, or shows us the fury of the maddened elements. How marvellous in
+its solemn grandeur is the picture of the struggle between the sun and
+the fog, which Uncle Piero witnesses from the terrace at Oria! How
+wonderful in its awe-inspiring realism is the story of Franco's journey
+across the mountains, in the darkness of a moonless night! And that
+glorious picture of the sunrise, when Franco's crushed and tortured soul
+soars upwards again with the growing light, and, inspired and comforted,
+he once more squares his shoulders, and takes up his heavy burden of
+care!
+
+Infinite sweetness breathes from the pages which deal with the short and
+sunny life of dear little Maria, and there are passages full of humour
+and whimsical reflections that must remind the English reader of
+Dickens.
+
+Perhaps when Fogazzaro wrote _The Patriot_, he had already planned the
+trilogy of which it forms the first volume, but certainly the trilogy
+was rather evolved than planned, evolved from the union of two such
+characters as Franco and Luisa; and probably, while writing the first,
+the author was, to a certain extent, ignorant of what the second and
+third volumes would contain; for Luisa and Franco, Jeanne and Piero are
+not puppets which have been fitted into a story, but the story is in
+every particular the outcome of their personalities.
+
+Certain it is that when we read the promise contained in the closing
+lines of _The Patriot_, we look forward eagerly to the succeeding
+volumes of the trilogy; and when, after that marvellous scene in the
+gardener's house, we reluctantly bid farewell to the Saint, our first
+thought is a hope that the master may soon resume his magic pen and
+continue the struggle for the purification and regeneration of the
+Faith, and, through the Faith, of Mankind.
+
+ MARY PRICHARD-AGNETTI.
+ BERCETO, ITALY,
+ _October, 1906_.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ _PART FIRST_
+ PAGE
+
+
+ CHAPTER I
+
+ RISOTTO AND TRUFFLES 1
+
+ CHAPTER II
+
+ ON THE THRESHOLD OF A NEW LIFE 25
+
+ CHAPTER III
+
+ THE GREAT STEP 39
+
+ CHAPTER IV
+
+ CARLIN'S LETTER 68
+
+ CHAPTER V
+
+ THE ROGUE AT WORK 85
+
+ CHAPTER VI
+
+ THE OLD LADY OF MARBLE 109
+
+
+ _PART SECOND_
+
+ CHAPTER I
+
+ FISHERMEN 117
+
+ CHAPTER II
+
+ THE MOONSHINE AND CLOUD SONATA 133
+
+ CHAPTER III
+
+ THE GLOVED HAND 169
+
+ CHAPTER IV
+
+ THE HAND WITHIN THE GLOVE 180
+
+ CHAPTER V
+
+ THE SECRET OF THE WIND AND THE WALNUT TREES 201
+
+ CHAPTER VI
+
+ THE TRUMP CARD APPEARS 214
+
+ CHAPTER VII
+
+ THE PROFESSOR PLAYS HIS TRUMP CARD 230
+
+ CHAPTER VIII
+
+ HOURS OF BITTERNESS 240
+
+ CHAPTER IX
+
+ FOR BREAD, FOR ITALY, FOR GOD 285
+
+ CHAPTER X
+
+ SIGNORA LUISA, COME HOME! 305
+
+ CHAPTER XI
+
+ SHADOWS AND DAWN 331
+
+ CHAPTER XII
+
+ PHANTOMS 352
+
+ CHAPTER XIII
+
+ FLIGHT 366
+
+
+ _PART THIRD_
+
+ CHAPTER I
+
+ THE SAGE SPEAKS 391
+
+ CHAPTER II
+
+ THE SUMMONS TO ARMS 411
+
+
+
+
+Part First
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+RISOTTO AND TRUFFLES
+
+
+On the lake a cold _breva_[A] was blowing, striving to drive away the
+grey clouds which clung heavily about the dark mountain-tops. Indeed,
+when the Pasottis reached Casarico on their way down from Albogasio
+Superiore, it had not yet begun to rain. The waves beat and thundered on
+the shore, jostling the boats at their moorings, while flashing tongues
+of white foam showed, here and there, as far as the frowning banks of
+the Doi over yonder. But down in the west, at the end of the lake, a
+line of light could be seen, a sign of approaching calm, of the
+diminishing _breva_, and behind the gloomy Caprino hill appeared the
+first misty rain. Pasotti, in his full dress black overcoat, a tall hat
+on his head, his hand grasping a thick bamboo walking-stick, was pacing
+nervously along the shore, peering now in this direction, now in that,
+or stopping to beat his stick upon the ground, and to shout for that
+ass of a boatman, who had not yet appeared.
+
+The little black boat, with its red cushions, its red and white awning,
+its movable seat, used only on special occasions, fixed crosswise in its
+place, the oars lying ready amidship, was struggling, buffeted by the
+waves, between two coal barges, which hardly moved.
+
+"Pin!" shouted Pasotti, growing more and more angry. "Pin!"
+
+The only answer was the regular, constant thundering of the waves on the
+shore, and the bumping of one boat against another. At that moment one
+would have said there was not so much as a live dog in the whole of
+Casarico. Only a plaintive, old voice, like the husky falsetto of a
+ventriloquist, groaned from beneath the portico--
+
+"Hadn't we better walk?"
+
+At last Pin appeared in the direction of San Mamette.
+
+"Hurry up, there!" shrieked Pasotti, raising his arms. The man began to
+run.
+
+"Beast!" Pasotti roared. "It was with good reason they gave you the name
+of a dog!"
+
+"Hadn't we better walk, Pasotti?" groaned the plaintive voice. "Let us
+walk!"
+
+Pasotti continued to abuse the boatman, who was hastily unfastening the
+chain of his boat from a ring, fixed in the bank. Presently he turned
+towards the portico, with an authoritative air, and jerking his chin,
+motioned to some one to come forward.
+
+"Let us walk, Pasotti!" the voice groaned once more.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders, made a rough gesture of command with his
+hand, and started down towards the boat.
+
+Then an old lady appeared under one of the arches of the portico, her
+lean person enveloped in an Indian shawl, below which a black silk skirt
+showed. Her head was surmounted by a fashionable bonnet, spindling, and
+lofty, trimmed with tiny yellow roses, and black lace. Two black curls
+framed the wrinkled face; the eyes were large and gentle, and the wide
+mouth was shaded by a faint moustache.
+
+"Oh Pin!" she exclaimed, clasping her canary-coloured gloves, and
+pausing on the bank to gaze helplessly at the boatman. "Can we really
+venture out with the lake in this state?"
+
+Her husband made a still more imperious gesture, and his face assumed a
+still sourer expression. The poor woman slipped down to the boat in
+silence, and was helped in, trembling violently.
+
+"I commend myself to Our Lady of Caravino, my good Pin!" she said. "What
+a dreadful lake!"
+
+The boatman shook his head, smiling.
+
+"By the way!" Pasotti exclaimed, "have you brought the sail along?"
+
+"It is up at the house," Pin answered. "Shall I go for it? But perhaps
+the Signora here, might be frightened. Besides, here comes the rain!"
+
+"Go and fetch it," said Pasotti.
+
+The Signora, who was as deaf as a post, had not heard a word of this
+conversation, and, greatly amazed at seeing Pin run off, asked her
+husband where he was going.
+
+"The sail!" Pasotti shouted into her face. She sat, bending forward, her
+mouth wide open, striving in vain, to catch, at least, the sound of his
+voice.
+
+"The sail!" he repeated, still louder, his hands framing his mouth.
+
+She began to think that she understood. Trembling with fright she drew a
+questioning hieroglyphic in the air with her finger. Pasotti answered by
+drawing an imaginary curve in the air, and blowing into it; then he
+silently nodded his head. His wife, convulsed with terror, started to
+leave the boat.
+
+"I am going to get out!" said she in an agonised voice. "I am going to
+get out! I want to walk!"
+
+Her husband seized her by the arm, and pulled her down into her seat,
+fixing two flaming eyes upon her.
+
+Meanwhile the boatman had returned with the sail. The poor woman writhed
+and sighed; tears stood in her eyes, and she cast despairing glances at
+the shore, but she was silent. The mast was raised, the two lower ends
+of the sail were made fast, and the boat was about to put out, when a
+voice bellowed from the portico--
+
+"Hallo! Hallo! The Signor Controllore!" and out popped a big, rubicund
+priest, with a glorious belly, a large, black straw hat, a cigar in his
+mouth, and an umbrella under his arm.
+
+"Oh! Curatone!" Pasotti exclaimed. "Well done! Are you invited to the
+dinner also? Are you coming to Cressogno with us?"
+
+"If you will take me," the curate of Puria answered, going down towards
+the boat. "Well, I never! The Signora Barborin is here also."
+
+The expression of his big face became supremely amiable, his great voice
+became supremely sweet.
+
+"She is devilish frightened, poor creature!" Pasotti grinned, while the
+curate was making a series of little bows, and smiling sweetly upon the
+lady, who was more terrified than ever at the prospect of this added
+weight. She began to gesticulate silently, as if the others had been
+more deaf than she herself. She pointed to the lake, to the sail, to the
+bulk of the enormous curate, raising her eyes to heaven, hiding her face
+in her hands, or pressing them to her heart.
+
+"I don't weigh so very much," said the curate laughing. "Hold your
+tongue, will you?" he added, turning to Pin, who had murmured
+disrespectfully: "A good, big fish!"
+
+"I'll tell you how we can cure her of her fright!" Pasotti exclaimed.
+"Pin, have you a little table, and a pack of _tarocchi_[B] cards?"
+
+"I have a pack," Pin replied. "But they are rather greasy."
+
+They had great difficulty in making Signora Barbara--generally called
+_Barborin_--understand the matter in hand. She would not understand, not
+even when her husband forced the pack of filthy cards into her hands.
+
+For the present, however, playing was out of the question. The boat was
+being laboriously rowed forward towards the mouth of the river of San
+Mamette, where they would be able to hoist the sail. The surf, flung
+back from the shore, clashed with the in-coming waves, and the little
+boat was tossing about among the seething, foaming crests. The lady was
+weeping and Pasotti was swearing at Pin, who had not stood out into the
+lake far enough. At last the fat curate seized a couple of oars, and
+planting his big person firmly in the middle of the boat, bent to his
+work with such good will that a few strokes sufficed to send them
+forward and out of difficulty. Then the sail was hoisted, and the boat
+glided quietly and smoothly onward, rocking slowly and gently, while the
+water gurgled softly under its keel. Then the smiling priest sat down
+beside Signora Barborin, who had closed her eyes and was muttering. But
+Pasotti drummed impatiently on the table with the cards, and play they
+must.
+
+Meanwhile the grey rain was creeping slowly towards them, veiling the
+mountains, and stifling the _breva_.
+
+The lady's breath returned in proportion as the wind's breath
+diminished, and she played resignedly, calmly oblivious to her own gross
+mistakes, and her husband's consequent outbursts of rage. When the rain
+began to rustle on the boat's awning, on the lifeless waves, which in
+the now almost breathless atmosphere, were rolling in against the rocks
+of the Tention; when the boatman, judging it best to lower the sail,
+took to the oars once more, then, at last, Signora Barborin breathed
+freely. "Pin, my good fellow!" she said tenderly, and began playing
+_tarocchi_ with a zeal, an energy and an expression of beatitude, which
+neither mistakes nor scoldings could trouble.
+
+Many days of _breva_ and of rain, of sunshine and of storm have dawned
+and faded away over the Lake of Lugano, over the hills of Valsolda since
+that game of cards was played by Signora Pasotti, her husband, the
+retired controller of customs, and the big curate of Puria, in the boat
+which coasted slowly along the rocky shore between San Mamette and
+Cressogno in the misty rain.
+
+The times were grey and sleepy, in keeping with the aspect of sky and
+lake, after the _breva_ had subsided, the breeze which had so terrified
+Signora Pasotti. The great _breva_[C] of 1848, after bringing a few
+hours of sunshine, and striving awhile with the heavy clouds, had
+slumbered for three years, allowing one breathless, gloomy, silent day
+to follow another in those places where the scene of this humble tale of
+mine is laid.
+
+The king and queens of _tarocchi_, the _mondo_, the _matto_ and the
+_bagatto_, were imported personages at that time, and in those parts;
+minor powers tolerated benevolently by the great, silent Austrian
+empire; and their antagonisms, their alliances, their wars, were the
+only political questions which might be freely discussed. Even Pin, as
+he rowed, eagerly poked his hooked and inquisitive nose into Signora
+Barborin's cards, withdrawing it reluctantly again. Once he paused in
+his rowing, and let his nose hover above the cards, to see how the poor
+woman would extricate herself from a difficult position; what she would
+do with a certain card it was dangerous to play, and equally dangerous
+to hold. Her husband thumped impatiently on the little table, the big
+curate sorted his cards with a blissful smile, while she clasped hers to
+her bosom, now laughing, now groaning, and rolling her eyes from one to
+the other of her companions.
+
+"She holds the _matto_," the curate whispered.
+
+"She always goes on like that when she has the _matto_," said Pasotti,
+and called to her, thumping the table one more--
+
+"Out with the _matto_!"
+
+"I will throw him into the lake!" said she. She cast a glance towards
+the prow, and, as an excuse, remarked that they were nearing Cressogno,
+and that it was time to stop playing.
+
+Her husband fumed awhile, but finally resigned himself to putting on his
+gloves.
+
+"Trout to-day, curate!" he observed, while his meek wife buttoned them
+for him. "White truffles, grouse, and wine from Ghemme."
+
+"Then you know!" the curate exclaimed. "I know it also. The cook told me
+yesterday at Lugano."
+
+"And besides, some ladies have been invited; the Carabellis, mother and
+daughter. Those Carabellis from Loveno, you know."
+
+"Indeed!" the curate exclaimed. "Is there any scheme----? There is Don
+Franco, now, in his boat. But what a strange flag the young man is
+flying! I never saw him with it before."
+
+Pasotti raised the awning and looked out. At a little distance a boat
+flying a white and blue flag rose and fell in unison with the weary
+motion of the waves. In the stern, under the flag, sat Don Franco
+Maironi, the grandson of the old Marchesa Orsola, who was giving the
+dinner.
+
+Pasotti saw him rise, grasp the oars, and pull away, rowing slowly
+towards the upper lake, towards the wild gulf of the Doi, the white and
+blue flag spread wide, and floating above the boat's trail.
+
+"Where is that eccentric young man going?" said he. And he muttered
+between his teeth; in the strained and husky voice of a Milanese
+rough--"A surly fellow!"
+
+"They say he has great talents," the priest observed.
+
+"An empty head," the other declared. "Much arrogance, little learning,
+no manners!"
+
+"And half rotten," he added. "If I were that young woman----"
+
+"Which?" the curate questioned.
+
+"Why, Signorina Carabelli."
+
+"Mark my words, Signor Controllore! If the grouse and white truffles are
+meant for that Carabelli girl, they are thrown away!"
+
+"Do you know something?" Pasotti inquired, his eyes flaming with
+curiosity.
+
+The priest did not answer because, at that point, the bow grated on the
+gravel, and touched the landing-stage. He got out first; Pasotti, with
+rapid and imperious gestures, gave his wife some orders of unknown
+purport. Then he himself left the boat. Last to get out was the poor
+woman, wrapped in her Indian shawl, bending under the tall, black bonnet
+with the little, yellow roses, staggering, and stretching out her big
+hands in the canary-coloured gloves. The two curls, hanging on either
+side of her meek ugliness, gave her a special air of resignation, under
+the umbrella of her husband, proprietor, inspector and jealous custodian
+of so much elegance.
+
+The three went up to the portico, by means of which the little Villa
+Maironi spans the road leading from the landing-stage to the
+parish-church of Cressogno. Between two happy sighs, the curate and
+Pasotti sniffed an indistinct, warm odour, which floated out from the
+open vestibule of the villa.
+
+"Ah! _risotto! risotto!_" the priest whispered, with a greedy glow on
+his face.
+
+Pasotti, who had a keen nose, shook his head, knitting his brows in
+manifest contempt for that other nose.
+
+"It is not _risotto_," said he.
+
+"What do you mean by saying it is not _risotto_?" the priest exclaimed
+in vexation. "It _is risotto_; _risotto_ with truffles. Don't you
+smell it?"
+
+Both stopped half way across the vestibule, sniffing the air noisily
+like a couple of hounds.
+
+"Do me the favour, my dear curate, to confine your remarks to
+_posciandra_," said Pasotti, after a long pause, alluding to a certain
+coarse dish the peasants prepare, with cabbage and sausages. "Truffles
+there are, but _risotto_ there is not!"
+
+"_Posciandra! posciandra!_" the other grumbled, somewhat offended. "As
+to that----"
+
+The poor, meek lady understood that they were quarrelling, and, much
+alarmed, began pointing upward towards the ceiling, with her right
+forefinger, to warn them that they might be overheard up above. Her
+husband seized her uplifted arm, signed to her to sniff, and then blew
+into her wide open mouth the word: "_Risotto_."
+
+She hesitated, not having heard distinctly. Pasotti shrugged his
+shoulders. "She don't understand anything," said he. "The weather is
+going to change," and he went up stairs, followed by his wife. The stout
+curate wished to take another look at Don Franco's boat. "The
+Carabellis, indeed!" he mused, but he was immediately recalled by
+Signora Barborin, who begged him to sit beside her at the table; she was
+so timid, poor creature!
+
+The fumes of the pots and kettles filled the stairs with warm fragrance.
+"It is not _risotto_," the vanguard murmured. "It is _risotto_," the
+rearguard answered in the same tone. And thus they continued, ever more
+softly: "It is not _risotto_; it is _risotto_," until Pasotti pushed
+open the door of the red room, where the mistress of the house was
+usually to be found.
+
+A hideous, lean, little dog trotted, barking, towards Signora Barborin,
+who was endeavouring to smile, while Pasotti was putting on his most
+obsequious expression, and the curate, entering last, his big face all
+sweetness, was really, in his heart, consigning the cursed little beast
+to hell.
+
+"Friend, come here, Friend!" the old Marchesa said placidly. "Dear
+Signora, dear Controllore, and the curate!"
+
+Her gruff nasal voice was pitched in the same calm tone to the guests
+and to the dog. She had risen to receive Signora Barborin, but did not
+move a step from the sofa, and stood there, a squat figure, with dull,
+torpid eyes beneath her marble forehead, and her black wig, which
+rounded out over her temples in the shape of two big snails. Her face
+must once have been handsome, and still retained in its pallor, tinged
+with yellow like old marble, a certain cold majesty, which--like her
+glance and her voice--never varied with the varying emotions of her
+soul. The big curate, standing at a distance, made her two or three
+jerky bows, but Pasotti kissed her hand, while Signora Barborin, who
+felt her blood turn to ice under the old lady's lifeless glance, did not
+know how to move, nor what to say. Another lady had risen from the sofa
+when the Marchesa rose, and was staring with an insolent air at Signora
+Pasotti, at that poor little bundle, old within, and new without!
+"Signora Pasotti and her husband," said the Marchesa. "Donna Eugenia
+Carabelli."
+
+Donna Eugenia hardly bowed her head. Her daughter, Donna Carolina, was
+standing at the window, talking with one of the Marchesa's favourites,
+the niece of the agent.
+
+The Marchesa did not consider it necessary to disturb her in order to
+present the new arrivals, and when she had invited them to be seated,
+she resumed her quiet conversation with Donna Eugenia concerning mutual
+friends in Milan, while Friend, sniffing and sneezing, circled slowly
+round Signora Barborin's shawl, which smelt of camphor, or rubbed
+himself against the curate's calves, studying Pasotti the while, with
+those pitiful, watery eyes of his, but never once touching him, as if he
+understood that the master of that Indian shawl, in spite of his amiable
+expression, would have liked to ring his--Friend's--neck!
+
+And the Marchesa Orsola talked on in her usual guttural, sleepy voice,
+and Donna Carabelli, in answering, strove to give her loud, imperious
+voice an amiable ring. But to Pasotti's penetrating glance, and cunning
+shrewdness it was quite clear that the two old ladies were concealing a
+certain dissatisfaction, which was greater in the Marchesa Maironi than
+in Donna Eugenia. Every time the door opened the dim eyes of the one and
+the dark eyes of the other were turned in that direction. Once it
+admitted the prefect of the _Santuario della Caravina_, with little
+Signor Paolo Sala, called _el Paolin_--little Paul--and Signor Paolo
+Pozzi, called _el Paolon_--big Paul--who were inseparable companions.
+Again there entered the Marchese Bianchi, of Oria, a former officer of
+the kingdom of Italy, with his daughter. He was a noble type of the
+gallant, old soldier, as he stood beside the attractive and vivacious
+young girl.
+
+On both occasions a shadow of vexation passed over Donna Carabelli's
+face. Her daughter also turned her eyes swiftly towards the door when it
+was thrown open, but presently she would begin chatting and laughing
+again, more gaily than ever.
+
+"And Don Franco, Marchesa? How is Don Franco?" said the cunning Pasotti,
+in a mellifluous voice, as he offered his open snuff-box to his hostess.
+
+"Thank you," the Marchesa answered, bending forward a little and dipping
+her fingers into the snuff. "Franco? To tell the truth I am rather
+anxious about him. This morning he was not feeling very well, and he has
+not appeared yet. I trust----"
+
+"Don Franco?" said the Marchese. "He is out in his boat. We saw him a
+few minutes ago, rowing like any boatman."
+
+Donna Eugenia spread her fan open.
+
+"Well done!" said she, fanning furiously. "A most delightful pastime."
+Then she closed the fan with a bang, and began biting at it with her
+lips.
+
+"Probably he needed the air," the Marchesa observed, in her unruffled,
+nasal drawl.
+
+"Probably he needed a wetting," the prefect of the Caravina murmured,
+his eyes sparkling with fun. "It is raining!"
+
+"Don Franco is coming now, Signora Marchesa," said the agent's niece,
+after a glance at the lake.
+
+"That is good," the sleepy, nasal drawl replied. "I hope he is feeling
+better. If not, he will not speak two words. He is a perfectly healthy
+boy, but very apprehensive about himself. By the way, Signor
+Controllore, why does not Signor Giacomo make his appearance?"
+
+"_El sior Zacomo_," Pasotti began, in imitation of Signor Giacomo
+Puttini, an old bachelor from the Veneto, who had lived at Albogasio
+Superiore, near Villa Pasotti, for the last thirty years. "_El sior
+Zacomo_----"
+
+"Tut, tut!" said the old lady, interrupting him. "I cannot allow you to
+make fun of the Venetians, and besides, it is not true that they say
+_Zacomo_ in the Veneto."
+
+She herself was a native of Padua, and although she had lived in Brescia
+for half a century, still her Lombard accent was not entirely free from
+certain chronic suggestions of her Paduan origin. While Pasotti was
+protesting, with ceremonial horror, that he had only intended to imitate
+the voice of his beloved friend and neighbour, the door opened a third
+time. Donna Eugenia, well aware who was coming, did not condescend to
+look round, but the Marchesa allowed her dull eyes to rest on Don Franco
+with the greatest unconcern.
+
+Don Franco, sole heir to the name of Maironi, was the son of the
+Marchesa's son who had died when only eight-and-twenty. He had lost his
+mother at his birth, and had always lived under the rule of his
+grandmother Maironi. He was tall and slender, and wore a tangle of
+rather long, dark hair, and this had procured for him the nickname of
+_el scovin d'i nivol_, "the cloud sweeper." He had eloquent, light blue
+eyes, a keen, animated and pleasing face, quick to blush or turn pale.
+Now that frowning face was saying very plainly: "Here I am, but I am
+much put out!"
+
+"How do you feel, Franco?" his grandmother inquired, and added quickly,
+without waiting for an answer: "Donna Carolina is anxious to hear that
+piece by Kalkbrenner."
+
+"Oh! not at all!" said the girl, turning to the young man with an air of
+indifference. "I did indeed say so, but then I am not fond of
+Kalkbrenner, I had much rather chat with the young ladies."
+
+Franco seemed quite satisfied with the reception he had received and,
+without waiting for further remarks, went over to talk with the big
+curate about a fine old picture they were to inspect together, in the
+church at Dasio. Donna Eugenia Carabelli was quivering with indignation.
+She had come from Loveno, with her daughter, after certain secret
+diplomatic transactions, in which other powers had had a hand. Should
+this visit be paid or not; would the dignity of the house of Carabelli
+permit it; did that probability of success which Donna Eugenia exacted,
+really exist? Such were the final questions, which diplomacy had been
+called upon to answer, for, notwithstanding the acquaintance of long
+standing which existed between Mamma Carabelli and Grandmamma Maironi,
+the young people had met only once or twice, and then but for a few
+minutes. They were being drawn together by their surroundings of wealth
+and nobility, of relationships and friendships, as a drop of salt water
+and a drop of fresh water are mutually drawn together, though the
+microscopic creatures, which have their being in the one and in the
+other be condemned to perish if the two drops mingle. The Marchesa had
+carried her point. It had been decided--apparently out of respect for
+her age, but really out of respect for her money--that the interview
+should take place at Cressogno; for, though Franco himself was possessed
+only of his mother's modest fortune, amounting to eighteen or twenty
+thousand Austrian _lire_, his grandmother was enthroned in all her calm
+dignity upon several millions. And now Donna Eugenia, observing the
+young man's conduct, was furious with the Marchesa, as well as with
+those who had exposed her daughter and herself to such humiliation. If,
+at a single blow, she could have swept away the old woman, her grandson,
+the gloomy house and the tiresome company, she would have done so with
+joy; but she must hide her feelings, feign indifference, swallow the
+indignity and the dinner.
+
+The Marchesa preserved her external, marble placidity, though her heart
+was filled with anger and rancour against her grandson. Two years
+before he had dared to ask her consent to his marriage with a young
+girl of Valsolda, of good family, but neither rich nor of noble birth.
+His grandmother's decided refusal had rendered the union impossible, and
+indeed the girl's mother had felt obliged to forbid Don Franco the
+house; but the Marchesa was convinced that those people still had their
+eyes on her millions. She had therefore determined to find a wife for
+Franco, at once, in order to avert all danger. She had sought for a girl
+who should be rich, but not too rich; of noble, but not too noble birth;
+intelligent, but not too intelligent. Having discovered one of the right
+sort, she suggested her to Franco who flew into a rage, and declared he
+had no desire to marry. The answer had a very suspicious ring, and she
+redoubled her vigilance, watching every movement of her grandson and of
+that "Madam Trap," that being the pleasing title she had bestowed upon
+Signorina Luisa Rigey.
+
+The Rigey family, consisting of the two ladies only, lived at Castello,
+in Valsolda, so it was not difficult to watch their movements.
+Nevertheless the Marchesa could not discover anything. But one evening
+Pasotti told her, with much hypocritical hesitation and many horrified
+comments, that the prefect of the Caravina, while chatting with Pasotti
+himself, with Signor Giacomo Puttini and with Paolin and Paolon, in the
+chemist's shop at San Mamette, had made the following remark: "Don
+Franco is going to keep quiet until the old lady is really dead!" The
+Marchesa having listened to this delicate piece of wit, answered: "A
+thousand thanks!" through her placid nose, and changed the subject.
+Later she learned that Signora Rigey--always more or less of an
+invalid--was suffering from hypertrophia of the heart, and it appeared
+to her that Franco's spirits were much affected by this illness. It was
+then that Signorina Carabelli was suggested to her. Carolina Carabelli
+was perhaps not entirely to her taste, but with that other danger
+threatening she could not hesitate. She spoke to Franco. This time he
+did not fly into a rage, but listened in an absent-minded way, and said
+he would think the matter over. This was perhaps the one act of
+hypocrisy of his whole life. Then the Marchesa boldly played a high
+card, and sent for the Carabellis.
+
+She saw plainly enough now, that the game was lost. Don Franco had not
+been present when the ladies arrived, and later had appeared only once
+for a few minutes. During those few minutes his manner had been
+gracious, but not so his expression. As usual his face had spoken so
+plainly that--though the Marchesa immediately invented an indisposition
+for him--no one could have been deceived. But in spite of all this, the
+old lady was not convinced that she had played her cards unskilfully.
+Ever since she had reached the age of discretion it had been a rule with
+her never to recognise in herself a single defect or mistake, never
+wittingly to wound her own noble and beloved self. Now she preferred to
+believe that, after her sermon on matrimony, some honeyed but poisonous
+and ensnaring word had mysteriously reached her grandson. If her
+disappointment was somewhat mitigated, this was due to the conduct of
+Signorina Carabelli, whose lively resentment was but ill concealed. This
+was not pleasing to the Marchesa. The prefect of the Caravina was not
+mistaken--though he perhaps erred slightly in the form of his discourse,
+when he said, softly, of her: "She is Austria itself." Like the old
+Austria of those days, the old Marchesa did not wish for any bold
+spirits in her empire. Her own iron will would not tolerate others in
+its neighbourhood. Such an indocile Lombardy-Venice as was Franco was
+already too much, and the Carabelli girl, who appeared to have a mind
+and a will of her own, would probably prove a troublesome subject of the
+house of Maironi, a species of turbulent Hungary.
+
+Dinner was announced. The footman's shaven face, and ill-fitting, grey
+livery reflected the Marchesa's aristocratic tastes, which, however, had
+been tempered by habits of economy.
+
+"And where is this Signor Giacomo, Controllore?" she said, without
+rising.
+
+"I fear he is not coming, Marchesa," Pasotti replied. "I saw him this
+morning, and said to him: 'Then we shall meet at dinner, Signor
+Giacomo?' But he squirmed as if he had swallowed a snake. He twisted and
+turned and at last puffed out: 'Yes, probably. I don't know! Perhaps. I
+can't say!--Uff! uff. Well really now, my good Controllore, indeed I
+don't know!--Uff, uff!'--and I could get nothing more out of him."
+
+The Marchesa summoned the footman to her side, and gave him an order in
+a low tone. He bowed and withdrew. In his longing for the risotto, the
+curate of Puria was rocking his body to and fro, and stroking his knees.
+But the Marchesa on her sofa, seemed turned to stone, so he also became
+petrified. The others gazed mutely at one another.
+
+Poor Signora Barborin, who had seen the footman, and was surprised at
+this immobility and these astonished faces, arched her eyebrows,
+questioning with her eyes, first her husband, then Puria, then the
+prefect, until a lightning glance from Pasotti petrified her as well.
+"Perhaps the dinner is burnt!" she reflected, assuming an expression of
+indifference. "If they would only send us home! What luck that would
+be!" But in a minute or two the servant returned, and bowed.
+
+"Let us go," the Marchesa said, rising.
+
+In the dining-room the company found a new personage; a little, crooked,
+old man, with kind eyes and a long nose, that drooped towards his chin.
+
+"Indeed, Signora Marchesa," he began, humbly and timidly, "I have
+already dined."
+
+"Sit down, Signor Viscontini," the Marchesa replied, who, like all those
+who are determined to make their world bend to their own comfort and
+tastes, was well versed in the insolent art of feigning deafness.
+
+The little man did not dare to answer, neither did he dare to sit down.
+
+"Courage, Signor Viscontini!" said Paolin, who stood near him. "What are
+you doing here?"
+
+"He is filling a gap!" muttered the prefect. In fact, the excellent
+Signor Viscontini, by trade a tuner of pianos, had that morning come
+from Lugano to tune the Zelbis' piano at Cima, and Don Franco's also,
+and at one o'clock he had dined at Casa Zelbi. Then he had come to Villa
+Maironi, and was now called upon to act as substitute for Signor
+Giacomo, because, without him, the company would have numbered thirteen.
+
+A brown liquid was smoking in the silver soup-tureen.
+
+"It is not risotto!" Pasotti whispered to Puria, passing behind him. But
+the big, mild face gave no sign of having heard.
+
+The Casa Maironi dinners were always lugubrious affairs, and this one
+promised to be more than usually so. But as a compensation, it was much
+finer than usual. While they were eating, Pasotti and Puria often
+exchanged glances of admiration, as if congratulating one another on
+the exquisite delight they were enjoying; and if ever Puria failed to
+catch one of Pasotti's glances, Signora Barborin, seated beside him,
+would apprise him of it by a timid touch of her elbow.
+
+The voices which predominated were those of the Marchesa and Donna
+Eugenia. Bianchi's large aristocratic nose, and his shrewd but gallant
+and courteous smile were often turned towards the lady's beauty, which
+though already fading, had not, as yet, departed. Both belonged to
+Milanese families of the best blood, and were united by a certain sense
+of superiority, not only over the other middle-class guests, but over
+their hosts as well, whose nobility was only provincial. The Marchese
+was affability itself, and would have conversed amiably with the
+humblest of his fellow-guests, but Donna Eugenia, in the bitterness of
+her soul, in her disgust for the place and the persons, attached herself
+to him as to the only one worthy of her attention, markedly singling him
+out, in order, also, to offend the others. She embarrassed him by
+remarking in a loud tone that she did not see how he could ever have
+taken a fancy to this odious Valsolda. The Marchese, who for many years
+had led a life of quiet and retirement in this region, where, moreover,
+the birth of his only daughter, Donna Ester, had taken place, was,
+first, greatly disconcerted, for this remark was calculated to wound
+several of their fellow-guests; but finally he burst into a brilliant
+defence of the place. The Marchesa showed no feeling; Paolin, Paolon,
+and the prefect, all natives of Valsolda, were silent and abashed.
+
+Then, in pompous language, Pasotti sang the praises of Niscioree, the
+villa belonging to Bianchi, near Oria. These praises did not seem to
+please the Marchese, who, himself a most loyal man, had not always found
+Pasotti to his liking, in the past. He invited Donna Carabelli to come
+to Niscioree. "You must not go on foot, Eugenia," said the Marchesa,
+well aware that her friend was tormented by the fear of growing stout.
+"The road from the Custom House to Niscioree is so narrow! You could not
+possibly pass." Donna Eugenia protested hotly. "It is not, indeed, the
+Corso of Porta Renza," said the Marchese, "but neither is it _le chemin
+du Paradis_--unfortunately!"
+
+"That it is not! Most certainly not! You may take my word for it!"
+exclaimed Viscontini, heated, as ill luck would have it, by too many
+glasses of Ghemme. All eyes were turned upon him, and Paolin said
+something to him in a low tone. "Crazy?" the little man retorted, his
+face aflame. "Not by any means! I tell you----" And here he related how,
+coming from Lugano that morning, he had felt cold in the boat, and had
+gotten out at Niscioree, intending to pursue his journey on foot; how
+there, between those two walls, where the path was so narrow an ass
+could not turn round in it, he had met the customs-officers, who had
+first abused him for getting out at Niscioree, and had then taken
+him back to the beastly custom-house. He said that beast of a
+Ricevitore--the receiver of customs--had confiscated a roll of
+manuscript music he had with him, taking the crotchets and quavers for a
+secret political correspondence.
+
+Profound silence followed this recital. Presently the Marchesa declared
+that Signor Viscontini was entirely in the wrong. He should not have
+landed at Niscioree; it was forbidden. As to the Ricevitore, he was a
+most worthy man. Pasotti, with a solemn face, confirmed this statement.
+
+"Excellent official," said he. "Excellent rascal!" muttered the prefect
+between his teeth. Franco, who at first appeared to be thinking of
+something else, roused himself, and cast a contemptuous glance at
+Pasotti.
+
+"After all," the Marchesa added, "it seems to me that, in the disguise
+of manuscript music, there might easily----"
+
+"Certainly," said Paolin, who played the Austrian from fear while the
+mistress of the house was Austrian from conviction.
+
+The Marchese, who in 1815 had broken his sword in two that he might not
+be obliged to serve the Austrians, smiled saying quietly: "_La! C'est un
+peu fort!_"
+
+"But every one knows that the Ricevitore is a beast!" Franco exclaimed.
+
+"I beg to differ with you, Don Franco," said Pasotti.
+
+"Nonsense; beg to differ!" the other retorted. "He is a perfect beast!"
+
+"He is a conscientious man," said the Marchesa, "an official who does
+his duty."
+
+"Then his masters are the beasts!" Franco exclaimed.
+
+"My dear Franco!" drawled the emotionless voice, "I will not tolerate
+such language in my house! Thank God we are not in Piedmont!" Pasotti
+grinned his approval. Then Franco, lifting his plate with both hands
+shivered it upon the table, with a furious blow. "Holy Mother!" gasped
+Viscontini, and Paolon, interrupted in the laborious operations of a
+toothless glutton, uttered an exclamation of alarm. "Yes, yes!" said
+Franco, rising, his face distorted, "I had better go!" And he left the
+room. Donna Eugenia at once turned faint, and had to be led away. All
+the ladies, except Signora Pasotti, followed her out at one door, while
+the footman entered at another, bearing a great risotto pie. Puria cast
+a triumphant glance at Pasotti, but Pasotti pretended not to notice. All
+had risen. Viscontini, the apparent culprit, kept repeating: "I can't
+make it out! I can't make it out!" and Paolin, much vexed at seeing the
+dinner thus interrupted, grumbled at him: "What business have you to try
+to make anything out?" The Marchese was frowning fiercely, but kept
+silent. At last Pasotti, the real culprit, assuming an air of
+affectionate sadness, said, as if speaking to himself: "What a pity!
+Poor Don Franco! A heart of gold, a good head, but such a disposition!
+It is indeed unfortunate."
+
+"Alas!" exclaimed Paolin, and Puria added despairingly: "Truly a great
+misfortune!"
+
+They waited and waited, but the ladies did not return. Then some one
+moved. Paolin and Puria, their hands clasped behind them, walked slowly
+towards the sideboard, lost in contemplation of the risotto pie. Puria
+called sweetly to Pasotti, but Pasotti did not move. "I only wished to
+observe," the big curate said, hiding his triumph so that it might or
+might not be apparent, "I only wished to observe that there are white
+truffles in it."
+
+"I should say that black truffles[D] are not wanting here either,"
+remarked the Marchese pointedly, and slightly accentuating the words.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[A] _Breva_: local name for a sudden, violent wind blowing from the
+north, and sweeping over the Italian lakes. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[B] _Tarocchi_: a game of cards once much in vogue in Italy. The
+"_Mondo_," the "_Matto_," the "_Bagatto_," which will be referred to
+later on, are all picture cards used in this game. [_Translator's
+note._]
+
+[C] The _breva_ of 1848 means the revolution which swept over Italy in
+that year, after which the country sunk into apparent calm, but all the
+while the people, chafing under the Austrian yoke, were preparing for
+the mighty effort which, at last, set them free. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[D] _Tartufo_: often used to indicate those who are hypocritically
+pious. The word "black" refers to the priest's black robe.
+[_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+ON THE THRESHOLD OF A NEW LIFE
+
+
+"Scoundrels!" snorted Don Franco, climbing the stairs that led to his
+room. "Silly ass of an Austrian!" He was venting his wrath on Pasotti,
+as he could not hurl insults at his grandmother, and the very letters of
+the word _Austrian_ served so well to grind between his teeth, as he
+ground his rage, crushing it and enjoying its flavour. When he reached
+his room his burning indignation died out.
+
+He threw himself into a chair opposite the open window, and gazed at the
+lake, lying still and mournful in the cloudy afternoon, and at the
+lonely mountains beyond the sheet of water. He drew a long breath. Ah!
+how well he felt here all alone! Ah! what peace! How different the
+atmosphere was to that of the drawing-room! What a precious atmosphere,
+full of his thoughts and of his loves! He felt a great need of giving
+himself up to them, and they at once took possession of him, driving
+from his mind the Carabellis, Pasotti, his grandmother and that
+egregious beast, the receiver of customs. They? No, one thought alone; a
+thought composed of mingled love and reason, of anxiety and joy, of so
+many sweet memories, and at the same time, of tremulous expectancy, for
+something solemn was drawing near, and would come to him in the shadows
+of the night. Franco looked at his watch. It wanted a quarter to four
+o'clock. Seven hours longer to wait. He rose, and leaned with folded
+arms upon the window sill.
+
+In seven hours another life would begin for him. Beyond the few persons
+who were to have a part in the event, not even the air itself knew that
+that same evening, towards eleven o'clock, Don Franco Maironi would wed
+Signorina Luisa Rigey.
+
+For some time Signora Teresa Rigey, Luisa's mother, had, in all
+sincerity, begged Franco to bend to his grandmother's will, to abstain
+from visiting their house, and to think no more of Luisa, who, on her
+part, was content, for the dignity of the family, and out of respect for
+her mother, that all official relations with Don Franco should cease.
+She did not, however, doubt that he would remain faithful to her, and
+considered herself bound to him for life. His grandmother was not aware
+that he was now privately reading law, in order that by following a
+profession, he might be able to maintain himself. But, as a result of so
+much anxiety, Signora Rigey contracted a heart trouble, which grew
+suddenly worse towards the end of August, 1851. Franco wrote to her,
+begging to be allowed at least, to visit her, since it was not possible
+for him to nurse her "as would have been his duty." The lady did not
+feel justified in consenting to this, and the young man, in despair,
+gave her to understand that he looked upon Luisa as his affianced wife
+before God, and that he would rather die than to give her up. Then the
+poor mother, conscious that her life was ebbing day by day, distressed
+by the uncertain position of her beloved child, and convinced of the
+young man's strength of purpose, conceived a great longing that--as the
+marriage would surely take place--it should be celebrated as soon as
+possible. Everything was arranged in haste, with the aid of the curate
+of Castello and of Signora Rigey's brother, the civil engineer Ribera,
+of Oria, who was in the service of the Imperial and Royal Office of
+Public Works, at Como. The understanding was as follows: The marriage
+should be celebrated secretly; Franco should remain with his
+grandmother, and Luisa with her mother, until such a time as they should
+deem it opportune to acknowledge their union to the Marchesa. Franco
+relied greatly upon the support of Monsignor Benaglia, Bishop of Lodi,
+and an old friend of the family, but before he was asked to interfere,
+the decisive step must be taken. If (as in all probability would be the
+case) the Marchesa hardened her heart against them, the young couple and
+Signora Rigey would take up their abode in a house in Oria, belonging to
+the engineer Ribera, a bachelor who was supporting his sister's family,
+and would now accept Franco in place of a son.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+In seven hours then!
+
+The window overlooked the landing-place and the strip of garden in front
+of the villa, on the lake side. When he first fell in love, Franco used
+to stand there and watch for the coming of a certain boat, from which
+would spring a slim little person, as light as air, but who never, never
+looked towards his window. At last, one day he had gone down to meet
+her, and she had waited a moment before jumping out, that she might
+accept his helping hand--which, indeed, was most unnecessary. Down there
+in the garden he had given her a flower, for the first time, the
+sweet-smelling flower of the _Mandevilia suaveolens_. Down there, on
+another occasion, he had cut his finger rather deeply with his penknife,
+while gathering a little branch of roses for her, and she, by the
+anxiety she displayed, had given him a sweet proof of her love. How many
+excursions to the solitary slopes of Monte Bisgnago, on the other side,
+he had made with her and with other friends, before his grandmother
+found out! How many lunches and suppers at the little inn at Doi! Franco
+would come home with the sweetness of the many glances exchanged still
+lingering in his heart, and shutting himself up in his room, would
+recall them all, revelling in them in memory. These first emotions of
+his love now rushed into his mind, not one by one, but all together,
+from the waters and from the gloomy shores, where his fixed gaze seemed
+to lose itself in the shadowy past rather than in the misty present.
+Thus, as he neared the goal, he thought of the first steps he had taken
+on this long road, of the unforeseen incidents, of the aspect of this
+much-longed-for union, so different in reality from what it had appeared
+in his dreams. He looked back upon the time of the _mandevilia_ and the
+roses, of the excursions on the lake and among the hills. Certainly, at
+that time, he did not dream he would attain his object thus, secretly,
+and surrounded by so many difficulties, so much pain. Still, he thought
+that if the wedding had taken place openly, with the customary proem of
+official ceremonies, of contracts, congratulations, visits, and dinners,
+all this would have been even more wearisome and repugnant to his love
+than the opposition he had met with.
+
+He was aroused by the voice of the prefect, calling to him from the
+garden, to announce the departure of the Carabellis. Franco reflected
+that if he went down he would be obliged to offer some apologies, and he
+preferred not to make his appearance. "You should have smashed the plate
+on his face!" the prefect called up to him, his hands framing his mouth.
+"You should have smashed it on his face!"
+
+Then he turned away, and Franco saw the Carabellis' boatman go down to
+the shore to prepare the boat. He left the window, and returning to the
+thoughts which had occupied him first of all, he opened his chest of
+drawers, and stood absently contemplating an embroidered shirt front,
+where certain small diamond studs his father had worn at his own
+wedding, were already sparkling. He disliked the idea of going to the
+altar without some outward sign of festivity, but of course, this sign
+must not be too apparent.
+
+In the iris-scented chest of drawers everything was arranged with that
+order which denotes a cultured spirit, and no one was allowed to touch
+its contents save Franco himself. But the chairs, the writing table, the
+piano, were heaped with such disorder that it would seem as if a
+hurricane of books and papers had swept in at the two windows. Certain
+law books were slumbering under an inch of dust, but not a single leaf
+of the little gardenia, growing in a pot on the sill of the east window,
+showed a speck of dust. These indications were sufficient to suggest the
+whimsical rule of a poet. A glance at the books and papers would have
+given conclusive proof of this.
+
+Franco was passionately fond of poetry, and was a true poet in the
+exquisite delicacy of his instincts. As a writer of verse he could be
+ranked only as an indifferent amateur, wanting in originality. His
+favourite models were Foscolo and Giusti. He worshipped them fervently,
+and pillaged them both, for his genius, which was both satirical and
+enthusiastic, was not capable of creating a style of its own, and must
+content itself with imitating others. It is only fair to remark that
+young men in those days generally possessed a classical culture such as
+has since become most exceptional, and that through the classics
+themselves they learned to respect the art of imitation, as a
+praiseworthy and virtuous practice.
+
+Franco liked to improvise on the piano with some of these verses before
+his eyes. Even more devoted to music than to poetry, he had himself
+purchased this piano for one hundred and fifty _svanziche_, from the
+organist at Loggio, because the poor Viennese instrument, belonging to
+his grandmother, which was always wrapped up and must be handled
+carefully, like a gouty member of the family, was not adapted to his
+requirements. The organist's instrument, which had been thumped and
+banged upon by two generations of hands, hardened by contact with the
+pickaxe, now sent forth only a funny little nasal voice, which rose
+above a faint tinkling, as of many tiny glasses standing too close
+together. Franco was almost oblivious to this. As soon as he had placed
+his hands upon the instrument his imagination would take fire; the
+composer's enthusiasm would enter into him, and, in the heat of the
+creative passion, a thread of sound sufficed to permeate him with the
+spirit of music, and absolutely to intoxicate him. An Erard would have
+embarrassed him, would have left less room for fancy, would, in a word,
+have been less dear to him than his spinet.
+
+Franco possessed too many talents, too many different inclinations, too
+much impetuosity, too little vanity and perhaps also, too little
+will-power to undertake that tiresome, methodical, manual labour, which
+is indispensable in order to become a pianist. Nevertheless, Viscontini
+was enthusiastic about the style of playing, and his fiancee Luisa,
+though she did not entirely share his classical tastes, honestly admired
+his touch. When, being pressed to do so, he would make the organ at
+Cressogno roar and groan in the approved classic manner, the good
+people, overwhelmed by the music and the honour, would stare at him with
+open mouths and reverent eyes, as they would have stared at some
+preacher, whose sermon they did not understand. But notwithstanding all
+this, Franco could not have held his own in a city drawing-room, against
+the majority of feeble amateurs, incapable even of understanding and
+loving music. All, or almost all of them would have shown themselves his
+superiors in agility and in precision, and would have gathered in more
+applause, even though no one of them had succeeded in making the piano
+sing as he made it sing, especially in the adagios of Bellini and of
+Beethoven, playing with his soul in his throat, in his eyes, in the
+muscles of his face, in the tendons of his hands, which seemed one with
+the chords of the piano.
+
+Another passion of his was for old pictures. The walls of his room held
+several, most of which were daubs. Never having travelled he had little
+experience. His fancy was quick to take fire, and, obliged as he was to
+fit his ample desires to his scant means, he was credulous concerning
+the alleged good fortune of other ignorant purchasers, and often allowed
+himself to be influenced by them, to be blinded and led into buying
+certain dirty rags, which, if they cost little, were worth still less.
+The only passably good things he possessed were a head, in the style of
+Morone, and a Madonna and Child, after the manner of Carlo Dolci.
+Franco, however, baptised these two little pictures with the names of
+Morone and Carlo Dolci, without further qualification.
+
+When he had re-read and enjoyed some lines inspired by the hypocritical
+Pasotti, he once more hunted in the chaos of his desk, and drew forth a
+small sheet of notepaper, upon which he intended to write to Monsignor
+Benaglia, the only person who, in the future, might be able to influence
+his grandmother in his favour. He felt it his duty to inform him of the
+step he was about to take, of the reasons which had forced his fiancee
+and himself to resort to this painful subterfuge, of the hope they
+cherished that he would help them when the time came to confess all to
+the Marchesa. He was still reflecting, pen in hand, when the Carabellis'
+boat passed beneath his window. Soon after he heard the Marchese's
+gondola glide by, followed presently by Pin's boat. He expected that his
+grandmother would send for him, now that she was alone, but she did not
+do so. He waited some time, expecting to be summoned, then he began to
+think of his letter again, and reflected so long, re-wrote the
+introduction so many times, and got on so slowly, that before he had
+finished he was obliged to light the lamp.
+
+The end was easier. He begged the old Bishop's prayers for his Luisa and
+for himself, and expressed a faith in God so perfect and so pure, that
+the most unbelieving heart must have been touched by it.
+
+Fiery and impetuous as he was, still Franco possessed the calm and
+simple faith of a little child. Entirely free from pride, a stranger to
+philosophical meditations, he was ignorant of that thirst for
+intellectual liberty which torments young men, when their senses begin
+to find themselves hampered by that strong curb--positive beliefs. He
+had never for an instant doubted his religion, and performed all the
+duties it prescribed without once asking himself if it be reasonable to
+act and believe thus. Still he had nothing of the mystic or of the
+ascetic. His intellect, though ardent and poetic, was, at the same time,
+clear and positive. Devoted as he was to nature and to art, and
+attracted by all the pleasing aspects of life, he would naturally shrink
+from mysticism. He had not acquired his faith; he had never concentrated
+all his thoughts upon it for any length of time, therefore it was not
+possible that it should have penetrated all his sentiments. Religion was
+to him what science is to the student, whose first thought is school,
+where he studies diligently, having no peace until he has done his home
+tasks, and is prepared for the next lesson, but who, once his duty is
+performed, thinks no more either of teachers or of books, and does not
+feel the need of regulating his actions according to scientific
+conclusions or scholastic programmes. Therefore it would often seem that
+Franco's life was influenced by nothing else than his warm and generous
+heart, his passionate inclinations, his lively impressions, and the
+impulses of his honest nature, which was offended by every kind of
+untruth and meanness, while he chafed under contradiction, and was
+incapable of deceit.
+
+He had just sealed his letter when some one knocked at the door. The
+Marchesa had sent to summon Don Franco downstairs to recite the Rosary.
+At Casa Maironi they recited the Rosary every evening between seven and
+eight, and the servants were obliged to be present. The Marchesa herself
+intoned the prayers, enthroned on her sofa, her sleepy eyes roving over
+the backs and legs of the worshippers, kneeling, some in one position,
+some in another, some in the light best adapted to set off a devotional
+attitude, and others in the shadow which would favour a comfortable, but
+forbidden nap. Franco entered the room as the nasal voice was repeating
+the sweet words: "_Ave Maria, gratia plena_," with that drawling unction
+which always inspired him with a wild desire to become a Turk. The young
+man flung himself down in a dark corner, and never opened his lips. It
+was impossible for him to answer that irritating voice with fitting
+devotion. He fell to imagining what the coming interview would be like,
+and preparing caustic answers.
+
+When the Rosary was finished the Marchesa waited a moment and then
+pronounced the words consecrated by long usage--
+
+"Carlotta, Friend."
+
+It was the duty of Carlotta, the Marchesa's old maid, to take Friend in
+her arms, and carry him off to bed, as soon as the Rosary was finished.
+
+"He is here, Signora Marchesa," said Carlotta.
+
+But Friend, though indeed he had been there, was somewhere else when she
+bent down with outstretched hand. That evening old Friend was in good
+spirits, and determined to play at not being caught. He would tempt
+Carlotta, and then slip through her fingers, taking refuge under the
+piano, or under the table, from whence he would peer out at the poor
+woman with ironical waggings of his tail, while Carlotta's lips said,
+"Come, come, dear!" and her heart said, "Ugly beast!"
+
+"Friend!" exclaimed the Marchesa. "That will do, Friend! Be good!"
+
+Franco was boiling. The nasty little monster, imbued with his mistress'
+arrogance and egotism, paused at his feet, and Franco rolled him roughly
+towards Carlotta, who grabbed him, and punished him with an angry
+squeeze, and then carried him off, answering his whines with deceitful
+words of pity. "What did they do to you, poor Friend? What did they do
+to you? Tell us all about it!"
+
+The Marchesa made no remarks, nor did her marble countenance betray her
+feelings. She ordered the footman to tell the prefect of the Caravina,
+or any one else who might call, that his mistress had retired. Franco
+started to leave the room behind the servants, but checked himself at
+once, that he might not appear to be running away. He took a number of
+the _Imperial and Royal Gazette_ of Milan from the mantel-shelf, and
+seating himself near his grandmother, began reading while he waited.
+
+"I congratulate you heartily on the good manners and fine sentiments you
+displayed to us to-day," the sleepy voice began, almost immediately.
+
+"I accept your congratulations," Franco retorted, without raising his
+eyes from his paper.
+
+"Well done, my dear!" his immovable grandmother replied, and added: "I
+am glad that young girl had the opportunity of seeing you as you are,
+because, supposing she may have heard of a certain project, she will now
+be very glad it is no longer thought of."
+
+"Then we are both satisfied!" said Franco.
+
+"You cannot in the least tell if you are going to be satisfied.
+Especially if you still hold the views you once held."
+
+Upon this, Franco put his paper down, and looked his grandmother full in
+the face.
+
+"What would happen," he said, "if I still held the same views I once
+held?"
+
+This time he did not speak in a challenging tone, but with quiet
+seriousness.
+
+"Ah! That is right!" the Marchesa exclaimed. "Let us speak plainly! I
+hope and believe that a certain event will never take place, but should
+it take place, do not flatter yourself that there will be anything for
+you at my death, for I have already arranged matters so that there will
+be nothing."
+
+"Oh! as to that----" the young man began, with indifference.
+
+"That is the score you would have to settle with me," the Marchesa
+continued. "Then there would be a score to settle with God."
+
+"How is that?" Franco questioned. "God shall come first with me, and you
+afterwards!"
+
+When the Marchesa was caught in a mistake she always talked straight on
+as if nothing had happened.
+
+"And it will be a heavy score," said she.
+
+"But it must be settled first!" Franco insisted.
+
+"Because," the formidable old woman continued, "a good Christian is in
+duty bound to obey his father and his mother, and I represent both your
+father and your mother."
+
+If the one was obstinate, the other was no less so.
+
+"But God comes first!" said he.
+
+The Marchesa rang the bell and closed the conversation thus--
+
+"Now we understand each other perfectly."
+
+When Carlotta entered she rose from the sofa, and said, placidly--
+
+"Good-night."
+
+"Good-night," Franco answered, and resumed the _Milan Gazette_.
+
+As soon as his grandmother had left the room he flung the paper aside,
+clenched his fists, and giving vent to his anger in a sort of furious
+snort, sprang to his feet, saying aloud--
+
+"Ah! It is better so! Better, better so!" It was better so, he continued
+to assure himself mutely. Better never to bring Luisa to this accursed
+house, better never to oblige her to bear this rule, this arrogance,
+this voice, this face! Better to live on bread and water, and look to
+hard work for the rest, rather than to accept anything from his
+grandmother's hand. Better become a gardener, d---- it! a boatman, or a
+charcoal burner!
+
+He went up to his room determined to break with all obligations. "A
+score to settle with God!" he exclaimed, banging the door behind him. "A
+score to settle with God if I marry Luisa! Ah! after all, what do I
+care? Let them see me, spy upon me, bring her the news. Let them tell
+her, let them sing it to her in every key. I shall be delighted!"
+
+He dressed himself in feverish haste, knocking against the chairs, and
+closing the drawers with a bang. In his recklessness he put on a black
+suit, went noisily downstairs, called the old footman, told him he
+should be out all night, and, not heeding the half-astonished,
+half-terrified face of the poor fellow, who was devoted to him, rushed
+into the street, and was lost in the darkness.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+He had been gone two or three minutes when the Marchesa, who was already
+in bed, sent Carlotta to see who had come running downstairs. Carlotta
+reported that it was Don Franco, and was at once dispatched again on a
+second errand. "What did Don Franco want?" This time the answer was,
+that Don Franco had gone out for a few moments. The "few moments" was
+added out of kindness by the old servant. The Marchesa told Carlotta to
+go away, but not to put out the light. "You will return when I ring,"
+said she.
+
+It was past midnight when the bell sounded.
+
+The maid hurried to her mistress.
+
+"Is Don Franco still out?"
+
+"Yes, Signora Marchesa."
+
+"Put out the light. Take your knitting and wait in the ante-room. When
+he returns come and tell me."
+
+Having given these orders, the Marchesa rolled over on her side, turning
+her face towards the wall, and leaving the amazed and ill-pleased maid
+to stare at that white, smooth, impenetrable enigma, her night-cap.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE GREAT STEP
+
+
+That same evening at exactly ten o'clock the engineer Ribera knocked
+gently twice on the door of Signor Giacomo Puttini's house at Albogasio
+Superiore. Presently a window above his head was opened, and a little,
+old, clean-shaven face of "Sior Zacomo" himself appeared in the
+moonlight.
+
+"Most worshipful engineer, my respects!" said he. "The servant is coming
+down to let you in."
+
+"That is not necessary," the other answered. "I am not coming up. It is
+time to start, so you had better join me at once."
+
+Signor Giacomo began to puff and wink hard.
+
+"You must pardon me," he said, in his peculiar dialect, which was a
+mixture of many elements. "You must pardon me, most worshipful engineer,
+but I really need----"
+
+"Need what?" said the engineer, somewhat annoyed. The door opened, and
+the keen and yellow face of the servant appeared.
+
+"Oh! _Scior Parento!_ Sir Relative!" said she respectfully. She claimed
+I know not what degree of relationship with the engineer's family, and
+always addressed him thus. "At this hour? Have you perhaps been to see
+the _Sciora Parenta_? The Lady Relative?"
+
+The "Lady Relative" was the engineer's sister, Signora Rigey.
+
+Ribera answered shortly: "Oh! Marianna! How are you?" and went upstairs
+followed by Marianna, carrying the light.
+
+"My respects," Signor Giacomo began, coming towards him with another
+light. "I understand and recognise the great inconvenience I am causing,
+but really----"
+
+Signor Giacomo's small, clean-shaven, pink face, rose above an enormous
+white stock, and a lean little body, buttoned up in a great, black
+overcoat, and in the convulsive workings of his lips and eyebrows as
+well as in his troubled eyes, the most comical anxiety was expressed.
+
+"What is the matter now?" asked the engineer, somewhat sharply. He, the
+most upright and straightforward man alive, had little sympathy with the
+hesitation of poor, timid Signor Giacomo.
+
+"Allow me," Puttini began, and, turning to the servant, said harshly:
+
+"Begone, you! Go into the kitchen. You will come when I call for you.
+Go, I say! Why don't you do what I tell you? Where is your respect for
+me? I command here! I am the master!"
+
+It was the servant's curiosity, her insolent disregard for the orders of
+her superior, which had provoked this outburst of despotic fury in
+"Sior Zacomo."
+
+"Whew! What a violent man!" she said, lifting the lamp on high. "There
+is no need to shout in that way! What do you think of it, _Scior
+Parento_?"
+
+"Look here!" the engineer exclaimed. "Would it not be better for you to
+take yourself off, instead of standing there and jabbering?"
+
+Marianna went away grumbling, and Signor Giacomo began to communicate
+his most secret thoughts to the worshipful engineer, interlarding his
+sentences with many _buts_ and _ifs_, _that is_ and _reallys_. He had
+promised to be present in the capacity of witness at Luisa's secret
+marriage, but now, when it was time to start for Castello, he was
+assailed by an overpowering fear of compromising himself.
+
+He was "first political deputy," as the highest communal authority was
+then called. If the worshipful Imperial and Royal Commissary of Porlezza
+should get wind of this affair, how would he look upon it? And the
+Marchesa? "A terrible woman, most worthy engineer! A vindictive woman!"
+Besides he had so many other worries! "There is that cursed bull!" This
+bull, a bone of contention between the town and the _alpador_, or tenant
+of the hill-pastures, had, for the last two years, been a moral incubus
+to poor Signor Giacomo, who, in speaking of his troubles and trials,
+always began with "that perfidious servant," and ended with "that
+cursed bull!" In speaking these words he would raise his small face, his
+eyes full of pained execration, and stretch out accusing hands towards
+the brow of the hill which overhung his house, towards the home of that
+fiendish beast. But the engineer, whose fine, honest features betrayed
+marked disapproval and a growing contempt for this cowardly little man,
+who stood wriggling there before him, exclaimed several times
+impatiently: "Oh, dear me!" as if pitying himself for the poor company
+he was in. Finally, his patience entirely exhausted, he extended his
+arms with the elbows turned outwards, and shaking them as if he were
+holding the reins of a lazy old horse, exclaimed: "What is all this?
+What is all this? It is absurd! This is the language of a fool, my good
+Signor Giacomo! I would never have believed that a man like you, a man
+let us say----"
+
+Here the engineer, being really at a loss for a suitable phrase
+wherewith to describe his companion, simply puffed out his cheeks,
+emitting a long-drawn-out rumble, a sort of rattling noise, as if he had
+an epithet in his mouth which was so big that he could not spit it out.
+Meanwhile Signor Giacomo, who had turned very red, was protesting
+eagerly: "Enough! Enough! Pray excuse me! I am quite ready! I will come!
+Don't get excited! I only expressed a doubt, most worshipful engineer.
+You know the world. So did I, at one time, but I know it no longer."
+
+He withdrew for a moment to reappear again presently carrying an
+enormously high hat with a broad brim, which had seen Ferdinand enter
+Verona in 1838, the so-called "emperor's year."
+
+"I feel this sign of respect and satisfaction is fitting," said he.
+
+When the engineer caught sight of the thing, he once more ejaculated his
+"What is all this?" But the little man, who had a ceremonious spirit,
+stuck to his point. "It is my duty, my duty!" and he called to Marianna
+to light them down stairs. When the servant saw her master with that
+immense "sign of satisfaction" on his head, she gave voice to her
+astonishment. "Hold your tongue!" puffed the unfortunate Signor Giacomo.
+"Be quiet!" and as soon as he was out of the door his wrath burst forth.
+"There is no doubt about it, that cursed servant will be the death of
+me!"
+
+"Why don't you send her away, then?" the engineer enquired.
+
+Signor Giacomo had already placed one foot on the first step of the
+narrow lane that leads upwards on one side of the Puttini house, when he
+was brought to a stand-still by this pointed question, which pierced his
+conscience like a dagger.
+
+"Alas!" he replied, sighing.
+
+"I understand," said the engineer.
+
+"Besides, what good would that do?" the other went on, after a short
+pause. "This is the same as that!"
+
+This old Venetian saying concerning the unfortunate identity of the two
+relative pronouns, Signor Giacomo pronounced as an epilogue, and then,
+puffing loudly, emitted a loud breath, and once more started forward.
+
+Puttini leading and the engineer following, they climbed steadily for a
+few minutes, up the steep and narrow path, dimly lighted by the moon
+which was hidden among the clouds. No sound was heard save their slow
+steps, the thumping of their sticks on the stones, and Signor Giacomo's
+regular puffing: "Apff! Apff!" At the foot of the narrow stairway
+leading to Pianca, the little man stopped, removed his hat, wiped away
+the perspiration with a big, white handkerchief, and glancing up at the
+great walnut-tree, and the stables of Pianca to which he must ascend,
+puffed harder than ever.
+
+"By the body of the rogue Bacchus!" he ejaculated.
+
+The engineer encouraged him. "Up with you, Signor Giacomo. It is all for
+love of Luisina."[E]
+
+Signor Giacomo started on again without a word, and when they reached
+the stables, beyond which the path becomes less rough, he seemed to
+forget the stairs, his scruples, the perfidious servant, the Imperial
+and Royal Commissary, the vindictive Marchesa and the cursed bull, and
+began talking of Signora Rigey with great enthusiasm.
+
+"There is no doubt about it, when I have the honour of being in the
+company of your niece, of Signorina Luisina, I assure you I really feel
+as if I were back into the days of Signora Baratela and the Filipuzze
+girls, of the three Sparesi sisters from San Piero Incarian, and of many
+others, whose graces used to charm me, in the old days. From time to
+time I go to see the Marchesa, and I sometimes meet the girls of to-day
+there. No--no--no, they do not behave in a becoming manner. They are
+either sullenly silent or over-talkative. But just look at Signorina
+Luisina, how easy is her manner with every one! She knows how to behave
+with young and old, rich and poor, the servant and the priest. I really
+fail to comprehend why the Marchesa----"
+
+The engineer interrupted him.
+
+"The Marchesa is right," said he. "My niece is neither of noble birth,
+nor has she a penny. How can you expect the Marchesa to be satisfied?"
+
+Signor Giacomo stopped short, rather disconcerted, and stared at the
+engineer, blinking his sorrowful eyes.
+
+"How is this? You don't really mean to say she is right?"
+
+"I never approve of acting contrary to the wishes of parents, or of
+those who represent the parents. But I, dear Signor Giacomo, am an
+old-fashioned man like yourself, a man of the time of Carlo Umberto, as
+they say hereabouts. Now, the world wags differently, and we must let it
+wag. Therefore, having expressed my opinions on this point, I said to my
+relatives: 'Now do as you like. But when you have decided one way or
+another, let me know what is to be done, and I shall be ready!'"
+
+"And what does Signora Teresina say?"
+
+"My sister? My sister, poor creature, says: 'If I can see them settled
+in life, I shall no longer dread death.'"
+
+Signor Giacomo breathed hard, as was his habit whenever he heard that
+last, unpleasant word pronounced.
+
+"But it is surely not so bad as that?" said he.
+
+"Who can tell?" the engineer replied, very seriously. "We must trust in
+the Almighty."
+
+They had reached a sharp bend where the narrow path, passing the last of
+the small fields belonging to the territory of Albogasio, turns towards
+the first of those belonging to Castello, and winds on, on the left,
+along the top of a jutting crag, suddenly coming in sight of a deep
+cleft in the mountain's bosom, of the lake far below, of the villages of
+Casarico and San Mamette, crouching on the shore as if in the act of
+drinking. Castello is perched a little higher up, and not far distant,
+facing the bare and forbidding peak of Cressogno, the whole of which is
+visible, from the gorges of Loggio to the sky. It is a beautiful spot
+even at night in the moonlight, but if Signor Giacomo paused there,
+striking a contemplative attitude and forgetting to puff, it was not
+because he considered the scene worthy of any one's attention, to say
+nothing of that of a political deputy, but because, having a weighty
+argument to expound, he felt the necessity of concentrating all his
+strength in his brain, and of suspending all other effort, even that of
+the legs.
+
+"That is a fine maxim," said he. "Let us trust in the Almighty. Yes, my
+dear sir. But permit me to observe that in our time we were always
+hearing of prayers being answered, of conversions and miracles. Am I not
+correct? But now the world is not the same, and it appears to me the
+Almighty is sick of it all. The world is in much the same condition as
+our parish church at Albogasio, which the Almighty used to visit once a
+month. Now He comes only once a year."
+
+"Listen, my good Signor Giacomo," said the engineer, who was impatient
+to reach Castello. "The Almighty is not to blame because the parish has
+been transferred from one church to another. However, we will push on,
+and let the Almighty arrange things as He thinks best."
+
+Whereupon he started forwarded so briskly that presently Signor Giacomo
+was obliged to stop again, puffing like a pair of bellows.
+
+"Pardon me," said he, "if I yield, in a measure, to that curiosity which
+is inborn in man. Might one inquire your worshipful age?"
+
+The engineer understood the hidden meaning of his question, and
+answered in a low tone, with triumphant and ironical meekness--
+
+"I am older than you!"
+
+And he started off again at the same cruel pace.
+
+"I was born in '88, you know," Puttini groaned.
+
+"And I, in '85!" Ribera flung over his shoulder, without stopping. "Now
+come along."
+
+Fortunately for Puttini they had only a few steps more to go. There was
+the great wall that supported the consecrated ground about the church of
+Castello, and there was the narrow stairway leading up to the entrance
+of the village. Now they must turn into the dark passage below the
+priest's house, feeling their way along like blind men through this
+black hole, in which Signor Giacomo's imagination pictured so many
+treacherous and slippery stones, so many accursed, deceitful steps, that
+he stopped short, and, resting his clasped hands on the knob of his
+stick, spoke as follows--
+
+"By the body of the rogue Bacchus! No, most worshipful engineer, no, no,
+no! Really I cannot. I shall remain here. They will surely come to
+church. The church is near by. I shall wait here. Body of the rogue
+Bacchus!"
+
+This last "Body!" Signor Giacomo ground privately between his teeth,
+like the close of an inward soliloquy concerning the accessories
+surrounding the exceeding discomfort he was undergoing.
+
+"Wait a minute," said the engineer.
+
+A thread of light appeared under the church door. The engineer entered
+and presently came out again, accompanied by the sacristan, who had been
+preparing the hassocks for the bride and groom. He now brought to
+Puttini's rescue the long pole with a lighted taper at the end, which
+was used to light the candles on the altars. Thus, standing in the
+church door, he moved the taper along in front of Signor Giacomo's feet
+as far as the pole would reach, while that gentleman, but ill-satisfied
+with this religious illumination, groped his way forward, grumbling at
+the darkness, the miserable, sacred taper, and at him who held it, until
+at last, abandoned by the sacristan, and seized by the engineer, he was
+dragged along, much like a pike at the end of a line, and, in spite of
+his mute resistance, was finally landed on the threshold of Casa Rigey.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+At Castello the houses which stand in unbroken line on the winding
+hill-top, enjoying the sun and the view of the lake far below, all white
+and smiling on the side towards the open, all dark on the side towards
+that other row of less fortunate houses, which rise sadly behind them,
+resemble certain favoured individuals, who, brought into too close
+contact with misery, assume a hostile demeanour, and press close to one
+another that, thus united, they may hold the others in check. Among
+these fortunate ones Casa Rigey is one of the darkest on the side facing
+the poverty of the common houses, one of the brightest on the side
+facing the sun.
+
+From the street door a long and narrow corridor leads to a small, open
+loggia, from which, by means of a few steps, one may descend to the
+little white terrace which, between the reception room and a high,
+windowless wall, stretches out to the edge of the hill, looking down
+into the ravines from which issues the Soldo, looking down upon the
+lake, as far as the green gulfs of the Birosin and of the Doi, as far as
+the quiet sweeps beyond Caprino and Gandria.
+
+Signor Rigey, born in Milan of a French father, had been professor of
+the French language at Madame Berra's boarding school, but he had lost
+his position there, and most of his private pupils, because it was
+rumoured of him that he was irreligious. In 1825 he had purchased this
+little house, and retired to it from Milan, wishing to live economically
+and peacefully. He had, soon afterwards, married the sister of the
+civil-engineer Ribera. Dying in 1844 he left his wife with a daughter of
+fifteen, the house and a few thousand _svanziche_.[F]
+
+Hardly had the engineer knocked somewhat noisily at the door, when
+light, swift steps were heard in the corridor. The door was thrown open
+and a voice neither low nor silvery, but indescribably harmonious,
+whispered: "What a noise, Uncle!" "Noise indeed!" her uncle replied
+with mock dignity. "Am I then expected to knock with my nose?" His niece
+placed one hand over his mouth, and with the other drew him inside; then
+she saluted Signor Giacomo gracefully, and closed the door. All this was
+accomplished in the twinkling of an eye, while Signor Giacomo himself
+was puffing out: "Your most humble servant! I am really delightful----"
+"Thank you, thank you!" said Luisa. "Pray go in, I have a word to say to
+Uncle."
+
+The little man went forward, hat in hand, and the young girl tenderly
+embraced her old uncle, kissing him, pressing her face to his breast,
+and clasping her arms about his neck.
+
+"Won't that do now?" said the engineer, almost as if to check these
+caresses, for in them he felt a gratitude which he feared would
+presently take the form of words. "There, there! That is enough! How is
+Mamma?" Luisa's only reply was a tightening of her embrace. This uncle
+was more than a father to her, he was the special Providence of the
+house, but, in his great and simple bounty, he never dreamed that he had
+the slightest claim to the gratitude of his sister and niece. Whatever
+would these poor women have done without him, possessing only that
+meagre sum of twelve or fifteen thousand _svanziche_ which Rigey had
+left? As civil-engineer, employed on public works, Ribera enjoyed a good
+salary. He lived frugally at Como with an old housekeeper, passing his
+savings on to Casa Rigey. At first he had openly and heartily
+disapproved of Luisa's attachment for Franco, for it seemed to him that
+such a union would be but ill-assorted; but the young people being
+determined, and his sister having consented, he made up his mind to help
+them in every possible way, keeping his opinions to himself.
+
+"And Mamma?" he repeated.
+
+"She was feeling very well this evening because she was so happy, but
+now she is agitated, for Franco came about half an hour ago, and told
+her he has had something of a scene with his grandmother----"
+
+"Oh dear me!" the engineer exclaimed. Whenever he heard of a misfortune
+befalling any one else he always uttered this expression of
+self-commiseration.
+
+"No, Uncle! Indeed Franco is right!"
+
+Luisa pronounced these words with sudden warmth. "Yes indeed!" she
+exclaimed, her uncle having uttered a doubtful "Hm!" "He is perfectly
+right. But," she added in a low tone, "he says he left home in such a
+manner that his grandmother will probably discover everything."
+
+"It will be better so," said her uncle, starting towards the terrace.
+
+The moon had set and it was dark. Luisa whispered: "Mamma is here."
+
+Signora Teresa, who was suffering for want of breath, had had herself
+drawn out into the terrace in her easy-chair, hoping to find relief in
+the open air.
+
+"What do you say to this, Piero?" said a voice resembling Luisa's in
+tone, but sweeter and with a tired ring; a voice that seemed to come
+from a gentle heart which the world has used harshly, and which must
+yield. "What do you say to this? After all, our precautions will be of
+no avail."
+
+"No, no, Mamma. We are not sure of that. We cannot say so yet!"
+
+While Luisa was speaking, Franco, who was in the salon with the curate,
+came out to embrace the engineer.
+
+"Well," said Ribera, extending his hand, for embraces were little to his
+taste. "What has happened?"
+
+Franco related what had taken place, softening somewhat certain too
+offensive expressions of his grandmother's concerning the Rigeys,
+concealing her threat of not leaving him a penny, and blaming his own
+over-susceptibility rather than the old-woman's ill-nature, and finally
+confessing that he had purposely let it be known that he intended to
+remain out all night. This could have no other effect than that of
+leading his grandmother to an immediate discovery, for she would
+question him concerning this absence, and his silence would be a
+confession, for he did not intend to lie about this matter.
+
+"Listen!" Uncle Piero exclaimed, with the ringing voice and open
+countenance of the perfectly straightforward man who, being smothered to
+the point of suffocation with precautions and dissimulations, finally
+strikes out from the shoulder and, casting them off, breathes freely
+once more. "I admit you were wrong to irritate your grandmother, for,
+after all, old people must be respected even when they err; I see that
+the consequences may be serious, but nevertheless I am glad things are
+as they are, and I should be more glad if you had told your grandmother
+everything, clearly and roundly. I have never had any patience with all
+this secrecy, all this feigning and hiding. The honest man openly
+confesses his actions. You desire to marry against your grandmother's
+wishes? Well do so, but, at least, don't deceive her."
+
+"But Piero!" Signora Teresa exclaimed, who, besides a delicate
+perception of what life should be, possessed an accurate sense of what
+life really is, and, being much more given to religious exercises than
+her brother, and standing on a more familiar footing with the Almighty,
+could most easily persuade herself that He would make certain
+concessions in the matter of form, when some substantial benefit was to
+be gained.
+
+"But Piero! You don't think! If the Marchesa finds out about the
+marriage this way, she will, of course, refuse to receive Luisa into her
+house, and then what are the children to do? Where can they go? There is
+no room here, and even if there were, nothing is ready. At your house
+it is the same. You must consider all these points. If we wished to keep
+the marriage a secret for a month or two, it was not in order to
+deceive, it was to gain time in which to win over Franco's grandmother,
+and if she would not yield, to prepare one or two rooms at Oria."
+
+"Oh, dear me!" said the engineer, "Does it take two months to do that?
+It seems incredible!"
+
+At this point a prolonged puff in the shadow reminded them of Signor
+Giacomo's presence; he was leaning against the wall in one corner not
+daring to move, because it was so dark.
+
+Signora Teresa had not yet welcomed him.
+
+"Oh, Signor Giacomo!" she now hastened to say. "I beg your pardon. I am
+really so very, very much obliged to you! Pray come this way. Did you
+hear what we were saying? Do let us have your opinion."
+
+"Your very humble servant," said Signor Giacomo from his corner. "Really
+I dare not move, for with my poor sight----"
+
+"Luisa!" Signora Teresa called. "Bring a lamp. But did you hear, Signor
+Giacomo? What do you think about it? Do tell us."
+
+In his profound wisdom Signor Giacomo emitted three or four little hasty
+puffs which meant: Ah, this is indeed an embarrassing question!
+
+"I cannot say," he began hesitatingly, "I cannot say at present, being
+in the dark----"
+
+"Luisa!" Signora Teresa called once more.
+
+"No, no, Signora! I mean being in the dark on so many points. I feel
+that in my ignorance I may not pronounce an opinion. Still I will say it
+seems to me that perhaps it might ... well, at any rate, I am here at
+your service and at the service of this most respected family, though
+indeed I should not be astonished if the Imperial and Royal
+Commissary--a most excellent person, but very punctilious.... But
+enough, we will not talk of that, for here I am. But I do say, it seems
+to me that we might wait a little while, and our most noble friend Don
+Franco here might be able to wheedle and persuade.... Well, well, well.
+Do as you like. It is all the same to me."
+
+A furious protest on Franco's part had caused Signor Giuseppe to face
+about thus suddenly. Luisa seconded this protest, and Signora Teresa,
+who now would perhaps have been in favour of a postponement, did not
+venture to oppose their wishes.
+
+"Luisa, Franco," said she, "take me back to the salon."
+
+The two young people pushed the easy-chair into the salon, followed by
+Uncle Piero and Signor Giacomo.
+
+On the threshold Luisa, bending over her mother, kissed her hair, and
+murmured: "You will see. All will be for the best."
+
+She had expected to find the curate in the salon, but he had slipped
+away through the kitchen.
+
+Hardly had Franco and Luisa pushed the invalid's chair up to the table
+upon which stood the lamp, when the sacristan came to say that
+everything was ready. Signora Teresa asked him to inform the curate that
+the bride and groom would go to church in half an hour.
+
+"Luisa!" said she, glancing meaningly at her daughter.
+
+"Yes, Mamma," the girl replied, and turning to her lover, said in a low
+tone: "Franco, Mamma wishes to speak with you."
+
+Signor Giacomo understood, and went out to the terrace. The engineer did
+not understand at all, and his niece had to explain to him that her
+mother was to be left alone with Franco. The simple-minded man could see
+no reason for this, but she took his arm and, smiling, led him away to
+the terrace.
+
+Signora Teresa silently held out her beautiful hand, which was still
+youthful in its curves, and Franco, kneeling, kissed it.
+
+"Poor Franco," said she gently.
+
+Then she made him rise from his knees and sit close to her. She must
+speak to him, she said, and her breath was so short. But he would
+understand much from a few words, would he not?
+
+In speaking these words her voice was infinitely sweet.
+
+"You must know," she began, "that I had not intended to say this to you,
+but I thought of it when you spoke about breaking the plate at the
+dinner-table. I beg you to be careful on account of Uncle Piero's
+position. In his heart he feels as you do. If you only could have seen
+the letters he wrote me in 1848! But he is a servant of the Government.
+It is true his conscience is perfectly easy, for he knows that by
+engineering roads and water-works he is serving his country and not the
+Germans. But he must and will take certain precautions, and you--for
+love of him--must be cautious also."
+
+"The Germans will soon be gone, Mamma!" Franco replied. "But do not
+worry; you shall see how prudent I will be."
+
+"Oh, my dear! I have little more to see, I have only to see you two
+united and blessed by the Lord. When the Germans go, you will come to
+Looch to tell me of it."
+
+Those small fields where the little cemetery of Castello is situated go
+by the name of Looch.
+
+"But I had intended to speak to you of another matter," Signora Teresa
+went on, without giving Franco time to protest. He took her hands and
+pressed them, with difficulty restraining his tears.
+
+"I must speak to you of Luisa," she said. "You must know your wife
+well."
+
+"I do know her, Mamma! I know her as well as you do, and perhaps even
+better."
+
+As he pronounced these words his whole being glowed and quivered in his
+passionate love for her who was the life of his life, the soul of his
+soul.
+
+"Poor Franco!" said Signora Teresa, smiling tenderly. "No, listen to me,
+for there is something you do not know, of which you should be informed.
+Wait a moment."
+
+She needed to rest. Her emotion made her breathing more laboured, and
+she spoke with greater difficulty than usual. She motioned to Franco not
+to move, for she saw he was about to rise, that he might do something to
+relieve her. Only a little repose was necessary, and she took it,
+resting her head against the chair-back.
+
+Presently she roused herself. "You have probably heard many evil
+accounts of my poor husband, at your own home. You will have heard that
+he was an unprincipled man, and that I did very wrong to marry him. It
+is true he was not religious, and for that reason I hesitated some time
+before deciding to accept him. I was advised to do so because it was
+thought I might have a good influence over this man, who had a most
+noble soul. He died a Christian, and I have every hope of meeting him in
+Heaven, if the Lord, in His mercy, shall see fit to receive me there.
+But up to the very last hour it seemed as if I were not to accomplish
+anything. Now, I fear my Luisa has her father's tendencies in her heart.
+She hides them from me, but I feel they are there. I commend her to you;
+study her, advise her; she is gifted and has a great heart, and if I
+have not known how to do well by her, you must do better. You are a good
+Christian: see that, with all her heart, she also becomes one. Promise
+me this, Franco."
+
+He promised, smiling, as if he considered her fears groundless, and were
+making this superfluous promise simply to satisfy her.
+
+The invalid gazed sadly at him. "Believe me," she added, "these are not
+fancies. I cannot die in peace if you do not take this matter
+seriously." And when the young man had repeated his promise, this time
+without smiling, she said--
+
+"One word more. When you leave here you will go to Professor
+Gilardoni's, will you not?"
+
+"That was my first plan. I was to have told my grandmother that I was
+going to sleep at Gilardoni's house, as we were to start on an excursion
+together in the morning. But now, you know how I left home."
+
+"Still you had better go there. I had rather you went there, and
+besides, he expects you, does he not? So you must go. Poor Gilardoni! He
+has never been here since his fit of madness, two years ago. You know
+about that, do you not? Luisa has told you?"
+
+"Yes, Mamma."
+
+This Professor Gilardoni, who lived like a hermit at Casarico, had
+fallen most romantically in love with Signora Teresa some years before,
+and had timidly presented himself to her as a suitor. She had received
+his proposal with such utter amazement that he had lacked courage to
+appear before her again.
+
+"Poor man!" Signora Rigey continued, "that was a most stupid action, but
+he has a heart of gold, and is a true friend. I wish you to cherish him.
+The day before he had that mad fit, he confided a secret to me. I may
+not repeat to you what he said, and moreover, I beg you not to mention
+the subject to him unless he speaks to you about it; but it is, in fact,
+something which, under certain circumstances, might be of great
+importance to you two, especially if you have children. If Gilardoni
+should confide in you, reflect seriously before telling Luisa. She might
+look at the matter in a wrong light. Consider the question carefully,
+consult Uncle Piero, and then speak or remain silent according to the
+line of action you may have determined to adopt."
+
+"Yes, Mamma."
+
+There was a gentle tap at the door, and Luisa's voice said: "Have you
+finished?"
+
+Franco looked at the invalid. "Come in," said she. "Is it time to go?"
+
+Luisa did not answer, but threw one arm around Franco's neck, and
+together they knelt before the mother, their heads buried in her lap.
+Luisa tried her best to restrain her tears, knowing well that her mother
+should be spared all violent emotion, but her heaving shoulders betrayed
+her.
+
+"No, Luisa, no, dear, no!" said her mother, caressing her bowed head. "I
+am grateful to you, for you have always been a good daughter dear; such
+a good daughter! Calm yourself; I am so happy! You will see, I shall
+get better. Now go. Kiss me, both of you, and then go. You must not keep
+the curate waiting. May God bless you, Luisa, and you also, Franco!"
+
+She asked for her prayer-book, drew the lamp towards her, had the
+windows and the door leading to the terrace thrown open that she might
+breathe more easily, and then dismissed the maid, who was prepared to
+keep her company. When the young couple had left the room, the engineer
+came in to greet his sister before going to church.
+
+"Good-by, Teresa."
+
+"Good-by, Piero. Another load is laid on your shoulders, my poor Piero."
+
+"Amen!" the engineer answered, calmly.
+
+When she was alone Signora Rigey sat listening to the receding
+footsteps. The heavy steps of her brother and Signor Giacomo bringing up
+the rear, prevented her hearing those others, which she strained her ear
+to follow as far as possible.
+
+Another moment and the sounds ceased. She realised that Luisa and Franco
+were going away together into the future, whither she might follow them
+only for a few months, perhaps only for a few days; that she could
+neither divine nor foresee what their fate would be. "Poor children!"
+she thought. "Who knows what they may have passed through in five years,
+in ten years." She listened again, but the silence was profound; the
+open window admitted only the far-away thundering of the cascades of
+Rescia, over across the lake. Then, thinking that they must already have
+entered the church, she took her prayer-book, and read attentively.
+
+But she soon grew weary; her brain was confused, and the words of the
+book blurred before her eyes.
+
+Her mind was becoming drowsy, her will-power was lost. She foresaw the
+approach of a vision of unreal things, but she knew she was not asleep,
+she understood that this was not a dream, but a condition produced by
+her malady. She saw the door leading to the kitchen open, and there
+entered old Gilardoni from Dasio, called "el Carlin de Das," father of
+the Professor and agent of the Maironi family, for the estates in
+Valsolda--he had been dead five-and-twenty years. The figure came
+forward, and said, in a natural voice: "Oh, Signora Teresa! Are you
+quite well?" She thought she answered--"Oh, Carlin! I am quite well; and
+how are you?" But in reality she did not speak.
+
+"I've got the letter here," the figure continued, waving a letter
+triumphantly. "I've brought it here for you!" And he placed the letter
+on the table.
+
+Signora Teresa saw it quite plainly. A letter, soiled and yellowed by
+time, without an envelope, and still bearing traces of a little red
+wafer, lay before her and she experienced a sense of lively
+satisfaction. She thought she said: "Thank you, Carlin. Are you going to
+Dasio, now?"
+
+"No, Signora," Carlin replied. "I am going to Casarico to see my son."
+
+The invalid could no longer distinguish Carlin, but she saw the letter
+on the table, saw it distinctly. Still she was not sure it was there; in
+her sluggish brain the vague memory of other past hallucinations still
+endured, the memory of the disease, which was her enemy, her cruel
+master. Her eyes were glassy, her breathing laboured and rapid.
+
+The sound of hastening footsteps roused her, and recalled her almost
+completely to herself. When Luisa and Franco came swiftly into the room
+from the terrace they did not notice that their mother's face was
+distorted, for the lamp was heavily shaded. Kneeling before her they
+covered her with kisses, attributing that laboured breathing to emotion.
+Suddenly the invalid raised her head from the chair-back and stretched
+out her hands, pointing to something at which she was looking fixedly.
+
+"The letter!" she said.
+
+The young people turned, but saw nothing.
+
+"What letter, Mamma?" Luisa asked. At the same moment she noticed her
+mother's expression, and warned Franco by a glance. This was not the
+first time that Signora Teresa had suffered from hallucinations since
+her illness began. At the question, "What letter?" everything became
+clear to her. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and withdrawing her hands, buried her
+face in them, weeping silently.
+
+Comforted by her children's caresses she soon composed herself, kissed
+them, extended her hand to her brother and Signor Giacomo, who did not
+in the least understand what had happened, and then motioned to Luisa to
+go and get something. It was a question of a cake and a precious bottle
+of wine from Niscioree, which, together with some others, had been sent
+some time before by the Marchese Bianchi, to whom Signora Teresa was an
+object of special veneration.
+
+Signor Giacomo, who was longing to be off, began to fidget and puff, and
+glance towards the engineer.
+
+"Signora Luisina," said he, seeing the bride about to leave the room.
+"Pray excuse me, but I was just going to take leave of----"
+
+"No, no!" Signora Rigey exclaimed, with only a thread of voice. "Wait a
+little longer."
+
+Luisa disappeared, and Franco slipped out of the room behind his wife.
+Signora Teresa was suddenly assailed by scruples, and signed to her
+brother to call him back.
+
+"Nonsense!" said the engineer.
+
+"But Piero!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+The ancient and austere traditions of her house, a delicate sense of
+dignity, perhaps also a religious scruple, because the young couple had
+not yet received the benediction of the nuptial Mass, would neither
+allow Signora Teresa to approve of their withdrawing together, nor to
+explain her views on the subject. Her reticence and Uncle Piero's
+fatherly benevolence gave Franco time to place himself beyond the
+possibility of recall. Signora Teresa did not insist.
+
+"Forever!" she murmured presently, as if speaking to herself. "United
+forever!"
+
+"You and I," said the engineer, addressing his colleague in celibacy in
+the Venetian dialect, "you and I, Signor Giacomo, never go in for any
+such nonsense!"
+
+"You are always in good spirits, most worshipful engineer!" Signor
+Giacomo answered, while his conscience was telling him that in his time
+he had gone in for far worse "nonsense."
+
+The bride and groom did not return.
+
+"Signor Giacomo," the engineer continued, "there will be no going to bed
+for us to-night."
+
+The unfortunate man writhed, puffed and winked hard but did not reply.
+
+Still the bride and groom were absent.
+
+"Piero," said Signora Teresa, "ring the bell."
+
+"Signor Giacomo," the engineer began, composedly, "shall we ring the
+bell?"
+
+"That would seem to be the Signora's wish," the little man replied,
+steering his course as best he could between the brother and sister.
+"However, I express no opinion."
+
+"Piero!" his sister pleaded.
+
+"Come, let us have an answer," Uncle Piero continued without moving.
+"What would you do? Would you, or would you not ring this bell?"
+
+"For pity's sake!" Signor Giacomo groaned. "You really must excuse me."
+
+"I will excuse nothing!"
+
+The young people were still absent, and the mother growing more and more
+anxious, repeated--
+
+"Piero, I tell you to ring!"
+
+Signor Giacomo, who was dying to get away, and who could not leave
+without saluting the bride and groom, encouraged by Signora Teresa's
+insistence, made a great effort, turned very red and finally pronounced
+an opinion: "I should ring."
+
+"My dear Signor Giacomo," the engineer exclaimed, "I am surprised,
+amazed and astonished!" Who can say why, when he was in good spirits,
+and had occasion to use one of these synonyms, he would always string
+the three together? "However," he concluded, "let us ring."
+
+And he proceeded to ring very gently.
+
+"Listen, Piero," said Signora Teresa. "Remember that when you leave,
+Franco is to go with you. He will return at half-past five for the
+Mass."
+
+"Oh dear me!" Uncle Piero exclaimed. "How many difficulties! But after
+all, are they or are they not husband and wife?--Well, well," he added,
+seeing that his sister was beginning to grow excited, "do just as you
+like!"
+
+Instead of the young couple the maid appeared, bringing the cake and the
+bottle, and told the engineer that Signorina Luisina begged him to come
+out to the terrace for a moment.
+
+"Now that something good is coming at last, you send me outside!" said
+the engineer. He jested with his usual serenity of spirit, perhaps
+because he did not fully realize his sister's serious condition, perhaps
+because of his naturally pacific attitude towards all that was
+inevitable.
+
+He went out to the terrace where Luisa and Franco were waiting for him.
+
+"Listen, Uncle," his niece began. "My husband says that his grandmother
+will surely discover everything at once; that he will not be able to
+remain at Cressogno any longer; that if Mamma were stronger we might all
+go to your house at Oria, but, unfortunately, that is not possible as
+matters stand at present. So he thinks we might arrange a room here--any
+way to get it ready quickly. We had thought of poor Papa's study. What
+do you say to this plan?"
+
+"Hm!" ejaculated Uncle Piero, who was slow to take up with new ideas.
+"It seems to me a very hasty resolution. You will be incurring expense
+and turning the house upside down, for an arrangement which can only be
+temporary."
+
+His one idea was to have the whole family at Oria, and this expedient
+did not suit him. He feared that if the young people once settled down
+at Castello they would remain there. Luisa used every argument to
+persuade him that there was no other way, and that neither the outlay
+nor the trouble would be great. On leaving home her husband would go
+directly to Lugano, and bring back what few pieces of furniture were
+absolutely indispensable. Uncle Piero asked if Franco could not take up
+his quarters at Oria, remaining there until such a time as she and her
+mother could join him. "Oh, Uncle!" Luisa exclaimed. Had she known about
+the bell she would have been still more astonished by a similar
+proposal. But sometimes this good man had artless ideas of this sort, at
+which his sister smiled. Luisa had no difficulty in finding arguments
+against his plan for banishing Franco, and she used them with warmth.
+"Enough!" said Uncle Piero calmly, though he was not convinced; and he
+arched his wide-spread arms with the gesture of the _Dominus vobiscum_,
+more charitably inclined, more ready to enfold poor humanity in a tender
+embrace than before. "_Fiat!_ Oh, by the way," he added, turning to
+Franco, "how about money?"
+
+Franco shivered, much embarrassed.
+
+"You know he is our father!" his wife said.
+
+"Not by any means your father," Uncle Piero observed placidly. "Not by
+any means, but what is mine is yours; so I shall line your pockets as
+well as my means will permit."
+
+And he suffered, without returning it, the embrace which told of their
+gratitude, almost as if vexed by this unnecessary demonstration, vexed
+that they should not accept more simply an act which to him seemed so
+simple and natural. "Yes, yes!" said he, "now let us go in and drink;
+it will be far more profitable!"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The wine of Niscioree, clear and red as a ruby, at once delicate and
+strong, flattered and soothed the inner-man of the impatient Signor
+Giacomo, who, in those years of _oidium_, seldom wet his lips in
+undiluted wine, but gloomily sipped the Grimelli wine, of watery memory.
+
+"_Est_, _est_,[G] is it not, Signor Giacomo?" said Uncle Piero, seeing
+Puttini gaze with devoted eyes into the glass he held. "But here at
+least, there is no danger of expiring like a certain man: _et propter
+nimium est dominus meus mortuus est_."
+
+"I feel as if I were being resuscitated," Signor Giacomo answered,
+speaking very slowly and almost under his breath, his gaze still fixed
+on the glass.
+
+"Then you must give us a toast," the other said, rising. "But if you
+will not speak, why then I must do so," and he recited merrily--
+
+ "Long live he and long live she,
+ And now we'll be off, and leave them free!"
+
+Signor Giacomo emptied his glass, puffed loudly and winked hard, in
+consequence of the varied sentiments which were running riot in his
+soul, while the last perfume, the last flavour of the wine were fading
+in his mouth. He offered his duty to the "most revered" Signora Teresa,
+his devotion to the "most amiable" little bride, his respects to the
+"most accomplished" young husband. Then, gesticulating with head and
+arms, he declared himself undeserving of the thanks which were being
+lavished upon him, and taking his great hat and his stick, he
+started--humble and puffing, with mingled feelings of relief and
+regret--to follow the placid bulk of the "most worshipful" engineer.
+
+"And you, Franco?" Signora Teresa enquired immediately.
+
+"I am going," he replied.
+
+"Come here," said she. "I received you so badly when you returned from
+church, my poor children! You see I had had one of my bad attacks; I
+think you understood. But now I feel so well, so peaceful! Lord, I thank
+Thee! it seems to me I have set my house in order, have put out the fire
+and said my prayers; and now I am going to sleep, so well satisfied! But
+not so very soon, dear, not at once. I leave you my Luisa, dear; I leave
+you Uncle Piero. I know you will love them very much, will you not? But
+you must remember me also. Ah, dear Lord! how sorry I am I shall not see
+your children! That is indeed a grief to me! You must give them a kiss
+every day for their poor grandmother ... every day. And now go, my son,
+but you will be back by half-past five? Yes, dear.... Good-by ... now
+go."
+
+She spoke caressingly to him, as to a child who does not yet understand,
+and he wept silently, with tender emotion, kissing her hands over and
+over again, and glad Luisa was present to witness this scene, for in his
+immense tenderness for the mother, there was his immense joy at being
+one with the daughter, and an intense desire to love all that his wife
+loved, and in the same measure.
+
+"Go," Mamma Teresa repeated, fearing her own increasing emotion. "Go,
+go!"
+
+At last he obeyed and went out with Luisa.
+
+On this occasion also Luisa was absent a long time, but even the holiest
+souls have their little weaknesses, and although the maid was
+constantly coming and going between the kitchen and the salon, Signora
+Teresa, touched by the affection which Franco had displayed for her,
+never once ordered her to ring the bell.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[E] _Luisina_: little Luisa, _ina_ being a diminutive. [_Translator's
+note._]
+
+[F] _Svanziche_: a coin varying from 90 to 95 centimes. [_Translator's
+note._]
+
+[G] _Est_, _est_: Canon Johannes Fugger of Augsburg travelling in Italy in
+the twelfth century, directed his steward to precede him, and inscribe
+the word _Est_ on the door of the inn where the best wine was to be had.
+On reaching Montefiascone, the worthy canon found the word _Est_ written
+three times on the tavern door, and indeed, the muscatel of this
+district proved so much to his taste that he never left Montefiascone,
+but ended his days there in the year 1113 or thereabouts, and was buried
+in the church of S. Flaviano, where his tomb may still be seen. His
+steward caused the following inscription to be carved upon the
+sarcophagus:
+
+ Est, Est, Est. Propter nimium est,
+ Johannes de Fuc., D. meus, mortuus est.
+
+It is said that the wine-loving prelate left orders that a barrel of the
+very best muscatel should be spilled over his tomb every year on the
+anniversary of his death, and this ceremony was faithfully performed
+down to the end of the seventeenth century, when it was forbidden by a
+certain Cardinal Barbarigi, of unconvivial memory. The best wine of
+Montescone is still called _Est_, _Est_. [_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+CARLIN'S LETTER
+
+
+Franco went down the hill very, very slowly, absorbed in the world of
+things within him, so crowded with thoughts and with new sensations.
+Stopping every now and then to contemplate the grey road and the small
+dark fields, he would touch the leaves of a grape-vine or the stones of
+a low wall, in order to feel the reality of the external world, to
+convince himself that he was not dreaming. Not until he had reached the
+Contrada dei Mal'ari in Casarico, and was standing before the little
+door of Gilardoni's tiny house, did he recall Mamma Teresa's dark words
+concerning the secret Gilardoni had imparted to her, and he wondered
+what this mystery could be, which must not be revealed to Luisa. To tell
+the truth the mother's advice had not satisfied him entirely. "How could
+I ever hide anything from my wife?" he thought as he knocked at the
+door.
+
+Professor Beniamino Gilardoni, son of "Carlin de Daas," had been
+educated at the expense of old Don Franco Maironi, Marchesa Orsola's
+husband, an eccentric man, capricious and violent, but at the same
+time, very generous. When Carlin died it became apparent that Maironi's
+generosity had not been necessary. Beniamino inherited quite a little
+hoard, and this maddened Don Franco, who held him responsible for the
+paternal hypocrisy, turned his back upon him, and would have nothing
+more to do with him for the short time he survived his agent. The young
+man chose the career of teacher, was professor of Latin at the gymnasium
+of Cremona, and of philosophy at the lyceum of Udine. Of a delicate
+constitution, apprehensive of physical suffering, and extremely
+misanthropical, he resigned his professorship in 1842, and came to
+Valsolda to enjoy the modest fortune his father had left him. Dasio, his
+native village, perched just below the dolomitic rocks of the Arabione,
+was too high up and inconvenient for him. He sold his possessions there,
+purchased the olive-grove of Sedorgg above Casarico, and a small villa
+on the edge of the lake, in Casarico itself. It was so small as to be
+almost a toy villa, and from its shape he called it the "Greek _II_ or
+Pi" in imitation of the "Digamma" of Ugo Foscolo. From the Contrada dei
+Mal'ari a short passage led to the little courtyard flanked by a tiny
+portico, open on the lake-side and surrounded by tall oleanders. It
+overlooked six miles of water, green, grey or blue, according to the
+hour, as far as Monte S. Salvatore there in the distance, stooping,
+under the burden of its melancholy hump, towards the humble hills of
+Carona beneath it. On the east of the little house there was a
+kitchen-garden, fabulously large for that part of the world, the
+dimensions of which Engineer Ribera was wont to define by means of the
+following surveyor's description: "Large field called _il Campone_,
+measuring seven _tavole_." Now seven _tavole_ correspond to twenty or
+twenty-two square metres! The Professor cultivated it with the aid of
+his little servant Giuseppe, called Pinella, and of a small collection
+of French treatises. He sent to France for the seeds of the most highly
+esteemed qualities of vegetables, which sometimes came up in shameless
+disregard of their certificates of baptism, and indeed of any honestly
+baptised family. It would then happen that philosopher and servant,
+stooping over the beds, their hands on their knees, would raise their
+eyes from these mocking sprouts, and gaze at each other, the philosopher
+honestly disappointed, the servant hypocritically so. In one corner of
+the garden, in a little stable constructed according to the most
+approved principles, dwelt a small Swiss cow, which had been purchased
+after three months of diligent study, and had turned out as delicate and
+fleshless as the master himself, who--in spite of the Swiss cow and four
+Paduan hens--often found it impossible to make himself a cup of custard
+in his own house. In the wall supporting the garden on the lake-side,
+against whose base the _breva_ drove the swelling waves, he had made
+some openings in which, following Franco Maironi's advice, he had
+planted many American aloes, many roses and some caper-bushes, thus
+binding together the substantial contents of his kitchen-garden, as he
+was wont to say, with poetic elegance of form. And for the love of the
+poetic, he had left a small corner of his kitchen-garden uncultivated.
+The tallest of reeds had sprung up there, and in front of these reeds
+the Professor had erected a sort of belvedere, a lofty, wooden platform,
+very rustic and primitive, where, in pleasant weather, he passed many
+happy hours with the mystic books he loved, enjoying the coolness of the
+_breva_, and the murmuring of reeds and waves. At a distance the colour
+of the platform could not be distinguished from that of the reeds, and
+the Professor looked as if he were seated on air, book in hand, like any
+magician. In the little salon he kept the small collection of works on
+kitchen-gardening, the mystic books, the treatises on necromancy, and
+gnosticism. The writings on hallucinations and dreams he kept in a tiny
+study adjoining his bedroom, a sort of ship's cabin, into which lake and
+sky seemed to pour through the window.
+
+After the death of old Maironi the Professor had once more taken to
+visiting the family, but the Marchesa did not please him particularly,
+and her son Don Alessandro, Franco's father, pleased him still less. So
+he ended by going there only once a year. When the lad Franco entered
+the lyceum his grandmother--his father had been dead some time--begged
+Gilardoni to give him some lessons during the Autumn. Master and pupil
+resembled each other in their easy enthusiasms, in their fits of violent
+but fleeting passion, and both were ardent patriots. When the necessity
+for lessons no longer existed they continued to meet as friends, though
+the Professor was some twenty years older than Franco. Gilardoni admired
+his pupil's genius, but Franco, on the other hand, held the
+half-Christian, half-rationalist philosophy of his master, and his
+mystical tendencies, in small esteem. He laughed at the other's passion
+for books and theories on horticulture and landscape gardening, a
+passion which was entirely devoid of all common sense. But nevertheless,
+he loved him sincerely for his goodness, his candour, his ardent soul.
+Franco had been the Professor's confidant at the time of his unfortunate
+passion for Signora Rigey, and later, Franco, in his turn, confided in
+the Professor. Gilardoni was much affected by the news, and told Franco
+that, his heart being still full to overflowing of that unchanging
+devotion, he should feel as if he were, in a way, becoming Franco's
+father, even though Signora Teresa herself would have none of him.
+Franco showed little appreciation of this metaphysical paternity. This
+passion for Signora Rigey seemed to him simply an aberration, and he was
+more than ever confirmed in his opinion that the Professor's head was
+not worth much, but that his heart was of gold.
+
+So he knocked at the door, and Beniamino himself came to open it,
+bearing a little oil lamp. "Well done," said he. "I was beginning to
+think you were not coming, after all."
+
+Gilardoni was in his dressing-gown and slippers, with a sort of white
+turban on his head, and he exhaled a strong odour of camphor. He looked
+like a Turk, like Gilardoni Bey, but the thin, sallow face which smiled
+beneath the turban had nothing Turkish about it. Encircled by a short,
+reddish beard, pompously embellished in the middle by a fine, big nose,
+red and pimply, the face was lighted up by two beautiful blue eyes,
+still very youthful, and full of simple kindness and poetry.
+
+As soon as Franco had closed the door behind him his friend whispered:
+"Is it done?" "It is done," Franco answered. The other embraced him and
+kissed him in silence. Then he took him up stairs to the little study.
+On the way he explained that, _secundum_ Raspail, he had applied a
+compress of some sedative water to his head, for he was threatened with
+a headache. He was an apostle of Raspail, and had converted Franco--who
+often suffered from inflammatory sore throats--from leeches to camphor
+cigarettes.
+
+In the little study there was another very close and long embrace. "So
+much! So much! So much!" Gilardoni exclaimed, meaning a world of things.
+
+Poor Gilardoni, his eyes were glistening. He himself had longed in vain
+for a happiness similar to his friend's! Franco understood and, much
+embarrassed, did not know what to say to him, and a silence so
+significant followed that Gilardoni could not stand it, and set about
+lighting a little fire to heat some coffee he had prepared. Franco
+offered to do this for him, and the Professor accepted, pleading his
+headache, and began unrolling his turban before a basin of the sedative
+water. "Well," said he, controlling his emotion by an effort of his
+will, "tell me all about it." Franco told him everything, from his
+grandmother's dinner-party, to the wedding ceremony in the church at
+Castello, except of course, his private talk with Signora Teresa.
+Professor Beniamino, meanwhile, had replaced his turban, and now
+summoned up all his courage. "And----" said he, substituting a sort of
+low groan for the beloved name, "how is she?" Upon learning of the
+hallucination he exclaimed: "A letter? She thought she saw a letter? But
+what letter?" This Franco did not know. A hissing on the fire
+interrupted the conversation; the coffee was boiling hard and bubbling
+over.
+
+Gilardoni also resembled his young friend in that his heart might be
+read from his face. The young friend who was, however, a far cleverer
+and quicker reader of faces than he, at once perceived that he had
+thought of some special letter, and inquired, while the coffee was
+settling, if he could explain this hallucination. The Professor
+hastened to say "no," but no sooner had he uttered that "no" than he
+weakened it by adding several other negatives, mingled with inarticulate
+grumblings: "Ah, no!--no indeed!--I cannot say--certainly not!" Franco
+did not insist, and another extremely significant silence ensued. When
+he had taken his coffee, with many involuntary signs of uneasiness, the
+Professor promptly proposed that they go to bed. Franco, who must leave
+before daybreak, preferred not to go to bed, but wished his friend to do
+so, and, after an infinite number of protests and ceremonies, after
+hesitating on the very threshold, his basin of sedative water in his
+hand, the Professor suddenly faced about, and throwing a "good-night"
+over his shoulder, disappeared.
+
+When he was alone Franco put out the lamp and stretched himself in an
+easy-chair with the good intention of going to sleep, seeking sleep in
+some indifferent thought if he could possibly fix his mind on such a
+thought. Not five minutes had passed when there was a knock at the door
+and immediately the Professor rushed in, without a light, and
+exclaiming: "Well, here I am again!" "What is the matter?" Franco
+inquired. "I am sorry I put out the light." At the same moment he felt
+the arms of the worthy Beniamino about his neck, his beard brushed
+Franco's face, and he smelt the camphor and heard the voice. "Dear,
+dear, Don Franco! I have an enormous load on my heart! I did not intend
+to speak now; I wanted to leave you in peace, but I cannot, I cannot!"
+
+"But speak! Calm yourself, calm yourself!" said Franco, gently freeing
+himself from that embrace.
+
+Gilardoni let him go, and pressed his hands to his forehead, groaning:
+"Oh, what a stupid fool, what a stupid fool, what a stupid fool I am! I
+might have left him alone; I might have waited until to-morrow or the
+next day. But now it is done! It is done!"
+
+He seized Franco's hand. "I tell you I had begun to undress when a sort
+of giddiness came over me, and then it was all up with me. I must needs
+put on the dressing-gown again, and rush in here without a light, like a
+lunatic. In my haste I even tipped over the basin of sedative water."
+
+"Shall we light the lamp?" Franco asked.
+
+"No, no, no, we had better talk in the dark, better talk in the dark!
+See, I am going way over there!" And he sat down at his writing-desk, to
+escape the faint glimmer of light which fell through the window. Then he
+began. He always spoke in a nervous and disorderly fashion, and it may
+easily be imagined how he spoke now, in his present state of agitation.
+
+"Shall I begin? Goodness knows what you will say, dear Don Franco! These
+are all useless words, but what would you have--alas! patience--! Well,
+I will begin--but where shall I begin? Oh, Lord! just see what a fool I
+am, not even knowing where to begin! Ah, that hallucination! Yes, I told
+you a lie just now; I can easily guess the origin of that hallucination.
+It has to do with a letter; a letter I showed Signora Teresa two years
+ago, a letter from Don Franco, your grandfather. Well, now let us begin
+at the beginning.
+
+"During his last days my poor father spoke to me of a letter from Don
+Franco which I should find in the strong-box, where all the important
+papers were kept. He told me to read it, to preserve it carefully, and,
+when the time came, to act in accordance with the dictates of
+conscience. 'But' said he, 'it is almost certain there will be nothing
+to be done.' My poor father passed away. I searched the strong-box for
+the letter, but did not find it. I hunted the whole house over, but in
+vain. What could I do? I contented myself with reflecting that there was
+nothing to be done, and thought no more about the matter. A fool, was I
+not? A real idiot! Say so freely, I deserve it. I have said so to myself
+so many times! But let us continue. Do you know how your grandfather's
+estate was settled? Do you know how the affairs of your house were
+arranged? You will forgive me for speaking to you of these matters, will
+you not?"
+
+"I know my grandfather died without a will, and that I have nothing,"
+Franco replied. "But let us pass that over, and proceed."
+
+To Franco it was truly a painful subject. At old Maironi's death no
+will had been found. In perfect love and harmony, the widow and the son,
+Don Alessandro, had divided the estate equally between them. In order to
+secure this arrangement the son had made a very large grant to his
+mother, declaring that he was only carrying out the paternal wishes,
+which had not found a means of expression. This depraved young man, a
+spendthrift and a gambler, was already caught in the toils of usurers at
+the time of his father's death. In the seven years he survived him he
+managed to spend everything, not leaving a penny to his only son,
+Franco, who found himself reduced to some twenty thousand _svanziche_,
+the fortune of his mother who had died in giving him birth.
+
+"Yes, yes, let us get on," Gilardoni continued. "Three years ago, three
+years ago, I say, I received a letter from you. I remember it was the
+second of November, all Souls' Day. Curious circumstance, mysterious
+circumstance! Very well. That night I went to bed, and dreamed a dream.
+I dreamt of your grandfather's letter. Note that I had never thought of
+it again. I dreamt I was hunting for it, and that I found it in an old
+box I keep in the attic. I read it, still dreaming. It said there was a
+great treasure in the cellar of Casa Maironi at Cressogno and that that
+treasure was to come to you. I awoke in intense excitement, convinced
+that this had been a prophetic dream. I got up, and went to look in the
+box. I found nothing; but two days later, being about to sell certain
+lands which I owned at Dasio, I got out an old deed of purchase, which
+my father kept in the strong-box, and, in turning over the leaves, a
+letter fell out. I glanced at the signature and saw: Nobile Franco
+Maironi. I read the letter. It was the one in question! Thus you see,
+the dream...."
+
+"Well," said Franco, interrupting him, "and what did this letter say?"
+
+The Professor rose, took a match half a cubit long, ran it in among the
+live coals in the little fireplace, and lit the lamp.
+
+"I have it here," he said with a great, despairing sigh. "Read it."
+
+He took from his pocket and handed to Franco a small yellowish letter,
+without an envelope, and still showing traces of the little red wafer.
+The yellow-black lines of writing inside showed through here and there,
+almost in relief.
+
+Franco took it, held it near the lamp, and read aloud as follows:
+
+
+ "Dear Carlin,--
+
+ "You will find my last will enclosed in this letter. I have
+ written it in duplicate. One copy I am keeping. This is the
+ other, and I charge you to publish it if the first be not
+ forthcoming. Do you understand? Very well then; and when we
+ meet I forbid you absolutely to worry me with your advice, as
+ is your d----d custom. You are the only person in whom I have
+ confidence, but, after all, it is my right to command, and your
+ duty to obey. Therefore all advice is useless and will not be
+ tolerated. Good-bye.
+
+ "Your affectionate master,
+ "FRANCO MAIRONI.
+
+ "CRESSOGNO, _22 Sept., 1828_."
+
+
+"Now here is the will," said Gilardoni dolefully, handing Franco another
+yellow document, "but don't read that aloud."
+
+The document read as follows:
+
+ "I, the undersigned, Nobile Franco Maironi, desire that my
+ estate be divided in accordance with this, my last will and
+ testament.
+
+ "Donna Orsola Maironi, born Marchesa Scremin, having deigned to
+ accept my homage as well as that of many others, I bequeath to
+ her, in proof of my gratitude, the sum of ten thousand Milanese
+ Lire, to be paid once and for all, and what, to her, is the
+ most precious jewel of my household, namely Don Alessandro
+ Maironi, duly inscribed in the parish-registers of the
+ Cathedral of Brescia as my son.
+
+ "I bequeath to my said son that part of my property which is
+ lawfully due to him, and three _parpagliole_[H] a day more, in
+ token of the special esteem in which I hold him.
+
+ "I leave to my agent in Brescia, Signor Grigi, should he be
+ still in my employ at the time of my death, all that he has
+ stolen from me.
+
+ "I leave to my agent in Valsolda, Carlino Gilardoni, upon the
+ same condition as above, four Milanese Lire a day, during his
+ natural life.
+
+ "I desire that, during the life of Donna Orsola Maironi
+ Scremin, a Mass be celebrated daily in the Cathedral of
+ Brescia, for the good of her soul.
+
+ "I name and appoint my grandson, Don Franco Maironi, son of Don
+ Alessandro, residuary legatee of all the rest of my property.
+
+ "As witness my hand, this fifteenth day of April, 1828.
+
+ "FRANCO MAIRONI."
+
+Franco read--and, half dazed and without a word, passed the sheet of
+paper back to the Professor. He was shaken, but felt vaguely that he
+must control himself, that he must restrain his own agitation, collect
+his thoughts, and strive to get a clear view of this matter and of
+himself.
+
+"What do you say to that?" the Professor exclaimed.
+
+At this point Gilardoni's intense excitement reached a climax.
+
+"Why did I not speak before, eh?" he continued. "The thing is that I
+can't possibly give a clear, precise and positive reason for not having
+done so. Those papers were a horror to me! If I myself and my own father
+and mother had been involved in such a question, I would rather have
+let a million slip than ask for it with those documents in my hand.
+There! I have been a fool again, to have said that! Just forget those
+last words, for in your place ... it is a different thing. I was
+speaking for myself. Good Lord, of course I was speaking for myself!
+Well, I thought--see what an ass I was--I thought your grandmother just
+doted on you, and that your grandfather's property would go to you
+anyway. And with that idea...! After a while I consulted Signora Teresa,
+and showed her the letter and the will. She said I should have informed
+you at once, as soon as I had made the discovery, but that she could not
+give me any advice because now her daughter was, in a way, an interested
+party. Besides, she said.... But that is of no consequence. In short I
+saw the will was a horror to her also. Anyway, I was convinced your
+grandmother would end by accepting this marriage, and I did not speak.
+Tonight you come and tell me the Marchesa has used threats. Fancy that!
+Now you understand that I could not wait, that I could not keep these
+documents a moment longer. There--they are yours--take them!"
+
+Franco, absorbed in his own thoughts, heard only these last words. "No,"
+said he, "I will not take them. I know myself too well. With them in my
+possession I might be led into doing something rash, or into acting
+prematurely. You keep them for the present." Gilardoni would not hear
+of keeping them, and drove Franco into one of his fits of impatience.
+There was indeed nothing so irritating to his nerves as the inconclusive
+outpourings of kind-hearted but brainless persons. Gilardoni's
+opposition angered him, and he gave him to understand that this wish to
+rid himself of the documents at all costs, was selfishness pure and
+simple, and that those who have blundered must bear the consequences.
+The words he uttered amounted to this, but the angry and harsh
+expression of his face said much more. Gilardoni, whose face was
+crimson, shuddered at the accusation of selfishness, but controlled
+himself and putting on a grim frown in his turn, hastily pocketed the
+documents, repeated a string of "well, well, well, wells," and abruptly
+left the room. To appease his own conscience Franco at once set to work
+trying to convince himself that Signor Beniamino was entirely in the
+wrong. He had done wrong in not having given him the documents much
+sooner, and now he was doing wrong in taking offence. As he was quite
+sure he should make his peace with the inconclusive philosopher, he
+thought no more about him, put out the lamp, and, returning to his
+easy-chair, became once more engrossed in his previous meditations.
+
+Now he was beginning to see clearly. He could not with dignity make use
+of that will, which, both in form and in substance was dishonouring to
+his grandmother, arousing as it did, when the letter was considered, a
+suspicion of criminal suppression. The will also reflected little honour
+upon his father. No, never. He must tell the professor to burn both
+documents.
+
+"Thus, Madam Grandmother, shall I triumph over you!" thought Franco,
+"Making you a free gift of the property, and of your honour as well,
+without even taking the trouble to tell you of it!" Revelling in this
+thought Franco felt almost as if he were lifted above the earth, and he
+drew a long breath, vastly pleased with himself, his soul illumined and
+soothed by a sentiment of mingled generosity and pride. With all his
+faith and his acts of Christian piety, he was very far from suspecting
+that such a sentiment was not entirely good, and that a less
+self-conscious magnanimity would have been more noble.
+
+He let himself sink back in his easy-chair, more disposed to rest than
+he had been before, thinking quietly of what he had read, of what he had
+heard, as one who has been on the verge of embarking upon some perilous
+speculation, and looks back upon the anxiety and the calamities from
+which he has escaped forever. Old memories were also beginning to stir
+in the depths of his soul. He recalled a certain tale an old servant had
+told concerning the riches of the house of Maironi, which, she said, had
+been stolen from the poor. He was a child then, and the woman had not
+hesitated to speak in his presence. But the child had received a deep
+impression, and this impression had been re-awakened in his early
+boyhood, by the words of a priest, who had confided to him, with an air
+of great secrecy and solemnity, and perhaps not without intention, that
+the Maironi fortune was the fruit of a law-suit which had been unjustly
+won against the Ospedale Maggiore of Milan.
+
+"So, through me," thought Franco, "everything has gone back to the
+devil."
+
+It struck him that perhaps it was late, so he lighted the lamp once
+more, and consulted his watch. It was half-past three. Now, it would be
+impossible for him to rest. The moment which would re-unite him to Luisa
+was too near at hand, his fancy was too greatly excited. One hour and a
+half more! He looked at his watch every two minutes; it seemed as if the
+tedious time would never pass. He took a book, but could not read. He
+opened the window; the air was soft, the silence profound, the lake was
+bright over towards S. Salvatore, and the heavens were studded with
+stars. At Oria he could see a light. Perhaps it would be his fate to
+live there in Uncle Piero's house. Gazing absently at that luminous
+spot, he began to imagine what the future would be, and ever-changing
+phantoms rose before him. At about half-past four he heard a bell ring
+on the lower floor, and presently Pinella came with a message from his
+master to the effect that if he wished to make the _ascent of the
+Boglia_ it was time to start. The master had a severe headache, and
+could neither rise nor receive him. Franco searched on the
+writing-table for a sheet of paper, and wrote:
+
+"_Parce mihi, domine, quia brixiensis sum._"
+
+He went out, Pinella accompanying him with the light as far as the dark
+arcade, where the road to Castello begins. Then he disappeared.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The Marchesa Orsola rang her bell at half-past six, and ordered the maid
+to bring her chocolate as usual. She swallowed more than half of it
+before asking with the utmost composure, at what hour Don Franco had
+returned.
+
+"He has not yet returned, Signora Marchesa."
+
+The old woman must have received an inward shock, but not a muscle of
+her face twitched. She placed her lips on the edge of her cup of
+chocolate, looked at the maid, and said calmly:
+
+"Bring me one of those little biscuits we had yesterday."
+
+Towards eight o'clock the maid came back to say that Don Franco had
+returned, but only to go directly to his room for his passport, coming
+down again immediately, and he had then ordered the footman to find a
+boatman who would take him to Lugano. The Marchesa said never a word,
+but later in the day she sent word to her confidant Pasotti that she was
+expecting him. Pasotti took in the situation at a glance, and remained
+with her more than half an hour. The lady was determined to find out
+where and how her grandson had spent the night. Pasotti had already
+heard some rumours, which he now repeated, concerning a nocturnal visit
+of Don Franco's to Casa Rigey; but more reliable and precise information
+was desired. The cunning _Tartufo_, by nature as curious as a hound,
+that goes about following every scent, poking his nose into every hole,
+and rubbing it against every pair of trowsers, promised to furnish the
+Marchesa with such information in the course of a day or two, and then
+took himself off, his eyes sparkling, rubbing his hands in anticipation
+of a pleasant chase.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[H] _Parpagliota_: a small coin then in circulation, and worth about
+twenty centimes (?). [_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE ROGUE AT WORK
+
+
+The next morning, Pasotti having imbibed his coffee and milk, lay
+pondering the plan of the chase until half-past ten, when he summoned
+Signora Barborin, who slept in another room because her snoring
+disturbed the "Controller," as she respectfully called her husband. "He
+is quite right," the poor deaf woman would say, "it is a terribly bad
+habit, this snoring of mine!" She was older than Pasotti, whom she had
+accepted as her second husband because her heart was very susceptible,
+and to whom she had brought certain moneys which he had long coveted,
+and was now enjoying. The Controller was fond of her in his own way; he
+obliged her to make calls, to go on boating excursions, to take long
+walks in the hills, all of which things were torments to her. He made
+fun of her deafness, sent her out covered with silks and feathers, and
+at home made her work like any drudge. In spite of all this she
+respected and served him like a slave, in fear and trembling it is true,
+but not without affection. When she did not call him "the Controller"
+she called him "Pasotti," but she never allowed herself to use a more
+familiar appellation.
+
+Pasotti, with a face as stern as any satrap, ordered her by gestures to
+go to the drawer for a white shirt, to the wardrobe for his second-best
+suit, to a cupboard for a pair of boots. When his wife had prepared
+everything, hunting anxiously here and there, continually facing about
+to follow the eyes and gestures of the master who several times called
+her a fool, when she would stare open-mouthed at him, striving to catch
+the word she had only seen, Pasotti stuck his legs out of bed, and said:
+
+"Here you are!"
+
+Signora Barborin knelt before him, and began pulling on his stockings,
+while the Controller, stretching out his arm to the pedestal, took his
+snuff-box, and, having opened it, continued his previous meditations,
+his fingers buried in the snuff. He intended to make several visits of
+discovery, but in what order should he arrange them? From what his
+farmer had told him, he judged that Signor Giacomo Puttini's Marianna,
+and perhaps even Signor Giacomo himself must know something about Don
+Franco, and certainly something must be known in Castello. While Signora
+Barborin was tying the second shoe-lace, Pasotti remembered that it was
+Tuesday. Every Tuesday Signor Giacomo, with a few friends, was in the
+habit of going to the market at Lugano, or rather to the tavern called
+"del Lordo," in order to vary the daily wine of Grimelli by a weekly
+glass of an undiluted vintage, and he often came home in an
+affectionate and communicative frame of mind. It would therefore be
+better to call upon him late in the day, say between four and five. In
+fancy Pasotti was already holding him in his hand, and managing him as
+he liked. With a malicious smile he raised his fingers from the
+snuff-box, shook the pinch to the proper dimensions by means of a few
+gentle, even raps, enjoyed it at his leisure, and then his wife having
+given him his handkerchief, he rewarded her by mumbling with a benign
+expression of countenance, as he rolled the handkerchief into a ball:
+"Poor woman! poor creature!"
+
+When, after half an hour's labour he had put on and buttoned up his
+coat, he exclaimed, seriously: "What d---- hard work!" and went to the
+glass. Then his wife ventured to edge cautiously towards the door,
+saying very timidly--
+
+"Can I go now?"
+
+Pasotti turned round frowning and imperious, and beckoning to her to
+approach, he drew about her head and person certain lines in the air,
+which meant a hat and shawl. She did not understand, and stood staring
+at him, with her mouth open. Then she pointed her forefinger at his
+breast, questioning him with her eyes, and her lifted eyebrows, as if
+suspecting he wanted those articles for himself. Pasotti answered this
+questioning in the same manner, with three stabs of his forefinger,
+which signified: "you, you, you!" Then, making the motions of cutting
+something with his open hand, he gave her to understand that she was to
+go out with him. She started several times, astonished and protesting,
+opened her eyes extremely wide, and said in that voice of hers which
+seemed to come from the cellar:
+
+"Where?"
+
+The Controller's only answer was a fulminating glance and a gesture:
+"march!" He did not intend to give any further information.
+
+Signora Barborin struggled a little longer.
+
+"I have not breakfasted yet," she said.
+
+Her husband took her by the shoulders, drew her towards him, and shouted
+into her face:
+
+"You will breakfast later."
+
+Only at Albogasio Inferiore, in front of the Annunziata, did he inform
+her, by pointing to the place with his stick, that they were going to
+Cadate, to that old manor-house planted in the lake between Casarico and
+Albogasio, and generally known as "the Palace," where there lived, all
+alone, in the small rooms of the upper story, the priest, Don Giuseppe
+Costabarbieri and his servant Maria, called "Maria of the Palace."
+Pasotti knowing well that both were eager listeners, but extremely
+cautious in talking, wished to examine them one at a time, without
+seeming to do so, and, if he found any soft spot, he intended to press
+it very gently. He had brought his wife with him that she might help him
+in this delicate matter of taking them one at a time, and she, poor
+innocent, trotted on behind him with short, quick steps, and followed
+him down the flight of one hundred and twenty-nine steps called the
+"Calcinera," never suspecting the perfidious part she was to act.
+
+The lake was like oil, and Don Giuseppe, a fine, pursy priest, short and
+fat, with white hair, a ruddy complexion and small glistening eyes, was
+seated near the fig-tree in his garden, with a black straw hat on his
+head, and a white handkerchief round his neck, angling for carp, certain
+big, fat carp, grown old and wary, that might be seen moving about very
+slowly under the water, all for love of the figs, and that were as
+inquisitive and, at the same time, as cautious as the priest and his
+servant. This latter was not visible. Pasotti finding the street-door
+open, went in, calling out for Don Giuseppe and Maria. As no one
+answered he planted his wife in a chair and went down into the garden,
+making straight for the fig-tree, where Don Giuseppe was sitting, who,
+on catching sight of him, went into a fit of ceremonious convulsions. He
+threw down his fishing-rod and went towards Pasotti vociferating: "Oh,
+Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, dear me! In this state! My dear Controller! Come
+up-stairs! Come up-stairs! My dear Controller! In this state! I hope you
+will excuse me! I hope you will excuse me!" But Pasotti would not hear
+of "going up," he was bound to remain where he was. Don Giuseppe began
+bawling for "Maria! Maria!" Presently Maria's big face appeared at a
+window in the upper story.
+
+Don Giuseppe called to her to bring down a chair. Then the Controller
+revealed the presence of his wife, whereupon the big face disappeared
+and Don Giuseppe had another fit.
+
+"How is this? How is this? Signora Barborin? She here? Oh, Lord! Come
+up-stairs!" and he started forward impelled by obsequiousness, but
+Pasotti reduced him to obedience, at first catching him by the arm, and
+then declaring that he wished to see him take one or two of those
+monstrous carp; and notwithstanding Don Giuseppe's protests: "It is no
+use! I sha'n't catch anything! They're far too cunning, these fish.
+_They see!_" in the end he was obliged to throw his line.
+
+At first Pasotti pretended to watch him, but finally he also threw his
+line.
+
+He began by asking Don Giovanni how long it was since he had been to
+Castello. Upon being informed that he had been there the day before to
+see his friend, the curate Intrioni, the good Tartuffe, who could not
+abide Intrioni, burst into a perfect panegyric of him. What a jewel,
+this curate of Castello! What a heart of gold! And had Don Giuseppe been
+to Casa Rigey? No, Signora Teresa was too ill. More panegyrics
+concerning Signora Teresa and Luisa. What a splendid creature! What
+circumspection, what high principles, what sentiment! And the Maironi
+affair? It was still going on, was it not? Had it gone far?
+
+"I know nothing, nothing, nothing!" Don Giuseppe said sharply.
+
+At that hasty denial Pasotti's eyes sparkled. He took a step forward.
+Oh, come now. It was not possible that Don Giuseppe did not know
+anything! It was not possible that he had not discussed the matter with
+Intrioni! Was not Intrioni aware that Don Franco had spent the night at
+Casa Rigey?
+
+"I know nothing about it, nothing at all!" Don Giuseppe repeated.
+
+Then Pasotti declared that by this concealment of certain well known
+circumstances, many were led to suspect evil. What the deuce! Don Franco
+had of course gone to Casa Rigey with the most honourable intentions,
+therefore----
+
+"A bite! A bite!" whispered Don Giuseppe hurriedly, and he leaned far
+out over the parapet, grasped the end of the pole firmly, and fixed his
+gaze on the water as if a fish were about to seize the hook. "A bite!"
+
+Pasotti, much vexed, gazed into the water also, but declared he could
+see nothing.
+
+"He has made off, the wretch! But his mouth almost touched the hook. He
+must have felt the prick!" said Don Giuseppe, sighing and straightening
+himself up. He also had felt the prick of the hook, and was trying to
+"make off" as the fish had done.
+
+The other renewed his attack, but in vain. Don Giuseppe had seen
+nothing, heard nothing, talked of nothing, knew nothing. Pasotti was
+silent, and the priest in turn, threw out a bit of timid malice: "They
+don't bite well to-day,--there must be something in the air."
+
+In the house, meanwhile, the dialogue between Maria and Signora Barborin
+had proceeded most unsatisfactorily, after the first affectionate
+exchange of greetings, which had been a great success. Maria proposed by
+gestures that they go into the garden, but Signora Pasotti begged with
+clasped hands, to be allowed to remain in her chair. Then the big Maria
+took another chair, and seating herself beside her guest tried to talk
+to her. But she found it impossible to make her understand, no matter
+how she shrieked, so gave up in despair, and taking her great cat upon
+her lap, talked to him instead.
+
+Poor Signora Barborin, who was quite resigned, watched the cat with her
+great black eyes, dimmed by age and grief. Ah! here was Pasotti at last,
+with Don Giuseppe, who at once began to puff out his:
+
+"Oh, good Lord! My dear Signora Barborin! Pray excuse me!" Maria having
+confessed to the _Scior Controlor_ that his wife and she had not been
+able to understand each other, her master--as a mark of respect for
+Signora Pasotti--called the servant a "block head," and, as she
+attempted to justify herself, he prudently checked her by an imperious
+wave of the hand and a string of "there, there, there's." Then he
+signalled to her mysteriously with his head, and she left the room.
+Pasotti followed her, and told her that his wife really felt obliged to
+call on the Rigeys, but was in doubt as to how she should act, having
+heard certain rumours which were current, and that she had greatly hoped
+to gain some information from Maria, for "Maria always knew everything."
+
+"What foolish talk!" said Maria, much flattered. "I never know anything;
+but I can tell you to whom your wife must apply. To Signor Giacomo
+Puttini. It is Signor Giacomo Puttini who always knows everything."
+
+"Well done!" thought Pasotti, adding these remarks to what the farmer
+had said, and concluding he was on the track at last. At the same time
+he shrugged his shoulders incredulously. Signor Giacomo might perhaps be
+aware of what was going on in the moon, but that was all; he never knew
+anything else. Maria insisted, and the old fox began to press her with
+questions, beating cautiously about the bush; but he found her obdurate,
+and presently he saw that he should have his labour for his pains, and
+that he must be satisfied with that one bit of information. He became
+silent, and half satisfied, half preoccupied, returned to the room where
+Don Giuseppe was explaining to Signora Barborin, by means of appropriate
+gestures, that Maria was going to bring her something to eat. In fact
+the woman appeared presently with a square, glass jar, full of
+brandy-cherries, a renowned specialty of Don Giuseppe's, who was in the
+habit of offering them solemnly to his guests, in his own peculiar
+Italian:
+
+"Allow me to offer you something! Will you try a few of my cherries?
+_Magara con un tochello di pane?_ Perhaps with a slice of bread?" And
+then, lapsing into dialect once more: "_Maria, tajee gio un poo de
+pan_--cut off a bit of bread."
+
+Signora Barborin feasted on bread alone, following the advice of her
+satanic husband, who himself took cherries without bread. Then they went
+away together, and she was permitted to return to Albogasio, while the
+Controller set off in the direction of Casa Gilardoni.
+
+"That Pasotti is a rogue," said Maria when she had bolted the
+street-door.
+
+"He is not only a rogue, but an extra big rogue! A _bargnif_!" Don
+Giuseppe exclaimed, remembering the hook; and by the application of the
+dialect title of "Bargnif," which means the arch-fiend, considered in
+the light of his great cunning, these two mild beings found relief for
+their feelings, and a compensation for so many things given unwillingly:
+courtesies, smiles and cherries.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Professor Gilardoni was reading perched on his belvedere in the
+kitchen-garden, when he caught sight of Pasotti coming towards him
+behind Pinella, between the rows of beets and turnips. He had little
+liking for the Controller, with whom he had exchanged only one or two
+calls, and who had the reputation of being a _tedescone_, a rank German.
+Nevertheless, being inclined to think the best of those with whom he was
+only slightly acquainted, he found no difficulty in extending to him the
+same cordial courtesy which it was his habit to show to every one. He
+went to meet his guest, velvet cap in hand, and after a skirmish of
+compliments which proved an easy victory for Pasotti, Gilardoni returned
+to the belvedere with him.
+
+Pasotti, on the other hand, felt a lively dislike for the Professor, not
+so much because he knew him to be a Liberal, as because, though
+Gilardoni did not go to Mass as often as he himself did, he lived like a
+Puritan, loving neither the table nor the bottle, neither tobacco nor
+certain loose discourses. Moreover he did not play _tarocchi_. One
+evening, when talking in the kitchen-garden with Don Franco, of the
+tremendous bouts of eating and drinking which Pasotti and his friends
+often celebrated in the taverns of Bisnago, the Professor had said
+something which was overheard by the big curate, one of the gluttons,
+whose boat, in which he himself sat fishing, happened to be gliding
+along very softly, close to the walls. "Miserable knave!" the most
+worthy Controller had exclaimed when the words were repeated to him, his
+face wearing the expression of a _bargnif bilioso_, of Satan with a
+bilious attack. The exclamation had been followed by a contemptuous
+snarl, after which the Controller spat protestingly. This, however, did
+not prevent him from overflowing on the present occasion with excuses
+for having unduly postponed his visit, nor from immediately spying out
+the volume resting on the rustic table of the belvedere. Gilardoni saw
+him glance at it and, as the book in question was one of those forbidden
+by the government, he took it up almost instinctively as soon as he had
+started the conversation, and rested it on his knee in such a manner
+that Pasotti could not read the title. This precaution disturbed
+Pasotti, who was just then praising the little villa and the garden in
+all their particulars, and in the tone best adapted to each part; the
+beets, with amiable familiarity, the aloes, with serious and frowning
+admiration. An angry light flashed in his eyes, and then disappeared.
+
+"Fortunate man," he sighed. "If my affairs would permit it, I myself
+should like to live in Valsolda."
+
+"It is a peaceful spot," said the Professor.
+
+"Yes, a peaceful spot; and, besides, nowadays those who have served the
+Government are not comfortable in the big towns. People make no
+distinction between a faithful official who attends strictly to his own
+duties, as I have done, and a police-spy. We are exposed to many
+suspicions, many humiliations----"
+
+The Professor turned red, and was sorry he had removed the book from the
+little table. In fact, notwithstanding his assumption of humility,
+Pasotti was too proud to act the spy, and, owing to this pride, or
+perhaps to some good strain in him, he had never done so. Thus in his
+words there was a grain of sincerity, a grain of gold, which sufficed to
+give them the ring of true metal. Gilardoni, touched by this, offered
+his guest a glass of beer, and hastened away in search of Pinella, glad
+of an excuse for leaving the book on the little table.
+
+Hardly had the Professor disappeared when Pasotti snatched up the
+volume, and gave it an inquisitive glance; then he laid it down on the
+same spot, and stationed himself at the top of the steps, toying with
+the snuff in the box he held open in his hand, and smiling a smile half
+of beatitude, half of admiration, at the lake, the hills and the sky.
+The book was a volume of Giusti, pretending to have been published in
+Brussels or rather _Brusselle_, and bearing the title: _Italian Poems,
+from manuscripts_. Written across one corner of the fly-leaf was the
+name: "Mariano Fornic." It needed less keenness than Pasotti possessed
+to perceive at once in that heteroclite, the anagram of Franco Maironi.
+
+"How lovely! What a paradise!" said he softly, while the Professor was
+coming up the steps followed by Pinella with the beer.
+
+Presently, between two sips of beer, he confessed that his visit was not
+entirely of a disinterested nature. He declared that he was in love
+with the blossoming wall that upheld the kitchen-garden on the
+lake-side, and that he wished to copy it at Albogasio Superiore, where,
+though the lake was wanting, there were plenty of bare walls. Where did
+the Professor get those aloes, those roses and caper-bushes?
+
+"Why," the other answered frankly. "Maironi gave them to me."
+
+"Don Franco?" Pasotti exclaimed. "Well done! I will appeal to Don
+Franco, who is always very kind to me."
+
+And he took out his snuff-box. "Poor Don Franco," said he, with all the
+tenderness of a compassionate rogue as he scrutinised and fingered the
+snuff. "Poor young man! He sometimes flies into a passion, but, after
+all, he is a splendid fellow. A heart of the best! Poor young man! Do
+you see him often?"
+
+"Yes, quite often."
+
+"If only his hopes could be realised, poor young man! His hopes and hers
+also, of course. That affair is not off, is it?"
+
+Pasotti put this question with the skill of a great actor, with
+affectionate but discreet interest, with no more curiosity than was
+fitting, and with the intention of lubricating and softening somewhat
+Gilardoni's closed heart, that it might open of itself, little by
+little. But Gilardoni's heart, instead of spreading itself open at that
+gentle touch, contracted and closed tighter than ever.
+
+"I don't know," the Professor replied, feeling the colour mounting to
+his face, and indeed he turned scarlet. In his mental note-book Pasotti
+immediately made a note of the embarrassed manner, and of the heightened
+colour. "He would be unwise to throw up the game. It is only natural
+that the Marchesa should create difficulties for them, but after all,
+she is a good creature, and devoted to him. Poor woman, what a fright
+she had the other night!"
+
+He glanced at the Professor who was frowning in uneasy silence, and
+reflected: You will not speak? Then you know. "Just think of it! Not to
+say where he was going! What do you think of that?"
+
+"But I know nothing about it, I don't understand." Gilardoni exclaimed,
+frowning more darkly still and growing ever more uneasy.
+
+And now Pasotti, who was aware that the Professor had long since ceased
+to visit the Rigeys, but was ignorant of the reason why, made a move
+which was worthy only of a novice in roguery.
+
+"You might enquire about it at Castello." said he, with a malicious
+simper.
+
+At this point Gilardoni, who was already boiling with rage, overflowed.
+
+"Pray oblige me by dropping this subject," said he, angrily, "oblige me
+by dropping it."
+
+Pasotti grew sullen. Ceremonious, insinuating, and given to adulation
+though he was, his pride would not allow him to suffer an unpleasant
+word calmly, and he took offence at every shadow. He said no more, and
+in a few minutes took his leave with dignified coolness, and retired
+through the beets and the turnips, nursing his wrath. On reaching the
+top of the Contrada dei Mal'ari, the _bargnif_ paused a moment to think,
+resting his chin on his hand, then he started towards the shore of
+Casarico, moving slowly, his head bent low, but with glistening eyes,
+like the poodle that smells the hidden truffle in the air. Don
+Giuseppe's frightened denials, Maria's obstinate denials, and the
+Professor's embarrassment and outburst of temper, told him that a
+truffle really existed, and that it must be a big one. He had thought of
+going to Loggi where dwelt Paolin and Paolon, both of whom were well
+informed, but then he had remembered that it was Tuesday, and that
+probably he would not find them. No, it would be better to go directly
+up to Castello from Casarico, and sniff and hunt about in the house of a
+certain Signora Cecca, an admirable woman, all heart, and famous for the
+assiduous watch she kept from her window over the entire Valsolda by
+means of a powerful spy-glass. She could tell you any day who had gone
+to Lugano with the boatman Pin, or with Panighet; noted the
+conversations the unhappy Pinella held with a certain Mochet in front of
+the church at Albogasio, half a mile distant; she knew how many days it
+had taken Engineer Ribera to drink the little cask of wine which his
+boat carried back empty from the house at Oria to the cellar at S.
+Margherita. If Franco had been to Casa Rigey Signora Cecca must surely
+know it.
+
+In the passage that leads from Casarico to the narrow street of
+Castello, Pasotti heard hurried steps behind him, and then some one
+brushed past him in the darkness and he believed he had recognised a man
+nicknamed "legora fugada" or the "hunted hare," because of the furious
+pace at which he always walked. This honest man, who was even more
+inquisitive than Pasotti, was a most worthy person who loved to know
+things just for the sake of knowing them, and for no other reason. He
+always went about alone, was everywhere, appearing and disappearing like
+a flash, sometimes in one place, sometimes in another, like certain
+large, winged insects, which pass with a glance, a whirr, a touch, and
+then, hush! they are neither heard nor seen again until there comes
+another glance, another whirr, another touch. He had seen the Pasottis
+enter the "Palace," and the unusual hour had caused him to suspect
+something. Lying flat in a small field he had seen Signora Barborin turn
+homewards, and the Controller start towards Casarico. Then, having
+followed at a distance, this individual had posted himself behind one of
+the pilasters of the portico of Casarico while Pasotti was calling on
+Gilardoni, and now he had slipped past him, taking advantage of the dark
+passage, and hastening to reach Castello before him, that he might watch
+his movements from some point of vantage.
+
+In fact he saw him enter Signora Cecca's house.
+
+The old lady, who had the goitre, was in her little parlour, holding a
+small urchin on her left arm, while with her free hand she supported a
+very long and slender pasteboard tube, which was struck slanting across
+the window like a wall-gun and pointed down at the sparkling lake, at a
+white sail, filled with the _breva_. On the entrance of Pasotti, who
+came forward with stooping shoulders, his face suffused with a most
+gentle gaiety, the kindly and hospitable old dame hastened to put down
+the monstrous pasteboard nose, which she was so fond of poking into the
+most distant affairs of others, where her own parchment nose, though it
+was long beyond measure, could not reach. She received the Controller as
+she might have received a saintly miracle-worker, who had come to remove
+her goitre.
+
+"Oh, how kind of you! Dear _Sior Controlor_! Oh, how kind! What a
+pleasure! What a pleasure!"
+
+And she made him sit down and nearly suffocated him with her offers of
+hospitality.
+
+"A piece of cake! A bit of nut-candy! Dear _Sior Controlor_! A little
+wine! A taste of _rosoho_!--You must excuse me," she added, for the
+youngster had begun to whine. "He is my little grandson, you know. My
+little pet."
+
+Pasotti took a great deal of urging, having not only Don Giovanni's
+cherries, but also Gilardoni's beer in his stomach, but finally he was
+obliged to yield, and resign himself to gnawing a piece of that accursed
+almond cake, while the urchin clung to his grandmother's goitre.
+
+At this the sarcastic rogue said pathetically, laughing in his sleeve
+the while: "Poor Signora Cecca! Twice a mother!" When he had enquired
+for her husband and for all her descendants even unto the third
+generation, he brought forward Signora Teresa Rigey. How was that poor
+lady? Bad! Really very bad? But since when had she been worse? Had there
+been any cause? Some trouble, perhaps? The old troubles were well known,
+but had there been some fresh ones? Perhaps on Luisina's account? About
+the marriage? And did Don Franco come to Castello? Ah, not in the
+daytime, but perhaps----?
+
+As the patient who is being questioned and examined by the surgeon
+searching for the painful, hidden spot, answers ever more briefly, ever
+more fearfully as the hand draws nearer and nearer to the point, and
+starts and draws back as soon as the spot is touched, so Signora Cecca
+answered Pasotti ever more briefly, ever more cautiously, until, at that
+"but" which touched the painful spot so delicately, she started,
+exclaiming--
+
+"A little more cake, _Sior Controlor_! It is a cake light enough for
+young girls."
+
+Pasotti in his heart cursed the "young girls" and their cake, a
+concoction of honey, chalk and almond oil, but deemed it prudent to
+swallow another mouthful before once more touching, or rather pressing
+the tender spot he had discovered.
+
+"I know nothing! I know nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Signora Cecca
+exclaimed. "Try sounding Puttini. Try Signor Giacomo. And pray don't ask
+me anything more." Again! Pasotti's face shone at the prospect of
+getting the unlucky Signor Giacomo into his clutches. Thus the eyes of a
+falcon might shine at the joyous prospect of snatching a frog, and of
+holding him in his claws, to toy with at pleasure. Presently he took his
+departure well satisfied with everything save with the chalky cake,
+which lay like lead in his stomach.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Casa Puttini, which, within its minute, genteel appearance, resembled
+the little old gentleman who ruled it, in a black coat and white stock,
+stood just below that stately pile, Casa Pasotti, on the road to
+Albogasio Inferiore. The falcon went there in the afternoon, towards
+five o'clock, with a cunning expression on his face. He knocked at the
+door and then listened. He was there! The unlucky frog was there! And he
+was quarrelling as usual with the perfidious servant. Pasotti knocked
+louder. "Go down!" said Signor Giacomo, but Marianna would not hear of
+going down to open the door. "Go down! I am the master!" It was all in
+vain. Pasotti knocked again, knocked like a battering-ram. "Who the
+devil can it be!" scolded Puttini, and he came down puffing: "Apff!
+apff!" to open the door. "Oh, most gracious Controller!" said he winking
+hard, and raising his eyebrows pathetically. "Pray excuse me! That awful
+servant! I am quite worn out! You would not believe the things that go
+on in this house!"
+
+"That is a lie!" Marianna cried from above.
+
+"Hold your tongue, you!" And then Signor Giacomo began telling his woes,
+stopping from time to time to silence the protests of the invisible
+servant.
+
+"Just fancy! This morning I went to Lugano. I got home about three
+o'clock. On the doorstep--look there--I saw some splashes. Hold your
+tongue, you! I did not heed them, and went straight in. At the head of
+the kitchen-stairs there were more splashes. Be quiet, will you?--What
+can have been spilled? said I to myself, and I stooped and touched the
+spots with my finger. It was something greasy; I smelt it, it was oil.
+Then I followed the splashes, touching and sniffing, sniffing and
+touching. All oil, most gracious Controller! So I said to myself again:
+Either it came in, or it went out. If it came in, the farmer brought it,
+and in that case there will be splashes outside the door, and they will
+extend upwards, if it went out, that means that this accursed.... Hold
+your tongue, I say!... took it to S. Mamette and sold it, and then the
+splashes outside will extend downwards. So back I went, always
+following the splashes and presently I found myself here at the door.
+Most gracious Controller, those splashes all extended downwards! That
+d----"
+
+At this point the servant's voice rang out like the bell on an
+alarm-clock, and no "hold your tongue" was strong enough to stem that
+shrill flow of angry words. Pasotti tried, and not succeeding, flew into
+a passion himself, and shouted: "Oh, you cheat!" following up that title
+with a string of insults, at each of which Signor Giacomo gave a low
+grunt of satisfaction. "Yes, yes, give it to her! that's right! I am
+much obliged to you. Yes, shout,--that's right. You torment, you!--I am
+really greatly obliged to you, most gracious Controller! Really greatly
+obliged!"
+
+When Marianna had been overpowered and reduced to silence, Pasotti told
+Signor Giacomo that he must speak a few words with him. "I am really not
+up to it," the little man complained. "You must excuse me, for I feel
+quite ill."
+
+"Not up to it, not up to it, indeed!" shouted Marianna who had revived.
+"You had better tell us how you wear yourself out going up to Castello
+at night to see the girls!"
+
+"Hold your tongue," Puttini shrieked, while Pasotti exclaimed, with a
+fiendish grin: "What, what, what!" Seeing that Puttini was becoming
+furious, he took him by the arm, and calming him with peaceful and
+affectionate language, dragged him away to his own house where he at
+once summoned his wife, and started a game of three-handed _tarocchi_,
+with the purpose of soothing the poor frog, and getting a firmer grip of
+him.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+If Signora Barborin played badly, Signor Giacomo, meditating, pondering
+and puffing, played worse. He was an extremely timid player, and never
+set himself up alone against the other two, but to-day at the very first
+deal, he discovered that he held such extraordinary cards that he was
+seized with a fit of courage, and, to use the language of the game, he
+_entered_. "Goodness knows what sort of a hand he has!" Pasotti growled.
+
+"I don't say.... I don't say.... There certainly are several friars who
+walk in slippers."
+
+Signor Giacomo's "I don't say" meant that he held marvellous cards, and
+the friars in slippers, in his lingo, were the four kings of the game.
+While he was getting ready to play, feasting his eyes upon his cards,
+and feeling each one in turn, Pasotti took the opportunity of opening
+fire, hoping to make him lose the game, into the bargain. "Come now,"
+said he, "tell us about it! When was it you went to Castello at night?"
+
+"Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Don't talk about it," Signor Giacomo replied, growing
+very red and sorting his cards faster than ever.
+
+"Well, well, play away then. We can talk later. I know the whole story
+any way!"
+
+Poor Signor Giacomo, how could he play with that bone in his throat? He
+sorted and puffed, led when he should not have done so, blundered in
+adding up the points, lost two of the friars and their slippers as well,
+and in spite of his splendid hand, left several markers in the clutches
+of Pasotti who was grinning with delight, and several more on the little
+plate beside Signora Barborin, who kept repeating with clasped hands:
+"What have you done, Signor Giacomo? what have you done?"
+
+Pasotti gathered up the cards and began shuffling them, casting sardonic
+glances at Signor Giacomo, who did not know where to look.
+
+"Certainly," said he, "I know everything. Signora Cecca told me the
+whole story. I assure you, my dear Political Deputy, you will be called
+upon to answer for this before the Imperial and Royal Commissary of
+Porlezza."
+
+With these words Pasotti passed the cards to Puttini, that he might cut.
+But Puttini, hearing that dreaded name, began to groan:
+
+"Oh Lord! Oh Lord! What is that you say?... I know nothing.... Oh Lord!
+The Imperial and Royal Commissary?... I assure you I can't see what
+for! ... apff!"
+
+"Certainly," Pasotti repeated. He was waiting for a word that should
+enlighten him, and by pointing first to the door and then to his own
+mouth, he made his wife understand that she was to fetch something to
+drink.
+
+"And that dreadful engineer as well!" Signor Giacomo exclaimed, as if
+speaking to himself.
+
+As the fisherman who, pulling hard on the long, heavy line quivering, he
+fancies, with the weight of the one big fish he has been angling for so
+long, finally redoubles his caution and skill, as, with a thrill, he
+sees two great shadowy fishes instead of one rising from the depths, so
+Pasotti, upon hearing this allusion to the engineer, was thrilled and
+amazed, and began preparing, with the most exquisitely delicate touch,
+to draw out this secret concerning Signor Giacomo and Ribera.
+
+"Certainly," said he, "you did wrong."
+
+Silence on Signor Giacomo's part.
+
+Pasotti insisted.
+
+"You did very wrong."
+
+But just then Signora Barborin entered, smiling genially, and bearing a
+tray with the bottle and glasses. The wine was of a dark red, shot
+through with ruby lights, and Signor Giacomo contemplated it if not yet
+tenderly, at least benevolently. This wine had an aroma of austere
+virtue, and Signor Giacomo smelt of it affectionately, gazed at it with
+emotion, and then smelt of it again. This wine had that mellow richness
+which fills both palate and soul with its flavour, and indeed it
+possessed exactly that honest and pure tartness that its aroma
+pre-announced, and Signor Giacomo sipped it and wished it were not
+liquid and evanescent, tasted it, smacked his lips over it, and rolled
+it under his tongue. When, from time to time, he rested his glass on the
+little table, neither his hand nor his languid gaze were withdrawn from
+it.
+
+"Poor Engineer! Poor Ribera!" Pasotti exclaimed. "He is a most upright
+man, but ..."
+
+And as he pulled and pulled the unlucky Signor Giacomo began to rise to
+the hook and the line.
+
+"I myself did not wish it," he said. "'Twas he made me go--'Come along,'
+said he. 'Why do you not wish to go? There will be no harm done. The
+thing is honest.' 'Yes!' I answered, 'so it seems to me also, but all
+this secrecy?' 'On account of the grandmother,' he replied. 'But then,'
+I asked, 'what sort of a figure shall you and I cut?' 'We are just a
+couple of simpletons!' he answered, with that way of his--honest,
+old-fashioned soul that he is,--that always gets round me. 'I will go,'
+said I."
+
+Here he paused. Pasotti waited a while, and then gave the line a
+cautious jerk. "The trouble is," said he, "that the story leaked out at
+Castello."
+
+"Yes, Sir, and I was sure it would. The family and the engineer might
+keep the secret, and of course I should never speak, but the priest and
+the sacristan would surely talk."
+
+The priest? The sacristan? Ah! at last Pasotti understood. He staggered!
+He had not expected such a tremendous disclosure. He filled the unhappy
+Signor Giacomo's glass, and had little difficulty in getting all the
+particulars of the wedding out of him. Then he tried to find out what
+plans for the future the young people had formed, but in this he did not
+succeed. He began shuffling the cards with the intention of continuing
+the game, but Signor Giacomo looked at his watch, and found that it
+wanted only nine minutes to seven, at which hour he was in the habit of
+winding his clock. Three minutes in the street, two minutes on the
+stairs, and there remained only four minutes for leave-taking. "Reckon
+it out for yourself, most gracious Controller. It is as I say: there is
+no doubt about it."
+
+Signora Bardorin, noticing this consultation, questioned her husband
+about it. Pasotti raised his hands to his mouth, and shouted into her
+face: "He wants to go and see his sweetheart!" "What nonsense! What
+nonsense!" poor Signor Giacomo exclaimed, turning all colours; and
+Signora Pasotti, having understood by a miracle, opened her mouth
+enormously wide, not knowing whether or no to believe her husband. "His
+sweetheart? Oh, what nonsense. It is foolish talk, is it not, Signor
+Giacomo? Of course you might have a sweetheart, I don't deny that.
+You're not old, but...!" Seeing that he really intended to be off, she
+tried to detain him, telling him she had some chestnuts from Venegono on
+the fire, which were nearly done, and begging him to accept some of
+them. But neither the chestnuts nor Pasotti's reproaches could persuade
+Signor Giacomo, and he departed with the spectre of the Imperial and
+Royal Commissary in his heart, harassed by unpleasant twinges of
+conscience, and a vague sense of dissatisfaction with himself, which he
+could not explain, and feeling instinctively that the perfidious
+servant's insolence was, after all, preferable to Pasotti's cajoleries.
+
+As to the latter, his eyes shone even brighter than usual. He intended
+going to Cressogno at once. Being an indefatigable walker he expected to
+get there by eight o'clock. He was hugely pleased at the prospect of
+going to the Marchesa with his great discovery _in pectore_, of acting
+mysteriously, of dropping the most artful hints, one by one, and of
+obliging her to wrest the particulars from him. For his own
+gratification he was already preparing a gentle and soothing little
+speech to lay upon the wound of the imperturbable old dame, so that she
+might not be able to hide it, and that no one might complain of him, not
+even Franco. He went to the kitchen where he got them to light a lantern
+for him, for the night was very dark, and then he set out.
+
+At the door he met his steward who was just coming in. The steward
+greeted him, and carried a large basket of fruit into the kitchen, and,
+having helped the maid put it away, he seated himself by the fire, and
+said placidly:
+
+"Signora Teresa of Castello has just passed away."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE OLD LADY OF MARBLE
+
+
+The door was opened a little way, very, very softly; the maid looked in,
+and called to Franco, who was absorbed in prayer, kneeling by a chair
+near the couch upon which the dead woman lay. Franco did not hear, and
+it was Luisa who rose. She went to listen to the woman's whispered
+request, said something in reply, and when the maid had withdrawn, stood
+waiting for some one. As no one appeared she pushed the door open and
+said aloud: "Come in, come in." A great sob answered her. Luisa
+stretched out both hands and Professor Gilardoni seized them. They stood
+some time thus, motionless, fighting their sorrow with tightly pressed
+lips, he more shaken than she. Luisa was the first to move. She gently
+withdrew one hand, and, with the other, led the Professor into the
+chamber of death.
+
+Signora Teresa had passed away in the drawing-room in the armchair from
+which she had never been able to rise after the night of the wedding.
+They had made the sofa into a funeral couch, and laid her out upon it.
+The sweet face rested there on the pillow, showing waxen in the light of
+the four candles, the lips were slightly parted, and it was as if a
+smile shone through the closed eyelids. The couch and the clothes were
+strewn with autumn flowers; cyclamen, dahlias and chrysanthemums. "See
+how beautiful she is," said Luisa, in a tender, quiet tone that went to
+the heart. The Professor stood leaning upon a chair at some distance
+from the bed.
+
+"Do you realise it, Mamma," Luisa said softly, "how much you are
+beloved?"
+
+She knelt down, and taking one of the dead hands, began kissing it,
+caressing it, and murmuring sweet words over it in a low voice; then she
+was silent, and, replacing the hand, she rose, kissed the brow and
+contemplated the face with clasped hands. She recalled her mother's
+reproofs in past years, remembering every one since her childhood, for
+she had always felt them deeply. Once more she fell upon her knees, and
+pressed her lips to the icy hand with an impulse of affection more
+ardent than if she had been dwelling upon past caresses. Then taking a
+cyclamen from her mother's shoulder, she rose and offered it to the
+Professor. He took it, weeping, and going to Franco, whom he now met for
+the first time since that night, he embraced him with silent emotion,
+and felt his embrace returned. Then, stepping very softly, he left the
+room.
+
+It was striking eight o'clock. Signora Teresa had died the night before
+at six; in twenty-six hours Luisa had never rested for a moment, and had
+left the room only four or five times for a few minutes. Franco it was
+who often went out, and remained away a long time.
+
+Summoned in secret he had reached Castello just in time to see the poor
+mother alive, and it had fallen to his lot to perform all the sad
+offices which death imposes, for Uncle Piero, in spite of his years, had
+not the slightest knowledge of these matters, and was greatly bewildered
+by them.
+
+Now, hearing it strike eight, he went to his wife and gently urged her
+to take a little rest, but Luisa answered him at once in a way that put
+an end to his insistence. The funeral was to take place the next morning
+at nine o'clock. She had wished it to be postponed for as long as
+possible, and intended to remain with her mother to the last. In her
+slim person there was an indomitable vigour capable of withstanding
+still greater trials. For her, her mother was there still, on that
+narrow couch, among the flowers. She did not think that a part of her
+was elsewhere, did not look out of the west window, seeking her among
+the tiny stars that trembled above the hills of Carona. Her one thought
+was that in a few hours, the darling mother, who had lived so many years
+for her alone, caring for naught else on earth save her happiness, would
+be laid away to sleep for ever under the great walnut-trees of Looch, in
+the shadowy solitude where the little cemetery of Castello rests in
+silence, while she herself would continue to enjoy life, the sun, and
+love. She had answered Franco almost sharply as if, in some way,
+affection for the living were an offence to the affection for the dead.
+Then, fearing she had hurt him, she repented, kissed him and endeavoured
+to pray, knowing that in this she would be pleasing him, and that
+certainly her mother would have expected this of her. She began reciting
+the _Pater_, the _Ave_ and the _Requiem_ over and over again, but
+without deriving the slightest comfort from them, experiencing, rather,
+a secret irritation, an unwelcome drying up of her grief. She had always
+practised religion, but, after the ardour of her first Communion had
+died out, her soul had ceased to be associated in religious observance.
+Her mother had lived rather for the next world than for this; she had
+regulated her every action, her every word, her every thought with that
+end in view. In her precocious intellectual development, Luisa's ideas
+and sentiments had taken another direction, with that determined vigour
+which was one of her characteristics. She covered these views, however,
+with certain half-conscious, half-unconscious dissimulations, partly for
+love of her mother, partly because some germ of religion, sown by
+maternal precepts, fostered by example, and strengthened by habit, had
+not died out. Since her fourteenth year she had been growing ever more
+inclined to look beyond this present life, and at the same time not to
+consider herself; to live for others, for the earthly good of others,
+but always, however, according to a strong and fierce sense of justice.
+She went to church, performed the external duties of her religion,
+without incredulity, but also without the conviction that they were
+pleasing to God. She had a confused conception of a God so great, so
+lofty, that no immediate contact was possible between Him and mankind.
+Sometimes, indeed, she feared she might be mistaken, but her possible
+error seemed to her of a nature such as no God of infinite goodness
+might punish. She herself did not know how she had come to think thus.
+
+The door opened very softly once more, and a low voice called, "Signor
+Don Franco." When Luisa was alone she ceased to pray, and resting her
+head upon her mother's pillow, she pressed her lips to the dear
+shoulder, closed her eyes and let the flood of memories flow over her
+that sprung from that touch, from that familiar odour of lavender. Her
+mother's dress was of silk, her best, and had been a present from Uncle
+Piero. She had worn it only once, some years before, on the occasion of
+a visit to the Marchesa Marioni. The odour of the lavender brought back
+this memory also, and with it came scalding tears, acrid with tenderness
+and with another sentiment that was not actually hatred, that was not
+actually anger, but that held the bitterness of both.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Franco could not at once account for the shudder that shook him when he
+heard his name called. Early that morning Uncle Piero had written to
+the Marchesa, announcing his sister's death in simple but most
+respectful language, and had enclosed a note from Franco himself, which
+ran as follows:
+
+ "DEAR GRANDMOTHER,--I have not time to write to you because I
+ am here, but I will tell you all by word of mouth to-morrow
+ evening. I hope you will listen to me as my father and mother
+ would have listened."
+
+No answer had as yet come from Cressogno, but now a man from Cressogno
+had brought a letter. Where was this man?--Gone; he would not stop a
+minute. Franco took the letter and read the address: "_Al. preg. Signor
+Ingegnere Pietro Ribera_." At the same time he recognised in the
+writing, the hand of the agent's daughter. He went up to Uncle Piero's
+room at once. The engineer, who was worn out, had gone to bed.
+
+When Franco brought him the letter he showed neither surprise nor
+curiosity, but said, calmly:
+
+"Open it."
+
+Franco placed the light on the chest of drawers, and opened the letter,
+keeping his back to the bed. As he stood, he seemed turned to stone; he
+neither breathed nor moved.
+
+"Well?" said the uncle.
+
+Silence.
+
+"I understand," the old man added. Then Franco let the letter fall, and
+stretching his hands above his head, he uttered a long "Ah!" deep and
+hoarse, and laden with amazement and horror.
+
+"Come, come!" Uncle Piero repeated, "what about this letter?"
+
+Franco roused himself, and hastened to embrace him, hardly able to
+restrain his sobs.
+
+The placid man bore this storm calmly and patiently for a time, but
+presently he began to defend himself, and demanded the letter. "Let me
+see it, let me see it," said he, and he muttered, "What can that blessed
+woman have written?"
+
+Franco brought the light and the letter, which he handed to Uncle Piero.
+His grandmother had written never a word, never a syllable; she had
+simply returned the engineer's letter and Franco's note. It was some
+time before the uncle could grasp this. He was never quick to understand
+things, and this thing was utterly incomprehensible to him! When at last
+he did make it out, he could not help saying: "Certainly this is very
+hard!" Then, seeing how beside himself Franco was, he added, with the
+big solemn voice he used when judging human actions _toto corde_,
+"Listen. It is, I should say----" (and he searched for the right word,
+in his own peculiar fashion puffing out his cheeks, and emitting a sort
+of rattling sound)"----an injustice! But I am by no means so extremely
+astonished as you are. Not all the wrong is on her side, my dear fellow,
+and so----However, I am sorry for you two, who will have to eat plain
+food and live in this miserable little town; but how about me? For my
+part, I gain by all this, and I may even say, I feel inclined to thank
+your grandmother. You see I have never founded a family of my own; I
+have always counted upon this family. Now my poor sister is dead, and if
+your grandmother had opened her arms to you, I should have been of no
+more use than an old cabbage stock. So you see----"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Franco was careful not to let his wife know about this matter, and
+although she was aware that the letters had been sent to Cressogno, she
+did not ask if his grandmother had answered, until after the funeral,
+until some hours after the funeral. The little drawing-room, the little
+terrace, the little kitchen, had been full of people all day long, from
+nine o'clock in the morning until nine in the evening. At ten Luisa and
+Franco left the house without a lantern, turned to the right, went very
+slowly and silently through the darkness of the village, and, passing
+the bright and windy turning to which rises the deep roar of the river
+of S. Mametti, stood among the shadows and the pungent odours of the
+walnut-trees of Looch. Shortly before they reached the cemetery, Luisa
+said softly to her husband: "Have you heard nothing from Cressogno?" He
+would have liked to hide at least part of the truth from her, but he
+could not. He said his note had been returned to him; and then Luisa
+wanted to know if his grandmother had sent a word of condolence to
+Uncle Piero. Franco's "no" was almost timid, and so uncertain that,
+after they had gone on a few steps a suspicion flashed across Luisa's
+mind, and she suddenly stopped, and seized her husband's arm. Before she
+had uttered a word Franco understood and embraced her as he had embraced
+Uncle Piero, only still more impetuously, telling her to take his heart,
+his soul, his life, to seek for nothing else in this world. He felt she
+was trembling violently in his arms, but neither then nor afterwards did
+a word on this subject pass between them. At the gate of the cemetery
+they knelt together. Franco prayed with the fervour of faith. Luisa,
+with eager eyes, pierced the earth where it had been disturbed near the
+entrance; pierced the coffin, and, in thought, fixed her gaze on her
+mother's mild and serious face; once more, in thought, but with an
+impulse so violent that the bars of the gate shook, she bent forward,
+lower and lower, pressed her lips to the lips of the dead woman,
+imprinting upon them a violence of affection, stronger than all the
+insults, than all the baseness of this world.
+
+Towards eleven o'clock she tore herself reluctantly away from the spot.
+Going slowly down the slippery and stony path beside her husband there
+suddenly arose before her mind's eye a vision of a future meeting with
+the Marchesa. She stopped, drawing herself up and clenching her fists,
+and from her handsome, intelligent face there shone forth such
+fierceness that, could the old lady of marble have seen her thus, have
+met her at that moment, she might not have surrendered, perhaps, but she
+would certainly have hastened to put herself on the defensive.
+
+
+
+
+Part Second
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+FISHERMEN
+
+
+Dr. Francesco Zerboli, Imperial and Royal Commissary of Porlezza, landed
+at the Imperial and Royal _Ricevitoria_--the custom-house--at Oria, on
+the tenth day of September, 1854, just as a truly imperial and royal sun
+was rising above the ponderous bastions of Galbiga, glorifying the
+little pink custom-house and the oleanders and beans of Signora Peppina
+Bianconi, and summoning to his office, in accordance with the
+regulations, Signor Carlo Bianconi, her husband, that same Receiver of
+Customs who had scented conspiracy in manuscript music. Bianconi, whom
+his wife called _el me Carlascia_,--"my big Charley"--and the people,
+_el Biancon_, a tall man, fat and solid, with a clean-shaven chin, a
+grey moustache, and the large dull eyes of a faithful mastiff, went down
+to meet that other clean-shaven Imperial and Royal one, of higher rank.
+There was no resemblance between the two, save in the Austrian nudity of
+their chins. Zerboli, dressed in black and carefully gloved, was short
+and stout, and wore a pair of fair moustaches flattened against his
+sallow face, out of which peered two small, sarcastic, and scornful
+sparks of eyes. His hair grew so low on his forehead that he was in the
+habit of shaving off a strip, and at times a shade showed there, that
+gave him the appearance of some strange beast. Quick in his movements,
+in his glance, in his speech, he spoke, with easy courtesy, a nasal
+Italian, having the modulations of the province of Trento. He now
+informed the Receiver that he had come to hold a _convocato_--the
+communal council of those days--at Castello, and that he had preferred
+to come early and climb the hill while it was cool, from Oria rather
+than from Casarico or Albogasio, that he might have the pleasure of
+greeting the Receiver.
+
+The big, faithful mastiff did not at once understand that the Commissary
+had a second end in view, and poured forth his thanks in a medley of
+obsequious phrases, and short, silly laughs, rubbing his hands and
+offering coffee, milk, eggs, and the open air of the little garden. The
+other accepted the coffee, but declined the open air with a motion of
+his head and a wink so eloquent, that Carlascia, after shouting
+upstairs, "Peppina!" ushered him into the office where, feeling himself
+transformed (such was his double nature) from a receiver of customs into
+a police-officer, he composed himself, and put on an expression of
+austerity, as if about to enter into a sacramental union with the
+monarch himself. This office was a miserable hole on the ground floor,
+with iron gratings at the two small windows; an infectious and primitive
+cell, that already stunk of the great empire. The Commissary seated
+himself in the middle of the room, looking at the closed door that led
+from the landing-stage to the ante-room, the one leading from the
+ante-room to the office having been left open by his orders.
+
+"Tell me something of Signor Maironi," said he.
+
+"He is still watched," Bianconi answered, and continued in the Italian
+of Porta Tosa. "By the way--wait a moment--I have a report here that is
+nearly finished." And he began hunting and fumbling among his papers, in
+search of the report and of his glasses.
+
+"You will send it in, you will send it in!" exclaimed the Commissary,
+who had a dread of the big mastiff's prose.
+
+"Meanwhile speak. Tell me everything."
+
+"He is as ill-intentioned as ever. We knew before he was
+ill-intentioned, but now it is very evident," the eloquent Receiver
+continued. "He has begun to wear that beard--you know--that midget--that
+_moschetta_--that pointed tuft, that filthy----"[I]
+
+"Pardon me," said the Commissary, "you see I am new to the place. I have
+my instructions and I have received some information, but as yet I have
+no exact knowledge of the man and his family. You must describe them to
+me as minutely as you can. Let us begin with him."
+
+"He is a proud man, violent and overbearing. He has quarrelled here at
+least fifty times over questions of duty. He will never give in, and he
+wants to teach me and the guard also. His eyes flash as if he were going
+to eat the custom-house. But it is no use being overbearing with me,
+even if he----For indeed he knows almost everything, and that is a fact!
+He knows law, finance, music, flowers, fish, and the devil knows what
+all else."
+
+"And she?"
+
+"She? Oh, she is a sly puss, but when she shows her claws they are worse
+than his; much worse! When he is angry he turns red and makes a great
+row, she turns pale and is devilish insolent. Of course I never tolerate
+her insolence, but--well, you understand. She is a talented woman, I can
+tell you. My Peppina is devoted to her. She is a woman who makes friends
+everywhere. Here in Oria they often send for her instead of sending for
+the doctor. If there is a quarrel in a family, they send for her. If an
+animal has the stomach-ache, she must come. All the children run after
+her, and she even makes little dolls for them at Carnival time. You
+know, those little puppets. Moreover this woman can play on the spinet,
+and knows French and German. I am so unfortunate as not to speak German,
+so I have been to her several times to get German documents explained,
+when such come to the office."
+
+"Ah! So you go to the Maironis' house?"
+
+"Yes, sometimes, for that purpose."
+
+In truth the big mastiff also went there to get Franco to explain
+certain enigmatical passages in the customs-tariff to him, but he did
+not say so.
+
+The Commissary continued his examination.
+
+"And how is the house furnished?"
+
+"Well, very well. Fine Venetian floorings, painted ceilings, sofas
+heavily draped, a spinet, a splendid dining-room all hung with
+portraits."
+
+"And the Engineer-in-Chief?"
+
+"The engineer is a jolly, old-fashioned, kind man; he resembles me,
+though he is older. But he is not here much. He comes for two weeks
+about this time of the year, and two weeks more in the Spring, and he
+pays a few short visits in between. Just leave him alone, and let him
+have his milk in the morning, his milk at night, his flask of Modena for
+dinner, his game of _tarocchi_, and his _Milan Gazette_, and Engineer
+Ribera is perfectly happy. But to return to Signor Maironi's beard.
+There is something even worse! I discovered yesterday that the gentleman
+has planted a jasmine in a wooden box painted red!"[J]
+
+The Commissary, a man of parts, and probably in his secret heart,
+indifferent to all colours save that of his own complexion and his own
+tongue, could not refrain from slightly shrugging his shoulders.
+Nevertheless, he presently asked--
+
+"Is the plant in blossom?"
+
+"I don't know. I will ask the woman."
+
+"Ask whom? Your wife? So your wife goes to Casa Maironi also?"
+
+"Yes, from time to time."
+
+Zerboli fixed his two little scornful eyes on Bianconi's face, and put
+the following question, enunciating every syllable very distinctly.
+
+"Does she, or does she not, go there from good motives?"
+
+"Well, as to that, it depends! She imagines she goes as a friend of
+Luisina's, to talk about the flowers, their sewing, and for little bits
+of gossip, and they chatter and chirp away as women will; you know the
+way. But I get out of her----"
+
+"_Te chi, te chi!_ Behold, behold!" Signora Peppina Bianconi exclaimed
+in her Porta Ticinese dialect, as she came forward with the coffee,
+smiling pleasantly. "The Commissary! What a pleasure it is to see you! I
+am afraid the coffee isn't very good, but any way it is fresh made. It
+is a great nuisance not being able to have it from Lugano!"
+
+"Tut, tut, tut!" grumbled her husband crossly.
+
+"Well, what harm is that? I only said so in fun. You understood, didn't
+you, _Sur Commissari_? That blessed man there never understands
+anything. I never get any coffee for myself, anyway. I am taking
+mallow-water now for a dizzy head."
+
+"Don't talk so much, don't talk so much!" her husband interpolated, and
+the Commissary, setting down the empty cup, told the good woman that he
+was coming to see her flowers presently, and this gallantry was like the
+act of one who, at a cafe, throws the money upon the tray, that the
+waiter may take it and be gone.
+
+Signora Peppina understood, and awed by the ferocious eyes of her
+Carlascia, withdrew in haste.
+
+"Listen, listen, listen," the Commissary exclaimed, covering his brow
+with his left hand, and pressing his temples. "Oh!" he ejaculated,
+suddenly remembering, "I have it! I wanted to inquire if Engineer Ribera
+is in Oria at present."
+
+"He is not here now, but I believe he is coming very shortly."
+
+"Does Engineer Ribera spend much money on this Maironi family?"
+
+"He certainly must spend a great deal. I don't believe Don Franco has
+more than three _svanziche_ a day of his own, and she----" The Receiver
+blew across the palm of his hand. "So you see----! They keep a servant.
+They have a little girl about two years old, and so they must needs keep
+a maid to look after the child. They send away for flowers, books,
+music, and all sorts of things. Of an evening they play cards, and there
+is always a bottle of wine. It takes a good many _svanziche_ to live in
+this way, you know."
+
+The Commissary reflected a moment with a clouded brow, and eyes rolled
+up to the ceiling, and then, in short, disjointed sentences that sounded
+like fragments of an oracle, he let it be understood that Engineer
+Ribera, an Imperial and Royal official, recently favoured by the
+Imperial and Royal government with a promotion _in loco_, should exert a
+better influence over his nephew's family. Then with further
+questionings and further observations touching the engineer's present
+weaknesses, he intimated to Bianconi that his paternal attention should
+be directed with special secrecy and delicacy towards their Imperial and
+Royal colleague, in order that--should this become necessary--they might
+be able to enlighten their Superiors concerning certain acts of
+tolerance which would be scandalous. He ended by inquiring if Bianconi
+was aware that the lawyer V. from Varenna and another individual from
+Loveno were in the habit of visiting the Maironis quite often. The
+Receiver knew this, and had learned from his Peppina that they came to
+make music. "I don't believe it," the Commissary announced, with sudden
+and unusual asperity. "Your wife does not understand at all. If you go
+on like this, my dear Bianconi, they will lead you by the nose. Those
+two are a couple of rascals, who would be better off at Kufstein.[K] You
+must seek for more information, and when you have obtained it, you will
+pass it on to me. And now let us go into the garden. By the way, when
+anything comes from Lugano for the Marchesa Maironi----" Zerboli
+finished the sentence with a gesture of amiable munificence, and started
+forward, followed by the deeply mortified mastiff.
+
+Signora Peppina allowed them to find her in the garden watering the
+flowers aided by a small boy. The Commissary looked, admired, and found
+a means of giving the subaltern police-officer a little lesson. By
+praising her flowers he easily led Signora Bianconi to mention Franco,
+but, as if quite indifferent to that gentleman, he did not dwell a
+moment upon him, but stuck to the flowers, declaring that Maironi could
+not possibly have finer ones. Little cries, groans, and ejaculations
+broke from the humble Signora Peppina, who was really embarrassed by
+such a comparison. But the Commissary insisted. How? Even the Casa
+Maironi fuchsias were finer? The heliotrope and the _pelargonia_ also?
+How about the jasmine?
+
+"The jasmine!" Signora Peppina exclaimed. "Why, Signor Maironi has the
+finest jasmine in the whole Valsolda, my dear sir!"
+
+Thus, in the most natural way possible, did the Commissary presently
+discover that the famous jasmine had not yet blossomed. "I should like
+to see Don Franco's dahlias," said he. The ingenuous creature offered to
+accompany him to Casa Ribera that very day. "They will be so
+delighted!" But the Commissary expressed his desire to wait the coming
+of the Imperial and Royal Engineer-in-Chief, that he might have an
+opportunity of greeting him, whereupon Signora Peppina said approvingly:
+"That is right." Meanwhile the mastiff, humiliated by that superior
+skill, and wishing to show in some way that, at least, he was zealous,
+seized the boy with the watering-pot by the arm, and presented him:
+
+"My nephew. Son of a sister of mine, married to an Imperial and Royal
+doorkeeper, at the police station in Bergamo. He has the honour to bear
+the names, _Francesco Giuseppe_--Francis Joseph--bestowed upon him by my
+express desire. Of course, you see, it would not be respectful to use
+these names ordinarily----"
+
+"His mother calls him Rati, and his father calls him Ratu, fancy that!"
+Aunt Peppina put in.
+
+"Be quiet!" said his uncle. "I call him Francesco. He is a well-behaved
+boy, I must say; a very well-behaved boy. Now tell us, Francesco, what
+are you going to do when you are a man?"
+
+Rati rattled off his answer as if he were reciting his catechism.
+
+"When I am a man I shall always comport myself as behooves a faithful
+and devoted subject of His Majesty our Emperor, and a good Christian;
+and I hope, with the help of the Lord, to become some day, an Imperial
+and Royal Receiver of Customs like my uncle, that I may, at last, enter
+Paradise, and be duly rewarded for my virtuous actions."
+
+"Well done, well done, well done!" said Zerboli, caressing Rati. "Always
+walk in the path of virtue."
+
+"You be quiet, _Sur Commissari_," Peppina once more burst out. "This
+morning the little villain ate half the sugar out of the sugar-basin!"
+
+"What, what, what?" Carlascia exclaimed, forgetting his part in his
+astonishment. He remembered himself at once however, and declared: "It
+was your own fault. Things should be put away. Is not that true,
+Francesco?"
+
+"Perfectly," Rati answered; and the Commissary vexed at this wrangle,
+and at the twist his paternal admonition had received, took himself off
+without ceremony.
+
+Hardly had he disappeared when Carlascia scolded angrily: "You take the
+sugar again if you dare, you!" and hit Francis Joseph a formidable knock
+on the side of the head. This worthy had expected quite different
+treatment, and ran off to hide among the beans. Then Bianconi had it out
+with his wife, scolding her roundly, and swearing that in the future he
+would look after the sugar himself; and upon her daring retort: "What
+business is it of yours, after all?" he flung out: "Everything is my
+business, everything is my business!" and turning his back upon her,
+strode off, puffing and tingling, to the spot where his attentive wife
+had prepared the fishing-rod and the _polenta_, and began to bait the
+two great hooks he used in catching tench. In the olden days that little
+world was even more completely isolated from the great world than at
+present, and was, even more than at present, a world of silence and of
+peace, in which the functionaries of both State and Church, and,
+following their venerable example, many faithful subjects as well,
+dedicated several hours a day to edifying contemplation. Seated first on
+the West, the Receiver cast two hooks attached to a single line, two
+tempting mouthfuls of _polenta_, as far out from the shore as possible;
+when the line was stretched tight, when the float seemed firmly anchored
+in quiet expectation, the Imperial and Royal personage placed the short
+rod delicately upon the low wall, and sat down to contemplate. To the
+east of him the _sedentario_, as the customs-guard was then called,
+crouching on the humble landing-stage in front of another float, smoked
+his pipe and contemplated. A few steps beyond old, half-starved Custant,
+a retired white-washer, sacristan and churchwarden, one of the
+patricians of the village of Oria, sat in contemplation, on the prow of
+his boat, a lofty, prehistoric, tall hat on his head, the magic wand in
+his hand, his legs dangling above the water, and his soul concentrated
+on his own particular float. Seated on the edge of a small field, in the
+shade of a mulberry-tree and a large, black, straw hat, the puny, thin,
+be-spectacled Don Brazzova, parish-priest of Albogasio, was lost in
+contemplation, his image reflected in the clear water. In a
+kitchen-garden of Albogasio Inferiore, between the banks of the Ceron
+and that of Mandroeugn, another patrician in a jacket and high boots,
+the churchwarden Bignetta, called _el Signoron_, the _fine gentleman_,
+sitting stiff and solemn, upon an eighteenth century chair, with the
+famous rod in his hand, watched and contemplated. Under the fig-tree at
+Cadate, Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri sat in contemplation. At S. Mamette
+the doctor, the grocer, and the shoemaker were hanging over the water
+and contemplating most diligently. At Cressogno the Marchesa's florid
+cook was contemplating. Opposite Oria, on the shady deserted shore of
+Bisgnago, a dignified arch-priest from lower Lombardy was in the habit
+of leading a life of contemplation for forty days every year. All alone
+he sat, with three rods resting at his feet, while with the air of a
+bishop, he contemplated the three floats belonging to these rods--two
+with his eyes, one with his nose. If some one, passing far out on the
+lake could have seen all these brooding figures without perceiving the
+rods, the lines, and the floats, he would have thought himself in a
+country inhabited by hermits and ascetics, who, weary of the earth, were
+contemplating the sky in this liquid mirror, simply for the sake of
+greater convenience.
+
+As a matter of fact, all these ascetics were fishing for tench, and no
+mystery the future of humanity might contain could be of more
+importance to them than those mysteries at which the little float
+secretly hinted, when, as if possessed by a spirit, it showed signs of
+growing unrest, and, at last, even of mental derangement; for, after
+dipping and jerking, now forward, now backward, it would at last, in the
+utter confusion of its ideas, choose the desperate course of plunging
+head foremost into the depths. These phenomena, however, occurred only
+at rare intervals, and some of the contemplators would pass whole
+half-days without noticing the slightest movement in their floats. Then
+each one, removing his eyes from the bit of cork, would follow a line of
+thought running parallel with the line attached to the rod. Thus it
+sometimes happened that the arch-priest would land an episcopal see, the
+"fine gentleman," a wood that had once belonged to his ancestors, the
+cook, a tench from the hills, rosy and fair, and Custant, an order from
+government to whitewash the peak of Cressogno. As to Carlascia, his
+second line was usually of a political nature, and the reason of this
+will be more readily grasped if we reflect that the main line, the one
+attached to the rod, often awoke in his big, dull head certain political
+considerations which the Commissary Zerboli had suggested to him. "You
+see, my dear Receiver," Zerboli had once said, when discoursing weakly
+about the events which had taken place on the sixth of February in
+Milan, "you who fish for tench, can easily understand this matter. Our
+great monarchy is fishing with a line. The twin baits are Lombardy and
+the Venetian provinces; two round and tempting morsels, with iron
+inside. Our monarchy has cast them there at its feet, opposite the
+lurking-place of that foolish little fish, Piedmont. In 1848 it grabbed
+at the bait Lombardy, but eventually succeeded in spitting it out and
+making off. Milan is our float. When Milan moves, it means that the
+little fish is just beneath. Last year the float moved a wee bit, but
+the dear little fish had only sniffed at the bait. But wait, some day
+there will be a violent movement, and we shall give a jerk; there will
+be some struggling, some floundering, but we shall land our little fish,
+and never let it escape again, the little white, red, and green pig!"
+
+Bianconi had laughed heartily at this, and often when he sat down to
+fish, he would amuse himself by ruminating on this graceful simile, from
+which would generally arise other subtle and profound political musings.
+That morning the lake was quiet and most favourable to contemplation.
+The tallest grass of the precipitous bottom could be seen standing
+erect, a sign that there was no under-current. The baited hook cast far
+out, sunk straight and slowly, the line stretched evenly and smoothly
+below the float which sailed behind it a little way, surrounded by a
+series of tiny rings, that told of the ticklings of small carp, and then
+sunk into repose, a sign that the bait was resting on the bottom, and
+that the carp no longer worried it. The fisherman placed the short rod
+on the low wall, and fell to thinking of Engineer Ribera.
+
+Though he was not aware of it Bianconi had a large dose of meekness in
+one corner of his heart which God, without informing him of it, had made
+with a false bottom. The world had proof of this in 1859, when the dear
+little fish, having swallowed the bait Lombardy, with the hook, the
+line, the rod, the Commissary, and everything else, Bianconi took to
+planting national and constitutional cabbages at Precotto. In spite of
+this hidden meekness, as he now laid down his rod and reflected that
+poor, old Engineer Ribera was to be fished for, he experienced a
+singular satisfaction, neither in his heart, nor his head, nor in any of
+the usual senses, but in a particular sense of his own, purely Imperial
+and Royal! Indeed he had no consciousness of himself as distinct from
+the Austrian governing organism. Receiver at a small frontier
+customs-house, he considered himself the point of the nail on a finger
+of the state; then, as a police-agent, he considered himself a
+microscopic eye under that nail. His life was that of the monarchy. If
+the Russians tickled the skin of Galicia, he felt the itching at Oria.
+The greatness, the power, the glory of Austria inflated him with
+unbounded pride. He would not admit that Brazil was vaster than the
+Austrian Empire, or that China was more thickly populated, or that the
+Archangel Michael could take Peschiera, or the Almighty Himself take
+Verona. His real Almighty was the Emperor; he respected the One in
+Heaven as an ally of the one at Vienna.
+
+So, although he had never suspected that Engineer Ribera was an
+unfaithful subject, the Commissary's words--gospel truth to him--had
+carried conviction with them, and the idea of getting hold of this
+untrustworthy servant fired the zeal of the royal eye and the imperial
+finger nail. He called himself an ass for not having seen through this
+man before. Oh, but there was still time to catch him and hold him fast,
+fast, fast! "You just leave it to me! Just leave it to me, Signor
+Comm----"
+
+He broke off suddenly and seized the rod. Gently, almost without moving,
+the float had printed a ring on the water, the sign of a tench. Bianconi
+clutched the rod tight, holding his breath. Another dip of the float,
+another and larger ring; the float moved slowly, slowly upon the water,
+and then stopped. Bianconi's heart was beating violently; the float
+moved still a little further on the surface, and then went under; zag!
+Bianconi gave a jerk, and the rod bowed with the tugging on the line of
+a hidden fish. "Peppina, I've got him!" shouted Carlascia, losing his
+head. "The _guadell_, the _guadell_!" The customs-guard turned round
+enviously: "Have you got him, _Scior Recitor_?" Custant, consumed with
+envy, gave no sign, not even turning his tall hat. Rati and Signora
+Peppina came rushing up, the latter bringing the _guadell_, a long pole
+with a large net at the end of it, used for bagging the tench in the
+water, for it would be a desperate risk to lift it up by the line.
+Bianconi took the line and began drawing it in very slowly. The tench
+was not yet visible, but must surely be enormous. The line came in
+smoothly for a few feet, and then was jerked violently back; then it
+began to come in again, nearer, ever nearer, until, far down below the
+surface, underneath the very noses of the three personages, something
+yellow flashed, a monstrous shadow! "Oh, the beauty!" said Signora
+Peppina under her breath. Rati exclaimed: "_Madone, Madone!_" But
+Bianconi spoke never a word, and only pulled and pulled cautiously. It
+was a fine, big fellow, short and fat, with a dark back and a yellow
+belly, this fish that was coming up from the depths, nearly exhausted
+and moving crosswise with evident reluctance.
+
+The three faces did not please the fish, for it suddenly turned tail
+upon them, and once more dived furiously towards the depths. At last,
+however, completely exhausted, it followed the line, and appeared at the
+foot of the wall, its gilded belly uppermost. Signora Peppina, almost
+upside down on the parapet, plunged her rod as far as it would go,
+seeking in vain to bag the unhappy fish. "By the head!" shouted her
+husband. "By the tail!" piped Rati. At the noise, at sight of that
+terrible net, the fish struggled and dived. Peppina worked harder than
+ever, but could find neither head nor tail. Bianconi pulled and the
+tench rose to the surface once more, coiled itself up, and with a mighty
+jerk, snapped the line, and shot off amid the foam. "_Madone!_"
+exclaimed Rati, while Peppina continued to hunt about in the water with
+her rod. "Where is that fish? Where is that fish?" Bianconi, who had sat
+as one petrified, still grasping the line, now faced about in a rage; he
+kicked Rati, caught his wife by the shoulder, and shook her like a bag
+of nuts, loading her with reproaches. "Has it made off, _Scior
+Recitor_?" asked the customs-guard mellifluously. Custant turned his
+tall hat just a little, glanced towards the scene of the disaster, and
+then, returning to the contemplation of his own placid float, mumbled in
+an indulgent tone: "_Minga pratich!_ Not skillful!"
+
+Meanwhile the tench had returned to its native grass-grown depths,
+melancholy but free, like Piedmont after Novara. It is, however,
+doubtful if the poor Engineer-in-Chief will be equally fortunate.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[I] A short, pointed beard, called _la mosca_, and worn by patriots in
+those days. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[J] Box, red; leaves, green; flower, white. The Italian colours, so the
+worthy Receiver scents sedition. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[K] Kufstein was one of the Austrian fortresses where "politicals" were
+imprisoned. [_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE MOONSHINE AND CLOUD SONATA
+
+
+The sun was sinking behind the brow of Monte Bre and darkness was
+rapidly covering the precipitous shores and the houses of Oria, stamping
+the purple and gloomy profile of the hill on the luminous green of the
+waves, which were running obliquely towards the west, still high, but
+foamless in the tired _breva_. The lights in Casa Ribera had been the
+last to go out. Standing against the steep vineyards of the mountainside
+dotted with olives, it spanned the narrow road that follows the
+coast-line, its modest facade rising from the clear water, and flanked
+on the west, towards the village, by a little hanging-garden, divided
+into two tiers, on the east, towards the church, by a small terrace
+raised on pillars, which framed a square of church ground. In this
+facade there was a small boathouse where at that time the boat belonging
+to Franco and Luisa lay rocking on the jostling waves. Above the
+boathouse a slender gallery united the hanging-garden on the west and
+the terrace on the east, and looked out upon the lake by means of three
+windows. They called it a loggia, perhaps because it really had been
+one in olden times. The old house bore incrusted here and there several
+of these venerable, fossil names, which had survived through tradition,
+and represented, in their apparent absurdity, the mysteries of the
+religion of domestic walls. Behind the loggia was a spacious hall, and
+there were two rooms more behind that. On the west was the small
+dining-room, its walls covered with little, illustrious, paper men, each
+under his own glass and in his own frame, each in a dignified attitude,
+like the illustrious in flesh and blood, looking as if his colleagues
+did not exist at all, and the world was gazing at him alone. On the east
+was the alcove-room, where next to her parents, in her own little bed,
+slept Signorina Maria Maironi, born in August, 1852.
+
+From the great rococo chests to the bed-rooms, the kitchen cupboard, the
+black clock in the little dining-room, the sofa in the loggia, with its
+brown cover, sprinkled with red and yellow Turks; from the
+straw-bottomed chairs to the armchairs with disproportionately high
+arms, the furniture of the house all belonged to the epoch of the
+illustrious men, most of whom wore the wig and pigtail. Even though it
+did appear to have just descended from the garret, it seemed,
+nevertheless, to have regained in the light and air of its new
+surroundings certain lost habits of cleanliness, a decided interest in
+life, and the dignity of old age. Thus a collection of disused words
+might to-day be composed by the breath of some aged and conservative
+poet, and reflect his serene and graceful senility. Under the
+mathematical and bureaucratic rule of Uncle Piero, chairs and armchairs,
+tables large and small, had lived in perfect symmetry, and the privilege
+of immobility had been extended to the very mats themselves. The only
+piece of furniture which might have been called _movable_, was a grey
+and blue cushion, an abortive mattress, which the engineer, during his
+short visits at Oria, carried with him when he moved from one easy-chair
+to another. When he was absent the caretaker respected all relics of him
+to such an extent as never to dare touch them familiarly, or dust the
+less visible parts. This caused the housekeeper to fly into a rage,
+regularly, every time they returned to Valsolda. The master, vexed that
+a little dust should cause so much scolding of a poor peasant, would
+reprimand her, and suggest that she do the dusting herself; and when the
+woman--by way of a scornful retort--would demand, wrathfully, if she was
+to kill herself with dusting the house every time they came, he would
+answer good-naturedly: "If you kill yourself once, that will be
+sufficient."
+
+The cultivation of the little garden as well as of a kitchen-garden he
+owned to the east of the church grounds, he left entirely to the caprice
+of the caretaker. Only once, two years before Luisa's marriage, arriving
+at Oria at the beginning of September, and finding six stalks of maize
+growing on the second terrace of the little garden, did he allow
+himself to say to the man: "Look here, my friend. Couldn't you really
+get along without those six stalks of Indian corn?"
+
+Those liberal poets, Franco and Luisa, had breathed upon things and
+changed their aspect. Franco's poetry was more ardent, fervid and
+passionate; Luisa's more prudent. Thus Franco's sentiments always flamed
+out in his eyes, his face, his words, while Luisa's seldom burst into
+flames, and only tinged the depths of her penetrating glance, and her
+soft voice. Franco was conservative only in matters of religion and art;
+he was an ardent radical as far as the domestic walls were concerned,
+always planning transformations of ceilings, walls, floors, and drapery.
+Luisa began by admiring his genius, but as nearly all the funds came
+from her uncle, and there was little margin for extraordinary
+undertakings, she persuaded him, very gently and little by little, to
+leave the walls, the ceilings, and the floors as they were, and to study
+how best to arrange the furniture without seeking to transform it. And
+she would make suggestions without appearing to do so, letting him
+believe the ideas were his own, for Franco was jealous of the paternity
+of ideas, while Luisa was quite indifferent to this sort of maternity.
+Thus, together, they arranged the hall as a music-room, drawing-room,
+and reading-room; the loggia as a card-room, while the terrace was
+sacred to coffee and contemplation. This small terrace became in
+Franco's hands the lyric poem of the house. It was very tiny and Luisa
+felt that here a concession might be made, and an outlet provided for
+her husband's enthusiasms. It was then that the king of Valsoldian
+mulberry-trees fell from his throne, the famous and ancient mulberry of
+the churchyard, a tyrant that deprived the terrace of the finest view.
+Franco freed himself from this tyrant by pecuniary means; then he
+designed and raised above the terrace an airy context of slim rods and
+bars of iron which formed three arches surmounted by a tiny cupola, and
+over this he trained two graceful passion-flower vines, that opened
+their great blue eyes here and there, and fell on all sides in festoons
+and garlands. A small round table and some iron chairs served for coffee
+and contemplation. As to the little hanging-garden, Luisa would have
+been willing to put up even with maize, with that tolerance of the
+superior mind which loves to humour the ideas, the habits, the
+affections of inferior minds. She felt a sort of respectful pity for the
+horticultural ideals of the poor caretaker, for that mixture of
+roughness and gentleness he had in his heart, a great heart, capable of
+holding at once, reseda and pumpkins, balsam and carrots. But Franco,
+generous and religious though he was, would not have tolerated a carrot
+or a pumpkin in his garden for love of any neighbour. All stupid
+vulgarity irritated him. When the unfortunate kitchen-gardener heard Don
+Franco declare that the little garden was a filthy hole, that
+everything must be torn up, everything thrown away, he was so dazed and
+humiliated as to excite pity; but when, working under his master's
+orders, tracing out paths, bordering them with tufa-stones, planting
+flowers and shrubs, he saw how skilful Franco himself was with his
+hands, and how many terrible Latin names he knew, and what a surprising
+talent he possessed for imagining new and beautiful arrangements, he
+conceived, little by little, an almost fearful admiration for him, which
+soon--in spite of many scoldings--developed into devoted affection.
+
+The little hanging garden was transformed in Franco's own image and
+likeness. An _olea fragrans_ in one corner spoke of the power of gentle
+things over the hot, impetuous spirit of the poet; a tiny cypress, not
+over-acceptable to Luisa, spoke in another corner of his religiosity; a
+low, brick parapet, in open-work pattern, ran between the cypress and
+the _olea_, supporting two parallel rows of tufa-stones, between which
+blossomed a smiling colony of verbenas, petunias, and wall-flowers, and
+spoke of the singular ingenuity of its author; the many rose-bushes
+scattered everywhere spoke of his love of classic beauty; the _ficus
+repens_ which decked the walls towards the lake, the twin orange-trees
+between the two tiers, and a vigorous carob-tree, revealed a chilly
+temperament, a fancy turning always towards the south, insensible to the
+fascination of the north.
+
+Luisa had worked far harder than her husband, and still continued to do
+so, but whereas he was proud of his labours and glad to speak of them,
+Luisa, on the contrary, never mentioned hers, nor was she in the least
+proud of them. She laboured with the needle, the crochet, the iron, the
+scissors, with a wonderful, calm rapidity; working for her husband, her
+child, the poor, herself, and for the adornment of her house. Each room
+contained some creation of hers; dainty curtains, rugs, cushions, or
+lamp-shades. It was also her duty to arrange the flowers in the hall and
+the loggia; no flowers in pots, for Franco did not have many, and did
+not wish them shut up in rooms; no flowers from the little garden, for
+to gather one of those was like tearing it out of Franco's heart. But
+the dahlias, the gladioles, the roses, and the asters of the
+kitchen-garden were at Luisa's disposal. These, however, were not
+sufficient, and as the village loved "Sciora Luisa" best after the
+Almighty, St. Margherita, and St. Sebastian, at a sign from her, its
+children would bring her wildflowers and ferns, and ivy to festoon
+between the great bunches, stuck in metal rings on the walls. Even the
+arms of the harp that hung from the ceiling of the hall, were always
+entwined with long serpents of ivy and passion-flower.
+
+If they wrote to Uncle Piero of these innovations he would answer little
+or nothing. At most he would caution them not to keep the
+kitchen-gardener too busy, but to leave him time for his own work. The
+first time he came to Oria after the transformation of the little
+garden he paused and contemplated it as he had contemplated the six
+stocks of maize, and murmured under his breath: "Oh dear me!" He went
+out to the terrace, looked at the little cupola, touched the iron bars,
+and pronounced an "Enough!" that was resigned, but full of disapproval
+of so much elegance, which he considered above the position of his
+family and himself. But when he had examined in silence all the nosegays
+and bunches of flowers, the pots and the festoons of the hall and the
+loggia, he said, with his good-natured smile: "Look here, Luisa! Don't
+you think it would be better to keep a couple of sheep with all this
+fodder?"
+
+But the housekeeper was delighted that she no longer need kill herself
+for dust and cobwebs, and the kitchen-gardener was for ever praising the
+wonderful works of "Signor Don Franco," so that Uncle Piero himself soon
+began to grow accustomed to the new aspect his house had assumed, and to
+look without disapproval upon the little cupola, which, indeed, afforded
+a most grateful shade. At the end of two or three days he asked who had
+made it, and he would sometimes pause to examine the flowers in the
+garden, to inquire the name of one or another. At the end of eight or
+ten days, standing with little Maria at the door leading from the hall
+to the garden, he would ask her: "Who planted all those beautiful
+flowers?" and teach her to answer: "Papa!" He exhibited his nephew's
+creations to an employe of his who one day came to visit him, and
+listened to his expressions of approval with a fine assumption of
+indifference, but with the greatest satisfaction. "Yes, yes, he is
+clever enough." Indeed he ended by becoming one of Franco's admirers,
+and would even listen, in the course of conversation, to other projects
+of his. And in Franco, admiration and gratitude were growing for that
+great and generous bounty that had vanquished conservative nature, and
+the old aversion for elegance of every description; for that same bounty
+that at all such opposition rose silently and even higher behind the
+uncle's resistance, until it surmounted all, covered all in a broad wave
+of acquiescence, or at least with the sacramental phrase: "However,
+_fate vobis_; do as you like." One innovation only Uncle Piero had not
+been willing to accept--the disappearance of his old cushion. "Luisa,"
+said he, gingerly lifting the new, embroidered cushion from the
+easy-chair, "Luisa, take this away." And he would not be persuaded.
+"Will you take it away?" When Luisa, smiling, brought him the little
+abortive mattress he sat down upon it with a satisfied, "That's it!" as
+if he were solemnly taking possession of a lost throne.
+
+At the present moment, while the violet dusk was invading the green of
+the waves and running along the coast from village to village,
+eclipsing, one after another, the shining white houses, the engineer
+was seated upon his throne holding little Maria on his knees, while out
+on the terrace Franco was watering the pots of pelargonia, his heart and
+his face as full of affectionate satisfaction as if he had been slaking
+the thirst of Ishmael in the desert. Luisa was patiently untangling a
+fishing-line belonging to her husband, a frightful snarl of string,
+lead, silk, and hooks. She was talking, meanwhile, with Professor
+Gilardoni, who always had some philosophical snarl to untangle, but who
+greatly preferred a discussion with Franco, who always contradicted him,
+right or wrong, believing him to possess an excellent heart, but a
+confused head. Uncle Piero, his right knee resting on his left, held the
+child on this elevation, and for the hundredth time at least, was
+repeating a little scrap of verse to her, with affected slowness, and a
+slight distortion of the foreign name--
+
+ Proud shade of the river,
+ Of Missipipi----
+
+As far as the seventh word the child would listen, motionless and
+serious, with earnest eyes; but when he reached "Missipipi," she would
+burst out laughing, pound hard with her little legs, and clap her tiny
+hands over the uncle's mouth, who would also laugh merrily, and after a
+short pause he would begin again, speaking slowly, slowly, in the same
+approved tone:
+
+ Proud shade of the river----
+
+The child did not resemble either father or mother; she had the eyes,
+the delicate features of Grandmother Teresa. She exhibited a strange
+impetuous tenderness for the old uncle, whom she so seldom saw. Uncle
+Piero did not use sweet words to her; indeed, when necessary, he would
+even chide her gently, but he always brought her toys, often took her
+out to walk, danced her upon his knee, laughed with her, and repeated
+comic verses to her--the one beginning with the "Missipipi," and that
+other, ending with the words:
+
+ Answered so promptly young Barucaba!
+
+Who may this Barucaba have been, and what had they been asking him?
+"_Toa Ba! Toa Ba!_ Barucaba again! Barucaba again!" and once more the
+uncle would recite the poetic tale to the child, but there is no one now
+to repeat it to me.
+
+This is what Professor Gilardoni was discussing in his timid, gentle
+voice with Luisa; the Professor, grown just a little older, just a
+little more bald, just a little more sallow. "Who knows," Luisa had
+said, "if Maria will resemble her grandmother in soul as she does in
+face." The Professor replied that it would indeed be a miracle to find
+two such souls in the same family, and separated by so short an interval
+of time. Then wishing to explain to how rare a species he conceived the
+grandmother's soul to have belonged, he gave voice to the following
+tangle: "There are souls," said he, "that openly deny a future life, and
+live according to their opinions, solely for the present life. Such are
+few in number. Then there are souls that pretend to believe in a future
+life, and live entirely for the present. These are far more numerous.
+There are souls that do not think about the future life, but live so
+that they may not run too great a risk of losing it if, after all, it
+should be found to exist. These are more numerous still. Then there are
+souls that really do believe in the future life, and divide their
+thoughts and actions into two categories, which are generally at war
+with each other; one is for heaven, the other for earth. There are very
+many such. And then there are souls that live entirely for the future
+life, in which they believe. These are very few, and Signora Teresa was
+one of them."
+
+Franco, who hated psychological disquisitions, passed frowning, with his
+empty watering-pot, on his way to the little garden, and thought: "Then
+there are those souls that are bores!" Uncle Piero who, by the way, was
+slightly deaf, was laughing with Maria. When her husband had passed,
+Luisa said softly: "Then there are souls that live as if there were only
+the future life, in which they do not believe. And of such there is
+one." The Professor started, and looked at her in silence. She was
+hunting in the tangle of the line for a double thread with a ring that
+must be drawn through, and though she did not see his glance, still she
+felt it, and quickly nodded towards her uncle. Had she really been
+thinking of him when speaking those words? Or had there been in her
+some occult complication? Had she alluded to her uncle without
+conviction, simply because she dare not name, even in thought, another
+person to whom her words might more justly apply? The Professor's
+silence, his searching glance which she had felt without meeting,
+revealed to her that he suspected her. It was for that reason she had
+hastily nodded towards Uncle Piero.
+
+"Does he not believe in a future life?" the Professor asked.
+
+"I should say not," Luisa answered, and then at once her heart was
+filled with remorse, for she felt that her reasons for affirming this
+were not sufficient, that she had no right to answer thus. In fact her
+uncle had never taken the trouble to meditate on religion. In his
+conception of honesty were included the continuation of the ancient,
+family practices and the profession of the inherited faith, accepted
+carelessly, as it stood. His was a good-natured God like himself, who,
+again like himself, cared little for genuflections and rosaries; a God
+well pleased to have honest, hearty men for His ministers, as Uncle
+Piero was well pleased to have such for his friends, even though they
+might be merry eaters and drinkers, life-long devotees of _tarocchi_,
+open tellers of spicy but not filthy stories, as a lawful outlet for
+that prurient hilarity which is in all of us. Certain joking remarks of
+his, certain aphorisms uttered thoughtlessly upon the relative
+importance of religious practices and the absolute importance of honest
+living, had struck her, even as a child, especially as they greatly
+vexed Signora Teresa, who would entreat her brother not to "talk
+nonsense." She suspected that he went to church simply because it was
+fitting to do so. Perhaps this was not true; one must overlook the
+aphorisms of a man who had grown old in self-sacrifice and
+self-abnegation, and who was wont to say: _Charitas incipit a me._
+Besides, even if her uncle did hold religious practices in slight
+esteem, there was a vast difference between that and denying a future
+life. Indeed, as soon as Luisa had uttered her opinion and had heard how
+it sounded, she felt it was false, saw more clearly within herself and
+realised that she had been seeking in her uncle's example, a prop and a
+comfort for herself.
+
+The Professor was greatly moved by this unexpected revelation.
+
+"This one soul," said he, "that lives as if thinking only of a future
+life in which it does not believe, is indeed in error, but nevertheless,
+we are bound to admire it as the most noble, the greatest of all. It is
+something sublime!"
+
+"But are you then sure that this soul is in error?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes!"
+
+"And you yourself, to which category do you belong?"
+
+The Professor really believed he was of the few who rule their actions
+entirely according to an aspiration towards a future life, but he would
+have been embarrassed had he been called upon to demonstrate that his
+earnest study of Raspail, his zeal in the preparation of sedative water
+and camphor cigarettes, his horror of dampness and of draughts, were
+proofs of slight attachment to the present life. However, he would not
+answer, but said that though he did not belong to any church, he
+nevertheless, believed firmly in God and the future life, and that he
+could not judge of his own conduct.
+
+Meanwhile, Franco, watering the little garden, had discovered that a new
+verbena had blossomed, and setting down his watering-pot, had come to
+the door of the loggia and was calling to Maria, to whom he wished to
+point it out. Maria let him call, and demanded "Missipipi" again,
+whereupon the uncle put her down, and himself led her to her father.
+
+"But, Professor," Luisa said, emerging by means of the living word from
+a course of occult ponderings, "do you not think one may believe in God
+and still be in doubt concerning the future life?"
+
+Speaking thus she had dropped the tangled maze of net, and was looking
+the Professor straight in the face, with an expression of lively
+interest, and a manifest desire that he might answer yes. As Gilardoni
+did not speak she added--
+
+"It seems to me some one might say: What obligation is God under to
+give us immortality? The immortality of the soul is an invention of
+human selfishness, which, after all, simply wishes to make God serve its
+own convenience. We want a reward for the good we do to others, and a
+punishment for the evil others do to us. Let us rather resign ourselves
+to complete death, which comes to every living thing, being just with
+ourselves and with others as long as we live, without looking for future
+reward, but simply because God wishes it, as he wishes every star to
+give light, and every tree to give shade. What do you think about it?"
+
+"What can I say?" Gilardoni answered. "It seems to me a thought of great
+beauty! I cannot say: a great truth. Indeed I do not know. I have never
+thought about it, but it is very beautiful! I will say that Christianity
+has never had, has never even imagined a Saint so sublime as this _some
+one_! It is very beautiful, very beautiful!"
+
+"And besides," Luisa continued after a short silence, "it might also be
+maintained that this future would not mean perfect happiness. Can there
+be happiness if we do not know the reasons of all things? If we may not
+explain all mysteries? And will this longing to know all things be
+satisfied in the future life? Will there not always remain one
+impenetrable mystery? Do they not teach us that we shall never
+understand God perfectly? Therefore, in our longing to know, shall we
+not end by suffering as at present, perhaps even more, because in a
+higher life that longing must become stronger? I can only see one way of
+arriving at a knowledge of everything, and that would be to become
+God----"
+
+"Ah! You are a pantheist!" the Professor exclaimed, interrupting her.
+
+"Hush!" said Luisa. "No, no, no, I am a Catholic Christian. I am only
+repeating what others might say."
+
+"Pardon me, but there is a pantheism----"
+
+"Philosophy still?" exclaimed Franco, coming in with the little one in
+his arms.
+
+"Oh, misery!" grumbled Uncle Piero behind him.
+
+Maria held a beautiful white rose in her hand. "Look at this rose,
+Luisa," said Franco. "Maria, give Mamma the flower. Look at the shape of
+this rose, its pose, its shading, the veins in its petals; look at that
+red stripe, and inhale its perfume. Now drop philosophy."
+
+"You are an enemy of philosophy?" the Professor said, smiling.
+
+"I am a friend of that simple and sure philosophy which even roses can
+teach me," Franco answered.
+
+"Philosophy, my dear Professor," Uncle Piero put in solemnly, "is all
+contained in Aristotle. You can get all you want from that source."
+
+"You are jesting," the Professor said, "but you yourself are a
+philosopher."
+
+The engineer placed a hand on his shoulder.
+
+"Listen, dear friend! My philosophy could all be put into eight or ten
+glasses."
+
+"Mercy on us! Eight or ten glasses!" grumbled the housekeeper, who had
+caught her most temperate master's words of boastful intemperance, as
+she came in. "Eight or ten fiddlesticks!"
+
+She had come to announce Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri, whose hollow but
+jolly voice was just then heard in the hall, saying heartily, "_Deo
+gratias_." Then the red and wrinkled face, the lively eyes, and the grey
+hair of the gentle priest appeared.
+
+"We are discussing philosophy, Don Giuseppe," said Luisa when greetings
+had been exchanged. "Come here and let us have your valuable opinion."
+
+Don Guiseppe scratched his head, and then turning it slightly towards
+the engineer, with the expression of one who desires something for which
+he hardly dares to ask, gave utterance to this flower of his
+philosophical opinions.
+
+"Wouldn't a little game of primero be better?"
+
+Franco and Uncle Piero, who were only too glad to escape from
+Gilardoni's philosophy, sat merrily down to the little table with the
+priest.
+
+As soon as he and Luisa were alone, the Professor said softly--
+
+"The Marchesa left yesterday."
+
+Luisa, who had taken Maria upon her lap, pressed her lips to the child's
+neck passionately.
+
+"Perhaps," continued Gilardoni, who had never known how to read in the
+human heart, or to touch its chords correctly, "perhaps sometime--it is
+only three years, yet--perhaps the day may come when she will yield."
+
+Luisa raised her face from Maria's neck. "Perhaps _she_ may yield!" said
+she. The Professor did not understand, and giving way to the evil genius
+that invariably suggested to him the worst word at the worst moment, he
+persisted instead of breaking off. "Perhaps, if she could see Maria!"
+Luisa pressed the little girl to her breast, and looked at him so
+fiercely that he was confused, and stammered, "I beg your pardon!"
+Maria, in this close embrace, raised her eyes to her mother's strange
+face, grew very red, pressed her lips tight together, cried two great
+tears, and began to sob.
+
+"No, no, dear!" Luisa murmured tenderly to her, "be quiet, be quiet! You
+shall never see her, never!"
+
+As soon as the child was comforted the Professor, distressed at the
+mistake he had made, at having offended this Luisa, who seemed to him a
+superhuman being, wished to explain, to justify himself, but Luisa would
+not allow him to speak. "Pardon me, but that will do," said she, rising.
+"Let us go and watch the game."
+
+But, as a matter of fact, she did not go near the players. She sent
+Maria to amuse herself in the church-grounds with her little nurse,
+Veronica, and herself went to carry a piece of pudding to an old
+villager who had a voracious appetite and a small voice, with which he
+would every day promise his benefactress the same precious recompense,
+"Before I die, I will give you a kiss."
+
+Meanwhile the Professor was filled with scruples and remorse for the
+unfortunate step he had taken. Not knowing whether to go or to remain,
+whether the lady would or would not return, whether it would or would
+not be indiscreet to go in search of her, after having looked out
+towards the lake as if seeking advice from the fishes, towards the hills
+to see if she or some one of whom he could inquire about her happened to
+be at one of the windows, he finally went to watch the game.
+
+Each one of the players kept his eyes fixed on the four cards he held in
+his left hand, placed one upon the other in such a way that the second
+and third projected above the others just enough to be recognisable,
+while the fourth remained carefully hidden.
+
+The Professor reflected that he also held a secret card, a trump, and he
+was undecided whether to play it or not. He held old Maironi's will. A
+few days after Signora Teresa's death, Franco had told him to destroy
+it, and never breathe a word about it to Luisa. He had obeyed only so
+far as keeping silence was concerned. The document still existed, though
+of this Franco was ignorant, because its custodian had determined to
+await the development of events, to see if Cressogno and Oria would come
+to terms, or if, in consequence of prolonged hostilities, Franco and
+his family would be reduced to want, in which case he himself intended
+to do something. What he should do, he did not really know. He was
+nurturing the germs of several foolish plans in his head, and trusted
+that one or other of them would have ripened before the time for action
+arrived. Now, as he watched Franco play, he wondered how that man, so
+engrossed in his desire to win a pasteboard king, could ever have
+refused that other precious card, not even wishing to inform his wife of
+its existence. He attributed this silence to modesty, to a desire to
+hide a generous action, and although he had suffered more than one sharp
+rebuff from him, and felt that Franco esteemed him lightly, still he
+looked upon him with a respect full of humble devotion.
+
+"Give me the cards! Give me the cards!" the priest exclaimed, and he
+shuffled them eagerly. Then the game, symbol of the universal struggle
+between the blacks and the reds, began once more.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The lake now lay sleeping, covered and encircled by shadows. Only on the
+east the great, distant mountains of the Lario were still in a glory of
+purple and rich, yellow gold. The first breath of the evening breeze out
+of the north, moved the tender branches of the passion-flowers, ruffled,
+in spots, the surface of the grey waters towards the upper lake, and
+wafted a perfume of cool woods.
+
+When Luisa returned the Professor had been gone some time.
+
+"Ah, here is _Sciora_ Luisa!" said Don Giuseppe, who was feeling quite
+satisfied, having had his fill of primero, and he gently stroked the
+modest rotundity of his ribs and belly. Then this little personage of
+the world of long ago remembered the second object of his visit. He had
+wished to speak a little word to Signora Luisa. The engineer had gone
+out to take his usual short walk as far as the Tavorell hill, which he
+jokingly called the St. Bernard, and Franco, after a glance at the moon
+which was just then sparkling above the black brow of the Bisgnago, and
+below, in the undulations of the water, began improvising on the piano
+outpourings of ideal sorrow, that floated out of the open windows upon
+the deep sonorousness of the lake. His musical improvisations were more
+successful than his elaborate poems because in music his impulsive
+feelings found a mode of expression more facile, more complete, and the
+scruples, the uncertainties, the doubts which rendered the labour of
+language most wearisome and slow, did not torment his fancy at the
+piano. There he would give himself up, body and soul, to the poetic
+rage, and quivering to the roots of his hair, his clear, speaking eyes
+reflecting every little shade in the musical expression, while his face
+worked with the continuous movement of inarticulate words, his hands,
+though neither very agile nor very supple, would make the piano sing
+ineffably.
+
+At the present moment he was passing from one tone to another, breathing
+hard, and putting all the strength of his intellect into those passages,
+eviscerating the instrument, as it were, with his ten fingers, and
+almost with his glowing eyes as well. He had begun to play under the
+spell of the moonshine, but as he played, sad clouds had arisen from the
+depths of his heart. Conscious that as a youth he had dreamed of glory
+and that later he had humbly laid aside all hope of attaining it, he
+said, almost to himself, with his sad and passionate music, that in him
+there was indeed some glow of genius, some of the fire of creation seen
+only by God, for not even Luisa exhibited that esteem for his intellect
+which he himself lacked, but which he could have wished to find in her;
+not even Luisa, the heart of his heart. She praised his music and his
+poetry in measured terms, but she had never said: "Follow this path,
+dare, write, publish." He was thinking of this as he played on in the
+dark hall putting into a tender melody the lament of his love, the
+timid, secret lament he would never have dared to put into words.
+
+Out on the terrace in the quivering light-and-shade formed by the breath
+of the north wind and the passion-flower vines, by the moon and its
+reflection in the lake, Don Giuseppe was telling Luisa that Signor
+Giacomo Puttini was angry with him on account of Signora Pasotti, who
+had repeated to him the false report that he, Don Giuseppe, was going
+about preaching the necessity of a marriage between Puttini and
+Marianna. "May I be struck dead," the poor priest protested, "if I ever
+breathed a single word! Not a single word! It is all a lie!" Luisa would
+not believe poor Barborin guilty, but Don Giuseppe declared he had it
+straight from the Controller himself. Then she understood at once that
+the cunning Pasotti was indulging in a joke at the expense of his wife,
+Signor Giacomo, and the priest, and declining to interfere in the matter
+as Don Giuseppe wished her to do, she advised him to speak to Signora
+Pasotti herself. "She is so terribly deaf!" said the priest, scratching
+his head; and he finally departed, dissatisfied, and without saluting
+Franco, whom he did not wish to interrupt. Luisa went towards the piano
+on tiptoe, and stopped to listen to her husband, to hear the beauty, the
+richness, the fire of that soul which was hers, and to which she
+belonged for ever. If she had never said to Franco, "Follow this path,
+write, publish!" it was perhaps because in her well-balanced affection
+she believed, and with reason, that he would never be able to produce
+anything superior to mediocrity, but it was above all, because, although
+she had a fine feeling for music and poetry, she did not really esteem
+either of much account. She did not approve of a man's dedicating
+himself wholly to either, and she had an ardent longing that her
+husband's intellectual and material activity should flow in a more
+manly channel. Nevertheless, she admired Franco in his music more than
+if he had been a great master; she found in this almost secret
+expression of his soul something virginal, something sincere, the light
+of a loving spirit, most worthy to be loved.
+
+He did not perceive her presence until two arms brushed his shoulders
+and he saw two little hands hanging on his breast. "No! no! Play, play!"
+Luisa murmured, for Franco had grasped the hands; but, without
+answering, his head thrown back, he sought her, sought her lips and her
+eyes, and she kissed him and then raised her face, repeating, "Play." He
+drew the imprisoned wrists still farther down, silently praying for the
+sweet, sweet mouth: then she surrendered, and pressed her lips upon his
+in a long kiss, full of understanding, and infinitely more exquisite,
+more exhilarating than the first. Then she once more whispered, "Play."
+
+And in his happiness he played the music of triumph, full of joy and of
+cries. For at that moment it seemed to him he possessed the soul of this
+woman in its entirety, whereas sometimes, even though convinced that she
+loved him, he seemed to feel in her that lofty reason, towering serene
+and cold, above love itself, and far beyond the reach of his
+enthusiasms. She would often place her hands upon his head, and from
+time to time kiss his hair softly. She was aware of her husband's
+doubts, and always protested that she was all his, but in her heart she
+knew he was right. There was in her a tenacious, fierce sense of
+intellectual independence which withstood love. She could judge her
+husband calmly, recognising his imperfections, but she felt he was not
+capable of doing the same, felt how humble he was in his love, in his
+boundless devotion. She did not think she was unjust to him, she felt no
+remorse, but she was touched with loving pity when she pondered these
+things. Now she guessed the meaning of this joyous musical outpouring,
+and, deeply moved, she embraced Franco and the piano became suddenly
+silent.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Uncle Piero's slow, heavy step was heard on the stairs; he was returning
+from his St. Bernard.
+
+It was eight o'clock, and the usual _tarocchi_-players, Signors Giacomo
+and Pasotti, had not yet arrived, for in September Pasotti himself
+became a regular visitor at Casa Ribera, where he pretended to be in
+love with the engineer, with Luisa, and even with Franco. Franco and
+Luisa suspected some duplicity, but Pasotti was an old friend of the
+uncle's, and must be tolerated out of respect to him. As the players
+failed to appear Franco proposed to his wife that they should go out in
+the boat to enjoy the moon. First, however, they went to see Maria, who
+was asleep in her little bed in the alcove, her head drooping towards
+her right shoulder, one arm under her pillow, and the other resting
+across her breast. They looked at her and kissed her smiling, and then
+the silent thoughts of both flew to Grandmamma Teresa, who would have
+loved her so dearly. With serious faces, they kissed her once more. "My
+poor little one!" said Franco. "Poor, penniless, Donna Maria Maironi!"
+
+Luisa placed her hand upon his mouth. "Be quiet!" said she. "We are
+fortunate, we who are the penniless Maironis."
+
+Franco understood, and did not answer at once, but presently, when they
+were leaving the room to go to the boat, he said to his wife, forgetting
+one of his grandmother's threats, "It will not always be thus."
+
+This allusion to the old Marchesa's wealth displeased Luisa. "Do not
+speak of it to me," she said. "I would not soil my fingers by touching
+that money."
+
+"I was thinking of Maria," Franco observed.
+
+"Maria has us. We can work."
+
+Franco was silent. Work! That was one of the words that chilled his
+heart. He knew he was leading a life of indolence, for were not music,
+books, flowers, and a few verses now and then, merely vanities and a
+waste of time? And he was leading this life almost entirely at the
+expense of others, for how could he possibly have managed with only his
+one thousand Austrian lire a year? How could he have maintained his
+family? He had taken his collegiate degree, but without deriving the
+slightest profit from it. He doubted his own ability, felt himself too
+much of an artist, too foreign to forensic wiles, and he was well aware
+that the blood of earnest labourers did not flow in his veins. His only
+hope was in a revolution, a war, in the freedom of his country. Ah! When
+Italy should be free, how well he would serve her, with what great
+strength, what joy! This poetry he had indeed in his heart, but he
+lacked the energy, the constancy to prepare himself by study for such a
+future.
+
+While he was rowing away from the shore in silence, Luisa was wondering
+how it was that her husband could pity the child because she was poor.
+Did not this sentiment stand in contradiction to Franco's faith, to his
+Christian piety? She recalled Professor Gilardoni's categories. Franco
+believed firmly in a future life, but in practice he clung passionately
+to all that is beautiful and good in this earthly life, clung to all its
+lawful pleasures, including cards and dainty dinners. One who obeyed the
+precepts of the Church so scrupulously, who was so careful to abstain
+from flesh on Fridays and Saturdays, to listen to a sermon every Sunday,
+should conform his daily life far more strictly to the evangelical
+ideal. He should rather fear than desire riches.
+
+"A pleasant sail to you!" Uncle Piero called out from the terrace,
+catching sight of the boat and Luisa seated in the prow in the
+moonlight. Opposite black Bisgnago all Valsolda, from Niscioree to
+Caravina lay spread out in the glory of the moon; all the windows of
+Oria and of Albogasio, the arches of Villa Pasotti, the tiny white
+houses of the most distant villages, Castello, Casarico, S. Mamette,
+Drano, seemed to be gazing as if hypnotised, at the great, motionless
+eye of the dead orb in the heavens.
+
+Franco drew the oars into the boat. "Sing," said he.
+
+Luisa had never studied singing, but she possessed a sweet mezzo-soprano
+voice and a perfect ear, and had learned many operatic airs from her
+mother, who had heard Grisi, Pasta, and Malibran, during the golden days
+of Italian opera.
+
+She began the air from _Anne Boleyn_:
+
+ Al dolce guidami
+ Castel natio.
+
+The song of the soul which at first descends, little by little, and
+finally, in greater sweetness gives itself up to its love, to rise
+again, locked in his embrace, in an impulse of desire towards some
+distant light which shall complete its happiness. She sang, and Franco,
+carried away, fancied that she longed to be united to him in that lofty
+region of the soul from which she had, until now, excluded him; that in
+this perfect union, she longed to be guided by him towards the goal of
+his ideals. A sob rose in his throat, and the rippling lake, the great
+tragic mountains, those eyes of things fixed upon the moon, the very
+light of the moon itself, everything, was filled with his indefinable
+sentiment. And so, when beyond the broken image of the orb, silver
+lights flashed for a moment as far as Bisgnago, and even into the
+shadowy gulf of the Doi, he was moved, as if they had been mysterious
+signals concerning him, which lake and moon were exchanging, while Luisa
+finished the verse:
+
+ Ai verdi platani,
+ Al cheto rio
+ Che i nostri mormora
+ Sospi ancor.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Pasotti's voice called from the terrace--
+
+"_Brava!_"
+
+And Uncle Piero shouted--
+
+"_Tarocco!_"
+
+At the same moment they heard the oars of a boat coming from Porlezza,
+and a bassoon mimicked the air of _Anne Boleyn_. Franco, who had seated
+himself in the stern of his boat, started to his feet, crying
+delightedly--
+
+"Who goes there?" A fine, big, bass voice answered him--
+
+ Buona sera
+ Miei signori,
+ Buona sera,
+ Buona sera.
+
+They were his friends from the Lake of Como, the lawyer V. of Varenna
+and a certain Pedraglio of Loveno, who were in the habit of coming to
+make music openly, and discuss politics in secret; this was known only
+to Luisa.
+
+They called from the terrace--
+
+"Well done, Don Basilio!--Bravo, bassoon!" And in the interval the voice
+could be heard of some one who was begging to be excused from _tarocco_:
+"No, no, most gracious Controller, it is late! The time is too short;
+really too short. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Indeed you must excuse me. I
+cannot, I cannot. Most worshipful Engineer, I appeal to you!"
+
+But they made the little man play, promising that they would not go
+beyond two games. He puffed very hard, and sat down to the little table
+with the engineer, Pasotti, and Pedraglio. Franco seated himself at the
+piano, and the lawyer placed himself beside him with the bassoon.
+
+Between Pasotti and Pedraglio, two terrible quizzers, poor Signor
+Giacomo passed a short half-hour which was full of tribulation. They did
+not leave him alone a minute. "How goes it, _Scior Zacomo_?--Badly,
+badly! _Scior Zacomo_, are there no friars walking about in
+slippers?--Not one. And the bull, how is the bull, _Scior
+Zacomo_?--Stop, stop--A most accursed beast, eh?--Yes, indeed, Sir. And
+the servant, _Scior Zacomo_?" "Hush!" exclaimed Pasotti at this
+impertinent question of Pedraglio's. "Be prudent. On this point Signor
+Giacomo is having a great deal of trouble, through the indiscretion of
+certain individuals." "Let us not discuss it, most gracious Controller,
+let us not discuss it!" Signor Giacomo exclaimed, writhing all over, and
+the engineer advised him to send his tormentors to the devil. "But how
+is this, _Scior Zacomo_," Pasotti went on, undaunted, "don't you call
+that little priest indiscreet?" "I call him an ass!" Signor Giacomo
+answered angrily. Then Pasotti, smiling and triumphant, because this
+joke was really of his own making, ordered Pedraglio to be quiet, and
+started the game afresh, although Pedraglio was bursting with curiosity
+to hear the story.
+
+Franco and the lawyer were studying a new composition for piano and
+bassoon, continually making mistakes and beginning over again. Presently
+Signora Bianconi came in on tiptoe that she might not interrupt the
+melody. No one noticed her entrance save Luisa, who made her sit down
+beside her on the little sofa near the piano.
+
+Signora Peppina with her cordial good-nature, her long tongue, and her
+foolishness was irritating to Franco, but not to Luisa. Luisa liked her,
+but she was careful on account of Carlascia. From her garden Peppina had
+heard that "lovely song," and then the bassoon and the greetings; she
+had imagined there was going to be music, and she was "so madly fond of
+music, you know!" There was that lawyer who "blows into that shiny
+thing," to say nothing of Don Franco with those fingers of his "that
+seem bewitched." To hear the piano played with such precision was as
+good as hearing a barrel-organ, and she was "so awfully fond" of
+barrel-organs! She added that she had been afraid she should disturb
+them, but that her husband had encouraged her to come. And she asked if
+that other gentleman from Loveno did not play also; if they were going
+to stay long; and observed that both must be passionately fond of music.
+
+"I'll be even with you, you rascal of a Receiver," thought Luisa, and
+she proceeded to stuff his wife with the most ridiculous tales of the
+melomania of Pedraglio and the lawyer, inventing more and more as she
+grew more and more angry with those odious persons against whom one was
+obliged to defend one's self by lying. Signora Peppina swallowed all the
+stories scrupulously down to the very last, accompanying them with
+gentle notes of pleased wonder: "Oh, how strange!--Just fancy!--Just
+think of that!" Then, instead of listening to the diabolical dispute
+going on between the piano and the bassoon, she began to talk of the
+Commissary, saying he intended to come and see Don Franco's flowers.
+
+"He may come," said Luisa, coldly.
+
+Then Signora Peppina, taking advantage of the storm Franco and his
+friend were raising, risked a little private speech, which would have
+cost her dear had her Carlascia overheard it, but fortunately that
+faithful mastiff was asleep in his own bed, his night-cap drawn well
+down over his ears.
+
+"I am so devoted to these dear flowers!" she began. It was her opinion
+the Maironis would do well to pet the Commissary a little. He was one
+of the Marchesa's intimates, and it would be awful if he should take it
+into his head to cause them trouble. He was a terrible man, this
+Commissary! "Now my Carlo barks a little, but he is a good creature; the
+other one doesn't bark, but--you understand?" She herself knew nothing
+about it, had not heard anything, but if, for example, that lawyer and
+the other gentleman had come for something else than music, and the
+Commissary should find it out----! Then the Lord have mercy on us!
+
+The moon was dragging its splendour across the lake towards the western
+waters; the game had come to an end, and Signor Giacomo was preparing to
+light his little lantern, in spite of Pasotti's remonstrances. "A light,
+_Scior Zacomo_? You are mad! A light with such a moon!" "At your
+service," Puttini replied. "In the first place there is that accursed
+Pomodoro to cross, and then--_cossa vorla_--the moon nowadays! Besides I
+must tell you it is the August moon, for although we are in September,
+still the moon belongs to August. Well, once upon a time, my dear sirs,
+August moons were fine and big, as large as the bottom of a cask at
+least; now they are no better than moonlets, good-for-nothing
+moons----no, no, no." And his lantern lighted, he departed with Pasotti,
+the impertinent Pedraglio accompanying them as far as the gate of the
+little garden, with his usual fire of antiphones about the bull and the
+servant. Then the little man turned towards the cavernous streets of
+Oria, greatly comforted by Pasotti's exclamations: "Ill-bred people,
+_Scior Zacomo_! Vulgar people!" exclamations uttered in a tone
+calculated to reach the others, and add to their amusement.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+A loud gape from the engineer put Signora Peppina to flight. A few
+minutes later, having drunk his cup of milk, Uncle Piero took leave of
+the company in verse--
+
+ Tall laurel trees and myrtle sweet upon Parnassus grow,
+ May night upon you, worthy Sirs, great happiness bestow.
+
+The two guests also asked for a little milk, but Franco, who understood
+their Latin, went for an old bottle of the wine from the small but
+excellent vineyard of Maine.
+
+When he returned Uncle Piero was no longer present. The dark, bearded
+lawyer, the picture of strength and placidity, raised both hands
+silently, summoning Luisa and Franco, one to either side of him. Then he
+said softly, in his voice like a violoncello, warm and deep--
+
+"Great news!"
+
+"Ah!" ejaculated Franco, opening his eager eyes wide. Luisa turned pale,
+and clasped her hands in silence.
+
+"Yes, indeed!" said Pedraglio calmly and seriously, "we have succeeded!"
+
+"Speak out! Speak out!" Franco begged. The lawyer answered him:
+
+"We have Piedmont allied with France and England! To-day war with
+Russia, to-morrow with Austria! Are you satisfied?"
+
+With a sob Franco sprang to embrace his friends.
+
+The three stood clinging to one another in silence, pressing close in
+the intoxication of the magic word: War! Franco forgot that he still
+held the bottle. Luisa took it from him. Then he tore himself
+impetuously from the other two, rushed between them, and seizing each
+round the waist, dragged them into the hall like an avalanche,
+repeating: "Tell all, tell all, tell all!"
+
+There, when they had prudently closed the glass door leading to the
+terrace, the lawyer and Pedraglio disclosed their precious secret. An
+English lady, spending her holiday at Bellagio, who was a devoted friend
+of Italy, had received a letter (of which the lawyer possessed a
+translation) from another lady, a cousin of Sir James Hudson, English
+Minister at Turin. The letter stated that secret negotiations were being
+carried on in Turin, Paris, and London, to obtain the armed co-operation
+of Piedmont in the Orient; that the matter was looked upon as settled by
+the three cabinets, but that there still remained a few formal
+difficulties to arrange, as Count Cavour demanded the greatest
+consideration for the dignity of his country. At Turin they were
+confident the official and open invitation from the Western powers to
+accede to the treaty of the tenth of April, 1851, would come to hand not
+later than December. It was even affirmed that the troops forming the
+contingent would be under the command of the Duke of Genoa.
+
+The lawyer read, and Franco held his wife's hand tight. Then he wanted
+to read the letter himself, and after him Luisa read. "But," said she,
+"war with Austria? How is that?"
+
+"Most certainly," said the lawyer. "Do you suppose Cavour is going to
+send the Duke of Genoa with fifteen or twenty thousand men to fight the
+Turks unless he already holds the war with Austria in his hand? You may
+believe me, Madam, it will come about before a year is passed."
+
+Franco shook his fists in the air, his whole body quivering.
+
+"Hurrah for Cavour!" whispered Luisa.
+
+"Ah!" the lawyer exclaimed, "Demosthenes himself could not have praised
+Cavour with greater efficacy."
+
+Franco's eyes were filling with tears. "I am a fool!" he said. "I don't
+know what to say!"
+
+Pedraglio asked Luisa where the deuce she had hidden the bottle. Luisa
+smiled and went out, returning again immediately with the wine and
+glasses.
+
+"Count Cavour!" said Pedraglio in a low tone. All raised their glasses
+repeating: "Count Cavour!" Then they drank, even Luisa, who never took
+wine.
+
+Pedraglio refilled the glasses and again rose to his feet.
+
+"War!" said he.
+
+The three others sprang up, clutching their glasses in silence, too
+deeply moved to speak.
+
+"We must all go!" said Pedraglio.
+
+"All!" Franco repeated. Luisa kissed him impetuously on the shoulder.
+Her husband seized her head in both hands, and imprinted a kiss upon her
+hair.
+
+One of the windows towards the lake was open. In the silence that
+followed the kiss, they heard the measured dip of oars.
+
+"The customs-guards," whispered Franco. While the guards' long-boat was
+passing beneath the window, Pedraglio said: "D---- hogs!" in such a loud
+tone, that the others hushed him. The long-boat floated past. Franco
+looked out of the window.
+
+It was cool; the moon was sinking towards the hills of Carona, streaking
+the lake with long, gilded stripes. What a strange sensation it gave him
+to contemplate that quiet solitude, with a great war so near at hand!
+The dark, sad mountains seemed to be thinking of the formidable future.
+Franco closed the window, and the conversation began again in low tones
+round the little table. Each one had his own suppositions concerning
+future events, and all spoke of these events as of a drama, of which the
+manuscript was lying quite ready, down to the very last verse, with all
+its stops and commas in place, in Count Cavour's writing-desk. V., who
+was a Bonapartist, saw clearly that Napoleon intended to avenge his
+uncle, overthrowing one after another, the parties to the Holy Alliance;
+to-day Russia, to-morrow Austria. But Franco, on the other hand, who was
+mistrustful of the emperor, attributed the Sardinian alliance to the
+good-will of England, but acknowledged that as soon as this alliance
+would be proclaimed, Austria, sacrificing her own interests to
+principles and hatred, would cast in her lot with Russia, and therefore
+Napoleon would be obliged to fight her. "Listen," said his wife, "I am
+afraid Austria will come over to the side of Piedmont," "Impossible!"
+said the lawyer. Franco felt alarmed, and admired the acuteness of the
+observation, but Pedraglio exclaimed: "Nonsense! Those blockheads are
+too great asses to think out a trick like that!" This argument appeared
+decisive, and no one save Luisa gave the possibility another thought.
+They began discussing plans for the campaign, plans for insurrections,
+but here they could not agree. V. knew the men and the mountains of the
+Lake of Como from Colico to Como and Lecco, better perhaps than any one
+else. And everywhere all along the lake, in Val Menaggio, in Vall
+'Intelvi, in Valsassina, in the Tre Pievi, he knew those who were
+devoted to the cause, and even ready to strike the blow at a sign from
+the _Scior Avocat_. He and Franco considered any insurrectional movement
+useful that might serve to distract part of the Austrian forces even for
+a moment. But Luisa and Pedraglio were of opinion that all the
+able-bodied men should hasten to swell the Piedmontese battalions. "We
+women will make the revolution," said Luisa, with her mock gravity. "I,
+for my part, will pitch Carlascia into the lake!"
+
+They still conversed in an undertone, with an electric current in their
+veins that flashed from their eyes, and made their nerves tingle;
+enjoying this hushed talk behind closed doors and windows, the danger of
+being in possession of that letter, the glowing life they felt in their
+blood, and those intoxicating words they were always repeating:
+Piedmont, War, Cavour, Duke of Genoa, Victor Emmanuel, Cannon,
+_Bersaglieri_.
+
+"Do you know what time it is?" said Pedraglio, consulting his watch. "It
+is half-past twelve! Let us go to bed."
+
+Luisa went for the candles, and lighted them, standing the while, but no
+one moved, so she also sat down again. When he saw the candles lighted,
+even Pedraglio himself lost his desire to go to bed.
+
+"A fine kingdom!" said he.
+
+"Piedmont," said Franco, "Lombardy-Venice, Parma, and Modena."
+
+"And the Legations!"[L] V. added.
+
+More discussions followed. All wished for the
+
+Legations, especially the lawyer and Luisa, but Franco and Pedraglio
+were afraid to touch them, fearing to stir up difficulties. They grew so
+warm that Pedraglio entreated his companions to "scream" in an
+undertone. "Scream softly, children!" Then it was V.'s turn to propose
+going to bed. He took his candle in his hand but did not rise.
+
+"Body of Bacchus!" said he, not knowing whether he meant it as a
+conclusion or an exhortation. Indeed he had a terrible desire to talk,
+and to hear others talk, but could find nothing new to say. "Body of
+Bacchus it is indeed!" Franco exclaimed, who was in much the same state
+of mind. A long silence ensued. At last Pedraglio said, "Well?" and
+rose. "Shall we go?" said Luisa, leading the way. "And the name?" the
+lawyer asked. They all stopped. "What name?" "The name of the new
+Kingdom!" Franco set down his candle at once. "Well done!" said he, "the
+name!" as if it had been a point that must be settled before going to
+bed. Fresh discussions followed. Piedmont? _Cisalpino?_ Upper Italy?
+Italy?
+
+Luisa also was quick to put down her candle, and as the others were not
+willing to accept his "Italy," Pedraglio set his down also. But finding
+the debate promised to be a long one, he resumed it, and ran away,
+repeating: "Italy, Italy, Italy, Italy!" heedless of the "hushes" and
+admonitions of the others, who were following on tiptoe. They all
+stopped once more at the foot of the stairs that Pedraglio and the
+lawyer must ascend to reach their room, and exchanged good-nights. Luisa
+entered the neighbouring alcove-room; Franco waited to watch his friends
+upstairs. "Look here!" he suddenly exclaimed. He had been going to speak
+to them from the foot of the stairs, but finally decided it was better
+to go up to them. "And what if we are defeated?" he whispered.
+
+The lawyer simply uttered a contemptuous "Nonsense!" but Pedraglio
+turning like a hyena, seized Franco by the throat. They struggled gaily
+there on the landing, and then once more said good-night. Pedraglio
+rushed upwards, while Franco flung himself downstairs.
+
+His wife was waiting for him, standing in the centre of the room, her
+eyes fixed on the door. When she saw him enter she moved gravely towards
+him, and folded him in a close embrace. When, after a few moments had
+elapsed, he moved as though to draw away, she silently pressed him
+closer. Then Franco understood. She was embracing him now as she had
+kissed him before, when they had talked of all going to the war. He
+pressed her temples between his hands, kissed her again and again on the
+hair, saying gently: "Dearest, think how great she will be afterwards,
+this Italy!" "Yes, yes!" said she. She raised her face to his, and
+offered him her lips. She was not crying, but her eyes were moist. To
+feel himself gazed upon like this, to be kissed thus, was indeed worth a
+few years of life, for never, never before had her tenderness towards
+him contained this humility.
+
+"Then," said she, "we shall no longer live in Valsolda. You will be
+obliged to assume the duties of a citizen, will you not?"
+
+"Yes, yes, certainly!"
+
+They began to talk eagerly, both he and she, about what they should do
+after the war, as if to banish the thought of a terrible possibility.
+Luisa let down her hair, and went to look at Maria in her little bed.
+The child had probably been roused some time before, and had put a tiny
+finger in her mouth, which, little by little, as sleep returned, had
+slipped out. Now she was sleeping with her mouth open, and the little
+finger resting on her chin. "Come here, Franco," said her mother. Both
+bent over the bed. Maria's small face held the sweetness of paradise.
+
+Husband and wife lingered over her in silence, and then rose, deeply
+moved. The interrupted conversation was not resumed.
+
+When they were in bed and the light put out, Luisa murmured, on her
+husband's lips--
+
+"If that day should come, you will go; but I shall go also."
+
+And she would not allow him to answer.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[L] The Legations were provinces of the Roman state, governed by a
+legate from Rome. The Marches, Romagna and Umbria. [_Translator's
+note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE GLOVED HAND
+
+
+To make his joke more complete Pasotti reproached his wife for having
+repeated to Signor Giacomo Don Giuseppe's speech concerning the
+necessity of a marriage. The poor deaf woman was thunderstruck; she knew
+nothing either of a speech or of a marriage, and protested that this was
+a calumny, entreating her husband not to believe it, and was nearly
+beside herself because the Controller still appeared to harbour a
+suspicion. This malicious man was preparing a treat for himself; he was
+going to tell Signor Giacomo and Don Giuseppe that his wife wished to
+make amends for the harm she had done, and bring about a truce; in this
+way he would get all three together at his house, and from behind a door
+would enjoy the delicious scene that must ensue between the wrathful
+Signor Giacomo, the terrified Don Giuseppe, and the deaf and distracted
+Barborin. But his plan failed, for his wife could not wait, and ran off
+to the "Palace" to clear herself.
+
+She found Don Giuseppe and Maria in a state of the most extraordinary
+agitation. Something tremendous had happened to them, something that
+Maria wished to tell, and Don Giuseppe did not. However, the master
+yielded on condition that she should not shout, but should convey her
+news by signs. Meeting with opposition on this point also, he, in his
+prudence, became furious, and the servant did not insist.
+
+A rumour had spread of a case of cholera at Lugano, the victim being a
+man who had come there from Milan, where the disease had broken out; so
+Don Giuseppe had arranged to have all provisions for the kitchen come
+from Porlezza instead of Lugano, and had entrusted the commission to
+Giacomo Panighet, the postman, who brought the letters to Valsolda, not
+three times a day, as at present, but twice a week, as was the
+comfortable custom in the little world of long ago. Now, not five
+minutes before Signora Pasotti's arrival, Giacomo Panighet had brought
+the usual basket, and in the bottom of that basket, beneath the
+cabbages, they had discovered a note addressed to Don Giuseppe. It ran
+as follows:--
+
+
+ "You, who play at primero with Don Franco Maironi, should warn
+ him that the air of Lugano is far better than the air of Oria.
+
+ "TIVANO."
+
+
+
+Maria silently exhibited the basket, which was still full, to Signora
+Pasotti, and by clever acting illustrated the manner of discovery of the
+letter, which she gave her to read.
+
+As soon as the deaf woman had finished reading, a strange, indescribable
+pantomime began between the three. Maria and Don Giuseppe, by dint of
+gesticulations and rollings of their eyes, expressed their surprise and
+terror; Barborin, half frightened, half dazed, stared open-mouthed, from
+one to the other, the letter still in her hand, as if she had
+understood. As a matter of fact she had made out only that the letter
+must be terrible. Presently a thought struck her. She held the letter
+out to Don Giuseppe with her left hand, while with her right forefinger
+she pointed to the word _Franco_; then she crossed her wrists with a
+questioning gesture; and as the others, recognising that the sign meant
+handcuffs, nodded their heads violently in confirmation, she became half
+frenzied, so great was her affection for Luisa, and forgetting the
+matter that had brought her there, she explained by signs, as if both
+the others had been deaf also, that she would go straight to Oria, see
+Don Franco, and give him the letter.
+
+She started to rush away, cramming the letter into her pocket, and with
+hardly a word of leave-taking to Don Giuseppe and Maria, who, greatly
+distressed, were trying in vain to get hold of her, to detain her and
+recommend all possible precautions. But she slipped through their
+fingers, and her great, tall bonnet quivering, her old grey skirt
+dragging, set off at a trot towards Oria, where she arrived quite out of
+breath, with her head full of gendarmes, inspections, scenes of terror
+and of grief.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+She went up the stairs of the little Ribera garden, making straight for
+the hall, where she saw there were visitors. She recognised the Receiver
+and the Imperial and Royal Commissary of Porlezza, and was terrified,
+believing they were come for the terrible blow, but then she perceived
+Signora Bianconi and Signor Giacomo Puttini, and once more breathed
+freely.
+
+The Commissary, seated in the post of honour on the large sofa, next to
+the Engineer-in-Chief, talked a great deal, with much fluency and
+brilliancy, looking oftenest at Franco, as if he were the only person
+present upon whom it was worth while to waste breath and wit. Franco,
+lounging in an armchair, was mute and sullen, like one who, in the house
+of another, perceives a bad odour which good manners forbade him either
+to flee from or curse. They were discussing the Crimean campaign, and
+the Commissary was praising the plan of the allied powers to attack the
+colossus in that vital point, his ambition. He spoke of the Russian
+barbarities, and of the autocrat himself in such terms as to cause
+Franco to tremble in his dread of an Anglo-Franco-Austrian alliance, and
+Carlascia to open his eyes wide, for he still held the views of 1848,
+and looked upon the Czar as a good friend of the family. "And you,
+Signor First-Political-Deputy, what do you think of it?" said the
+Commissary, turning his sarcastic smile upon Signor Giacomo. Puttini
+winked his little eyes very hard, and having felt his knees all over,
+replied: "Most respected Signor Commissary, I know little about Russia,
+France, or England, and I care still less. I let them settle their own
+affairs. But, to speak the truth, I am sorry for that poor dog
+'Papuzza.' He was as quiet as a young chicken until they worried him,
+then when he called for help, fifty rushed to his aid, and now they are
+all upon him, devouring everything they can grab; and whether poor
+'Papuzza' win or lose, he will have nothing left but his shirt."
+
+This nickname "Papuzza,"--a Venetian distortion of _Babbuccia_
+slippers--Signor Giacomo applied to the Turk. "Papuzza" personified
+Turkey in the form of one ideal Turk, with a huge turban, a long beard,
+a big belly, and slippers. Puttini, the peaceful, half free-thinker, had
+a weakness for the lazy, placid, easy-going "Papuzza."
+
+"Don't worry," the Commissary laughed. "Your friend 'Papuzza' will come
+out all right. We are his friends also, and will not allow him to be
+mutilated or bled."
+
+Franco, frowning sternly, could not refrain from grumbling.
+
+"Nevertheless, that would be a great injustice towards Russia."
+
+The Commissary was silent, and Signora Peppina, displaying unusual tact,
+proposed going out to see the flowers.
+
+"A good idea!" said the engineer, who was very glad to have the
+discussion interrupted.
+
+While passing from the hall to the little garden the Commissary took
+Franco's arm familiarly, and whispered in his ear: "You are right, you
+know, about the injustice; but there are certain things we government
+officials may not say." Franco, who was greatly astonished at this
+utterance, felt as if the touch of the Imperial and Royal hand were
+burning him. If this man had had a more Italian face he would have
+believed him, but with that Kalmuc countenance he did not believe him,
+and allowed the subject to drop. But his companion resumed it in a low
+tone, as he leaned over the parapet above the lake, and pretended to
+examine the _ficus repens_ that covered the wall.
+
+"You yourself should avoid certain expressions," said he. "There are
+fools who might place false interpretations upon them." And he gave a
+slight nod in the direction of the Receiver. "Be careful, be careful!"
+"Thank you," Franco replied, dryly, "but I hardly think I shall need to
+be careful." "We can never be sure, never be sure, never be sure!" the
+Commissary murmured, and, followed by Franco, he moved away towards the
+spot where the Receiver and the engineer were discussing the subject of
+tench, near the few steps leading down to the second terrace of the
+little garden.
+
+Close at hand stood the famous red box with the jasmine.
+
+"That red does not look well, Signor Maironi," said the mastiff, _ex
+abrupto_, and he threw up his hand with a gesture that meant, "Away with
+it!" Just then Luisa looked into the garden from the hall, and called
+her husband. The Commissary turned to his zealous acolyte, and said
+sharply, "Drop that!"
+
+Signora Pasotti was leaving, and wished to salute Franco. He would have
+shown her out through the garden, but she, anxious to avoid going
+through so many ceremonies with those other gentlemen, preferred to go
+down by the inside stairs, and Franco escorted her as far as the
+street-door, which stood open. To his great surprise Signora Pasotti,
+instead of passing out, closed the door, and began an excited and
+perfectly unintelligible pantomime, accompanying it with short sighs and
+rollings of the eyes; after this she took a letter from her pocket and
+offered it to him.
+
+Franco read, shrugged his shoulders, and put the letter in his pocket.
+Then as Signora Pasotti kept on recommending flight, flight--Lugano,
+Lugano, in despairing pantomime, he smiled and reassured her by a
+gesture. She once more seized his hands, and once more the lofty bonnet
+(which had a tipsy inclination towards the right), and the long black
+curls, trembled in earnest supplication. She strained her eyes wide,
+pushed out her lips as far as possible, and laid her forefinger against
+her nose to indicate silence. "With Pasotti also!" she said; and these
+were the only words she spoke during the whole interview. Then she
+trotted away.
+
+Franco went upstairs again, thinking about his position. This might be a
+false alarm, just as it might also be a serious matter. But why should
+they arrest him? He tried to remember if he had anything of a
+compromising nature in the house, and could recall nothing. It flashed
+across his mind that his grandmother might have been guilty of some
+perfidy, but he at once banished the thought, reproaching himself, and
+postponed a decision until he should have spoken to his wife.
+
+He returned to the little garden, where the Commissary, as soon as he
+caught sight of him, asked him to point out the dahlias Signora Peppina
+had been praising. Upon learning that they were in the kitchen-garden he
+proposed going there with Franco. They could go alone, for indeed all
+the others were ignorant on the subject of dahlias. Franco accepted.
+
+The conduct of this little police-spy in gloves puzzled him, and he
+sought to discover if it could in any way be connected with the
+mysterious warning.
+
+"Listen, Signor Maironi," the Commissary began resolutely, when Franco
+had closed the gate of the kitchen-garden behind him. "I wish to say a
+word to you."
+
+Franco who was descending the few steps leading from the threshold of
+the gate, stopped with a clouded brow. "Come here," the Commissary added
+imperiously. "What I am about to do is perhaps not in accordance with my
+duty, but I shall do it, notwithstanding. I am too good a friend of the
+Marchesa, your grandmother, not to do it. You are in great danger."
+
+"I?" Franco inquired, coldly. "In danger of what?"
+
+Franco was endowed with a rapid and sure intuition of the thoughts of
+others. The Commissary's words agreed perfectly with the message
+Barborin had brought; still, at that moment he felt that the little
+police-spy harboured treachery in his heart.
+
+"In danger of what? Of Mantua!" was Zerboli's reply.
+
+Franco did not flinch upon hearing the awful word, synonym of
+incarceration and the gibbet.
+
+"I need not fear Mantua," said he. "I have done nothing to deserve
+Mantua."
+
+"Nevertheless----!"
+
+"Of what am I accused?" Franco repeated.
+
+"You will soon find out if you remain here," the Commissary replied,
+laying stress upon the last words. "And now let us examine these
+dahlias."
+
+"I have done nothing!" Franco once more repeated. "I will not leave."
+
+"Let us see these dahlias, let us see these dahlias," the Commissary
+insisted.
+
+Franco felt that he should thank this man, but he could not. He showed
+him his flowers with just that amount of civility that was
+indispensable, and with perfect composure. Then he conducted him from
+the kitchen-garden to the house, talking of some obscure Professor
+Maspero, and of his secret method of combating _oidium_.
+
+In the hall they were discussing another and far worse form of _oidium_.
+Signora Peppina was harassed by a terrible fear of cholera. She
+recognised that cholera served as a warning to every good Christian to
+make his peace with God, and that when we are at peace with God, it is
+indeed a blessing to be called to the next world, "but still, this body
+of ours, you know! This precious body! And when you reflect that we have
+only one!"
+
+"The cholera," said Luisa, "might do no end of good, if it had any
+sense, but it has not. You see," she whispered to Signora Peppina as
+Bianconi rose and went towards the Commissary, who had returned with
+Franco, "the cholera is quite capable of taking you, and leaving your
+husband." At this extraordinary remark the terrified Peppina started
+violently, exclaiming: "_Jesusmaria!_" and then, perceiving she had
+betrayed her true feelings, that she had not exhibited that tenderness
+for Carlascia of which she was always prating, she clutched her
+neighbour's knee, and bending forward, said in an undertone, her face as
+red as a poppy: "Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!"
+
+But Luisa was no longer thinking of her. A glance from Franco had warned
+her that something had happened.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+When all the visitors had departed, Uncle Piero sat down to read the
+_Milan Gazette_, and Luisa said to her husband: "It is three o'clock.
+Let us go and wake Maria."
+
+When he and she were alone in the alcove-room, instead of at once
+opening the shutters, she inquired what had happened. Franco told her
+everything, from Signora Pasotti's letter to the Commissary's strange
+communication.
+
+Luisa listened with a serious face, but without exhibiting any sign of
+fear. Then she examined the mysterious note. Both she and Franco were
+aware that among the government agents at Porlezza there was one honest
+man, who, in 1849 and 1850 had saved several patriots by a timely
+warning. But they were also aware that this honest man was ignorant of
+the rules of orthography and grammar, and the note Barborin had brought
+was perfectly correct. As to the Commissary, it was well known that he
+was one of the most malicious and treacherous of the government's tools.
+Luisa approved of the answer her husband had made him.
+
+Franco himself was well aware of all this, but he could find no
+plausible explanation for this persecution. Luisa, however, had one in
+mind which contempt for the grandmother had suggested to her. This
+Commissary was a good friend of the grandmother's, he himself had said
+so, thereby displaying, so he thought, the refinement of cunning. In the
+Commissary's glove there was the talon of the Marchesa. She meant to
+strike not Franco alone, but all the others as well, and they were to be
+reached through him who maintained the family with the fruit of his
+labours, out of the kindness of his generous heart. She knew from
+speeches which had been repeated to her by the usual hateful gossips,
+that the grandmother hated Uncle Piero because Uncle Piero had made it
+possible for her grandson to rebel against her, and to live comfortably
+enough in rebellion. Now they were seeking for a pretext to strike him.
+The flight of the nephew would be a confession, and, for a government
+like the Austrian, a good pretext to strike the uncle. Luisa did not say
+so at once, but she let him see that she had an idea, and little by
+little, her husband drew it from her. When she had told him, though in
+his heart he believed she was right, he nevertheless protested in words,
+defending his grandmother against an accusation which seemed too
+monstrous, and which rested on so slight a foundation. At all events
+husband and wife agreed perfectly in their resolve not to flee, but to
+await further developments. They therefore wasted no time in making or
+discussing suppositions. Luisa rose and went to open the shutters, and
+standing in the full light, she turned to look smilingly at her husband,
+stretching out her hand to him. He pressed it and shook it, his heart
+aflame, but his tongue speechless. They felt like soldiers, who,
+conscious of the distant roar of cannon, are being led along a quiet
+road, towards what fate God only knows.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE HAND WITHIN THE GLOVE
+
+
+The Engineer-in-Chief noticed nothing, and two days later, the term of
+his leave having expired, he went away peacefully in his boat, wrapped
+in his great, grey travelling cloak, and accompanied by Cia, the
+housekeeper. Ten days passed without further developments, and Franco
+and Luisa concluded that a trap had been set for them, and that, after
+all, the police would not appear. On the evening of the first of October
+they played _tarocchi_ merrily with Puttini and Pasotti, and then, their
+guests having left early, they went to bed. When Luisa kissed the child,
+who was sleeping, she noticed that her flesh was hot. She felt of her
+hands and legs. "Maria is feverish," she said.
+
+Franco took up the candle and looked at her. Maria was sleeping with her
+little head drooping towards her left shoulder as usual. The lovely
+little face which always wore a frown when she was asleep, was slightly
+flushed, and the breathing rather quick. Franco was alarmed, and at once
+thought of scarlet fever, the measles, gastric, and brain fever. Luisa,
+who was more calm, thought of worms, and prepared a dose of santonine,
+which she placed ready on the pedestal. Then both father and mother went
+noiselessly to bed, put out the light and lay listening anxiously to the
+little one's short, quick breathing. At last they dozed, but towards
+midnight they were aroused by Maria, who was crying. They lighted the
+candle and Maria became quiet and took the santonine. Then presently she
+began to cry again, and wanted to be taken into the big bed, between
+mamma and papa, and finally went to sleep there; but her sleep was
+uneasy and often interrupted by sobs.
+
+Franco kept the candle burning that he might watch her more closely. He
+and his wife were bending over their darling when two knocks sounded in
+quick succession on the street-door. Franco started up in bed. "Did you
+hear?" said he. "Hush!" said Luisa, grasping his arm, and listening. Two
+more knocks sounded, louder still, and Franco exclaimed: "The Police!"
+and sprang to the floor. "Go, go!" Luisa begged in a low tone. "Don't
+let them take you! Go by the little courtyard! Climb over the wall!" He
+did not answer, but hastily threw on some clothes and rushed from the
+room, heedless of danger, and determined never of his own free will to
+leave his Luisa and his sick child.
+
+He dashed down the stairs. "Who is there?" he inquired, without opening
+the door. "The Police!" some one answered. "Open at once."
+
+"At this hour I open to no one I do not see."
+
+A short dialogue ensued in the street. The voice he had heard first
+said: "You speak to him," and the voice that spoke next was very
+familiar to Franco.
+
+"Open, Signor Maironi."
+
+It was the Receiver. Franco threw the door open. A gentleman, dressed in
+black and wearing spectacles, entered, and was followed by the mastiff;
+after the mastiff came a gendarme with a lantern, then three other armed
+gendarmes, two of whom were subalterns while the other was of higher
+rank, and carried a large leathern bag. Some one remained outside.
+
+"Are you Signor Maironi?" said the man in spectacles, a police-adjunct,
+or detective from Milan. "Come upstairs with me." And the whole party
+started upstairs, with the thud of heavy steps and the rattling of
+military trappings.
+
+They had not yet reached the first floor when a light fell on the stairs
+from above, and sobs and groans were heard on the second floor.
+
+"Is that your wife?" asked the detective.
+
+"Do you fancy it is?" Franco retorted ironically. The Receiver murmured:
+"It is probably the servant." The detective turned and gave an order;
+two gendarmes started forward and went rapidly up to the second floor.
+More sharply than before the adjunct asked Franco: "Is your wife in
+bed?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Where? She must get up."
+
+The door of the alcove-room was thrown open, and Luisa appeared in her
+dressing-gown, with flowing hair, and bearing a candle in her hand. At
+the same moment a gendarme leaned over the banisters on the upper floor,
+and said that the servant had nearly fainted away, and could not come
+down. The detective ordered him to leave his companion with the woman,
+and to descend. Then he saluted the lady, who did not reply. In the hope
+that Franco had fled, she had hastened to leave the room in order to
+detain and, if possible, deceive the police. She now saw her husband and
+shuddered, her heart beating wildly, but she composed herself at once.
+
+The detective stepped forward to enter the room. "No!" Franco exclaimed.
+"Some one is ill in there." Luisa clutched the handle of the closed
+door, looking the man straight in the face.
+
+"Who is ill?" asked the detective.
+
+"A little girl."
+
+"Well, what harm do you suppose we shall do her?"
+
+"Pardon me," said Luisa almost defiantly, and giving the handle a
+nervous shake, "must you all go in?"
+
+"All of us."
+
+At the sound of voices and the rattling of the door-handle little Maria
+had begun to cry in a weary and forlorn voice that was heart-rending.
+
+"Luisa," said Franco, "let these _gentlemen_ do their work."
+
+The detective was a fashionably-dressed young man, with a refined but
+cruel face. He threw Franco a sinister glance. "Obey your husband,
+Signora," said he, glad of an opportunity to retaliate. "I think he is
+prudent."
+
+"Less prudent than you are, who bring a whole army as escort," Luisa
+retorted, opening the door. He glanced at her, shrugged his shoulders,
+and passed in, followed by the others.
+
+"Open everything here," said he roughly, in a loud voice, pointing to
+the writing-desk. Franco's big, blue eyes flashed. "Speak softly!" said
+he. "Do not frighten my child."
+
+"Silence, you!" the detective thundered, bringing his fist down upon the
+desk. "Open!"
+
+At that noise the child began to sob violently. Franco, who was furious,
+flung the key upon the desk.
+
+"Open it yourself," said he.
+
+"You are under arrest!" cried the detective.
+
+"Very well."
+
+While Franco was answering thus, Luisa, who had bent low over her baby,
+trying to pacify her, raised her face impetuously.
+
+"I also have a right to that honour," said she, in her fine, ringing
+voice.
+
+The detective did not deign to reply, but ordered a gendarme to open all
+the drawers of the writing-desk, and he himself searched them, removing
+all the letters, examining them rapidly, throwing some on the floor,
+and tossing others into the great leathern bag. After the writing-desk
+it was the turn of the chests of drawers, where everything was turned
+upside down. Then Maria's little bed was inspected. The detective
+ordered Luisa to remove the child from the big bed, which he also
+intended to examine.
+
+"Then put the little bed in order for me," Luisa replied, quivering with
+rage. Up to this moment, the mastiff, Carlascia, had stood silent and
+stiff behind his moustaches, as if this operation, which he had perhaps
+desired in the abstract, were proving not entirely to his taste, now
+that it was being put into practice. He came forward and began arranging
+the mattresses and sheets of the little bed with his great ugly paws.
+Luisa placed the child in it, and then the large bed was torn to pieces
+and examined, but without any result. Maria had stopped crying, and was
+staring at the scene of confusion with wide eyes.
+
+"Now follow me, both of you," said the adjunct. Luisa, who believed she
+was to be led away with her husband, demanded that the servant be
+summoned, that she might give the child into her care. At the idea that
+Luisa was under arrest, that the sick child was to be deprived of her
+mother also, Franco, beside himself with rage and grief, uttered a
+protesting cry--
+
+"This is not possible! Say it is not so!"
+
+The detective did not vouchsafe a reply, but ordered that the servant
+be brought in. The maid, half dead with fright, entered between two
+gendarmes, groaning and sobbing.
+
+"Fool!" Franco muttered between his teeth.
+
+"The woman will stay here with the child," said the adjunct. "Both of
+you will come with me. You must be present when the rest of the house is
+searched." He sent for some lights, left a gendarme in the alcove-room,
+and went into the hall, followed by the other gendarmes, Bianconi,
+Franco, and Luisa.
+
+"Before continuing the search," said he, "I will ask you a question I
+should have asked before had your conduct been more correct. Tell me
+whether you have any weapons, or seditious publications, or papers
+either printed or in manuscript, which are hostile to the Imperial and
+Royal Government."
+
+Franco answered, in a loud tone--
+
+"No."
+
+"That is what we shall see," said the detective.
+
+"Do as you like."
+
+While the adjunct was causing furniture to be moved away from the wall,
+and was searching and peering everywhere, Luisa remembered that eight or
+ten years before her uncle had shown her in the chest of drawers of a
+room on the second floor, an old sabre that had lain there ever since
+1812. It had belonged to another Pietro Ribera, a lieutenant of cavalry,
+who had fallen at Malojaroslavetz. No one ever slept in that room above
+the kitchen and it was seldom entered; it was as if it did not exist.
+Luisa had completely forgotten the old sabre of the Empire. Oh, God! now
+she recalled it! What if her uncle had forgotten it also? What if he had
+not given it up in 1848, after the war, when orders had been issued to
+deliver up all weapons, under pain of death? Had her uncle grasped the
+fact, in his patriarchal simplicity, that this heir-loom that had lain
+for six-and-thirty years at the bottom of a drawer, had now become a
+dangerous and forbidden object? And Franco, Franco who knew nothing!
+Luisa was resting her hands on the back of a chair; it creaked sharply
+under her convulsive pressure. She withdrew her hands, frightened, as if
+the chair had spoken.
+
+In fancy she saw the adjunct pass from room to room with his gendarmes,
+and arrive at that door, open the drawer, and discover the sabre. She
+made every effort to recall the exact position in which she had seen it,
+to find some way out of this danger; and she was silent, mechanically
+following with her eyes the candle which a gendarme, in obedience to his
+chief's gestures, held close, now to an open drawer or cupboard, now to
+a picture which the detective had lifted, that he might look behind it.
+No, she could think of no remedy. If her uncle had failed to remove the
+sabre, she could only trust they would not visit that room.
+
+Franco, leaning against the stove, was following every motion of the
+searchers with a clouded brow. When they plunged their hands into the
+drawers, his rage was visible in the silent working of his jaws. Nothing
+was heard save, now and then, a sharp order from the detective, and a
+low-toned reply from the gendarmes. Nothing moved around them, save
+their great shadows wavering on the walls. The silence of the Receiver,
+of Franco and Luisa, was like the silence of those who have risked great
+sums in a secret gaming-house, and stand about the players who, from
+time to time, speak some brief word. The sinister face and voice of the
+detective never changed, although he had not discovered anything. To
+Luisa he seemed a man sure of achieving his purpose. And not to be able
+to do anything, not even warn Franco! But perhaps it was better he did
+not know; perhaps his ignorance would save him.
+
+Having searched the hall and the loggia the detective entered the salon.
+He took the candle from the gendarme's hands and swiftly examined the
+little, illustrious men.
+
+Seeing the portraits of Gouvion Saint-Cyr, Marmont, and other generals
+of Napoleon, he said: "The Engineer-in-Chief Ribera would have done far
+better to hang the portrait of His Excellency Field-Marshal Radetzky on
+his walls. Is it here?"
+
+"No," said Franco.
+
+"A nice government official!" said the other contemptuously, and with
+indescribable arrogance.
+
+"Are government officials bound," Franco burst forth, "to hang the
+portraits----"
+
+"I am not here to argue with you," the detective said, interrupting him.
+
+Franco was about to answer. "Be quiet, you with your tongue a yard
+long!" said the Receiver, brutally.
+
+The detective passed from the drawing-room into the corridor leading to
+the stairs. Would he go up or not, Luisa wondered. He went up, and she
+followed him, not trembling, but imagining with a dizzy rapidity, the
+many different things that might happen. All the possibilities of the
+moment, both disastrous and favourable, were whirling, as it were, in
+her head. If she lingered upon the first, horror carried her with a
+bound to the second; if she dwelt upon these, fancy returned with
+perverse eagerness to the first.
+
+Before they had set foot in the corridor of the second floor they heard
+Maria crying. Franco begged the adjunct to allow his wife to go down to
+the child, but she protested that she wished to remain. The idea of not
+being with him when the weapon was discovered, terrified her. Meanwhile
+the detective had entered a small room where there were some books, and
+finding a volume printed at Capolago, and bearing the title, Literary
+Writings of a Living Italian, he said: "Who is this living Italian?"
+"Padre Cesari," Franco replied boldly. The other, deceived by his
+prompt answer and the priestly name, assumed the air of a man of
+culture, saying: "Ah! I am acquainted with his works." Replacing the
+book, he inquired where the Engineer-in-Chief slept.
+
+Luisa was too completely dominated by the one great dread to sense
+anything else, but Franco, when he saw the police-agent and his band
+enter the uncle's room, which was so clean, so neat, so full of his
+dear, calm spirit, when he reflected what a blow to the poor old man the
+news of all this would be, was completely overcome, and could have wept
+with rage. "It seems to me," he said, "that this one room at least
+should be respected."
+
+"Keep your observations to yourself," the adjunct retorted, and began by
+ordering the blankets and mattresses stripped from the bed. Then he
+demanded the key to the chest of drawers. Franco had it, and went down
+to his room for it, accompanied by a gendarme. The uncle had entrusted
+it to him before leaving, telling him that in case of need he would find
+a small amount of _cum quibus_ in the top drawer. They opened it. It
+contained a roll of _svanziche_, a few letters and papers, some
+pocket-books, old note-books, compasses, pencils, and a small wooden
+bowl in which were several coins.
+
+The detective examined everything carefully, discovering among the coins
+in the little bowl a five-franc piece of the time of Carlo Alberto, and
+a forty-franc piece of the Provisory Government of Lombardy. "The
+Engineer-in-Chief has preserved these coins with extraordinary care,"
+said the detective; "henceforth we will preserve them." He closed the
+drawer, and, without opening the others, returned the key to Franco.
+
+Then he went out into the corridor and paused, undecided. The Receiver
+thought he intended to go down, and as the corridor was nearly dark, and
+the stairs were not visible, he, who was acquainted with the house,
+started towards the right in the direction of the stairs, saying: "This
+way." The room where the sabre lay was on the left.
+
+"Wait," said the adjunct. "Let us look in here, also." And turning, he
+pushed open the fatal door. Luisa, who had been the last in the
+procession, pressed forward, now that the supreme moment had arrived.
+Her heart, which had beat furiously while the adjunct hesitated, now
+became quiet as by a miracle, and she was cool, daring, and ready.
+
+"Who sleeps here?" the detective asked her.
+
+"No one. My uncle's parents used to occupy this room, but they have been
+dead these forty years, and no one has slept here since."
+
+The room contained two beds, a sofa, and a chest of drawers. This the
+detective signed to the gendarmes to open. They tried it, but it was
+locked. "I think I have the key," said Luisa with the utmost
+indifference. She went down, accompanied by a gendarme, and returned
+immediately with a little basket of keys which she offered to the
+detective.
+
+"I do not know the key," she said. "It is never used. It must be one of
+these."
+
+He tried them all, but in vain. Then the Receiver tried, and then
+Franco. The right one was not there.
+
+"Send to S. Mamette for the lock-smith," said Luisa, calmly. The
+Receiver looked at the detective as if to say: "It seems to me
+unnecessary," but the detective turned his back upon him and exclaimed
+to Luisa: "This key must be somewhere!"
+
+The chest of drawers, a piece of _rococo_ furniture, had metal handles
+to each drawer. One of the gendarmes, the strongest, tried to force the
+drawers open. He did not succeed either with the top one or with the
+second. Just at that moment Luisa remembered that she had seen the sabre
+in the third drawer, together with a roll of drawings. The gendarme
+seized the handles of the third. "This one is not locked," said he. In
+fact it opened easily. The detective took the light and bent over to
+examine it.
+
+Franco had seated himself on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the rafters of
+the ceiling. When his wife saw the drawer pulled open she sank down
+beside him, took his hand, and pressed it spasmodically.
+
+She heard some papers rustle, and the Receiver murmured, in a benign
+voice: "Drawings." Then the detective exclaimed: "Ah!" and the
+satellites all leaned forward to see. She had the strength to rise and
+inquire; "What is it?" The detective was holding a long pasteboard case,
+curved and slim, and bearing a label with an inscription. He had already
+read the inscription to himself; he now read it aloud with an accent of
+ineffable sarcasm and satisfaction. "The sabre of Lieutenant Pietro
+Ribera, killed at Malojaroslavetz in 1812." Franco started to his feet,
+astounded and incredulous, and at the same moment the adjunct opened the
+case. From where he stood Franco could not see it, and he glanced at his
+wife, who could. Her lips were white and he thought it was with fright,
+although this did not seem possible.
+
+But her lips were white with joy, for the case contained only an empty
+scabbard. Luisa suddenly drew back into the shadow and sank upon the
+sofa, struggling with a violent inward trembling, vexed with herself and
+ashamed of her weakness, which however, she soon conquered. Meanwhile
+the detective, who had removed the scabbard and examined it on all
+sides, asked Franco where the sabre was. Franco was about to answer that
+he did not know, which was perfectly true, but reflecting that this
+might seem like self-justification, he said--
+
+"In Russia."
+
+The sabre was not in Russia, but fast in the mud, at the bottom of the
+lake, where Uncle Piero had secretly flung it rather than give it up.
+
+"But why did they write sabre?" inquired the Receiver, wishing to show
+he also was zealous.
+
+"The writer is dead," said Franco.
+
+"Hand over that key at once!" the detective scolded angrily. And this
+time Luisa found it, and the two other drawers were opened. One was
+empty, the other contained some blankets and a little lavender.
+
+The search ended here. The adjunct went down to the drawing-room, and
+ordered Franco to make ready to follow him in fifteen minutes. "You had
+better arrest all of us then!" Luisa exclaimed.
+
+The man shrugged his shoulders, and repeated to Franco: "In fifteen
+minutes. You may go to your room, now, if you wish to." Franco dragged
+Luisa away entreating her to be silent, to resign herself for love of
+Maria. He seemed like another man, exhibiting neither grief nor anger,
+and there was in his voice a ring of serious sweetness, of manly calm.
+
+He put some linen into a bag, together with a volume of Dante and an
+_Almanach du Jardinier_, which were on the table, bent over Maria for a
+moment but did not kiss her, for she had gone to sleep, and he feared to
+wake her. He kissed Luisa, however, but as they were being observed by
+the gendarmes stationed at either door of the room, he quickly freed
+himself from her embrace, saying, in French, that they must not provide
+a spectacle for those gentlemen. Then he took up his bag, and went to
+place himself at the detective's orders.
+
+The police-adjunct had a boat waiting not fifty paces from Casa Ribera,
+towards Albogasio, at the landing called _del Canevaa_. Upon issuing
+from the portico spanned by his house, Franco heard a shutter being
+thrown open above his head, and saw the light from his bedroom flash
+against the white facade of the church. He turned towards the window,
+saying--
+
+"Send for the doctor to-morrow morning. Good-bye."
+
+Luisa did not answer.
+
+When the gendarmes reached the Canevaa with their prisoner, the adjunct
+ordered them to stop.
+
+"Signor Maironi," said he, "you have had your lesson. This time you may
+return to your home, and I advise you to learn to respect the
+Authorities."
+
+Amazement, joy, and indignation welled up in Franco's heart. He
+controlled himself, however, biting his lips, and started homewards at a
+leisurely pace. He had not yet turned the corner of the church when
+Luisa recognised his step, and called, "Franco!"
+
+He sprang forward, and she saw him. Then her shadow vanished from the
+window. He rushed into the house, flung himself up the stairs, crying,
+"Free! Free!" while his wife came flying down, exclaiming wildly, "How!
+How! How!" They sought each other with eager arms, clung together,
+pressing close, without further speech.
+
+But afterwards, in the loggia, they talked incessantly for two hours, of
+all they had heard, seen, and experienced, always coming back to the
+sabre, the papers, the coins, dwelling upon many trifling details, on
+the detective's Venetian accent, on the dark-haired gendarme, who seemed
+a good fellow, and the fair-haired gendarme, who must be a regular cur.
+From time to time they would cease speaking, enjoying in silence their
+sense of security, the sweetness of home, but presently they would begin
+again. Before going to bed they stepped out on the terrace. The night
+was dark and warm, the lake motionless. The sultriness, the gloom, the
+vague and monstrous shapes of the mountains, seemed to their imagination
+heavy with the mortal weight of Austria. The very air itself seemed full
+of it. Neither Franco nor Luisa was sleepy, but they must go to bed on
+account of the servant who was watching with Maria. They entered the
+room on tiptoe. The child was sleeping, her breathing almost normal.
+
+They also tried to sleep, but could not. They could not refrain from
+talking, especially Franco. He would ask softly: "Are you asleep?" and
+upon her answering, "No," the coins, the papers, the sabre, or the bully
+with his Venetian accent would be discussed once more. By this time
+there was nothing new to be said on these subjects, and, as Maria began
+to be restless, and to show signs of waking, towards dawn, Luisa
+answered, "Yes," the next time Franco inquired softly, "Are you asleep?"
+and after that he kept quiet, as if he really believed it.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The day after the search at Casa Ribera, Oria, Albogasio, and S. Mamette
+were full of whisperings. "Have you heard?--Oh, dear Lord!--Have you
+heard?--Oh, holy Madonna!" But the loudest whisperings were of course
+those that communicated the news to Barborin Pasotti. Her husband
+shouted into her face: "Maironi! Police! Gendarmes! Arrest!" The poor
+woman concluded an army had swept her friends away, and began to
+puff--"oh! oh!"--like an engine. Then she groaned and wept, and
+questioned Pasotti about the child. Pasotti, who was determined not to
+allow her to go down to Oria and exhibit her affection for the Maironis
+under these circumstances, replied with a gesture like the sweep of a
+broom. Gone! Gone! She also!--But the servant? The servant must surely
+be there still. The crafty man made another sweeping gesture in the air,
+and then Barborin grasped the fact that His Imperial and Royal Austrian
+Majesty had had the servant carried off as well.
+
+But the most malicious whisperings were uttered at a great distance from
+Valsolda, in a room in the Maironi Palace, at Brescia. Ten days after
+the search the Chevalier Greisberg di S. Giustina, a cousin of the
+Maironis, who had been attached to the government of Field-Marshal
+Radetzky in Verona until 1853, and had then accompanied his master to
+Milan, alighted at the door of Casa Maironi from the carriage of the
+Imperial and Royal Delegate of Brescia, whose guest he had been for some
+days. The Chevalier, a handsome man of about forty, perfumed, and
+smartly dressed, did not look particularly happy as he stood very erect
+in the centre of the reception room, examining the ancient stucco-work
+of the ceiling, and waiting for the Marchesa, who was of the same
+period. Nevertheless, when the door opposite him, pushed open by a
+servant's hand, admitted Madam's big person, marble countenance, and
+black wig, the Chevalier was at once transformed, and kissed the old
+lady's wrinkled hand with fervour. A Lombard gentlewoman devoted to
+Austria was a rare animal, and extremely precious to the Imperial and
+Royal government. Every loyal functionary owed her the most obsequious
+gallantry. The Marchesa received the homage of her cousin the Chevalier
+with her usual unruffled dignity, and having invited him to be seated,
+enquired after his family and thanked him for his call, all in the same
+guttural and sleepy tone. Finally, slightly out of breath from the
+fatigue of uttering so many words, she crossed her hands over her
+stomach, and let it be seen that she was now waiting for what her cousin
+might have to say.
+
+She expected he would speak about Engineer Ribera and the search. She
+had on previous occasions expressed to him her displeasure that Franco
+should be under the influence of his wife and Ribera, and her surprise
+that the government should retain in its service one who in 1848 had
+openly played the Liberal, and whose family--especially that artful
+young woman--professed the most impudent Liberalism. The Chevalier
+Greisberg had assured her that her wise observations should be given due
+consideration. Then the Marchesa had instigated the Commissary Zerboli
+against the poor Engineer-in-Chief, and it had been through Zerboli that
+she had heard of the search. Therefore, when Greisberg appeared she
+concluded he had come to speak of that. Now, she was quite willing to
+make the government serve her own private rancour, but, as a matter of
+principle, she never recognised a debt of gratitude toward any one. By
+thus subjecting a doubtful functionary to examination, the Austrian
+government had been working in its own interests. She had not asked for
+anything; it was not for her to ask, it was for the Chevalier to speak
+first. But the Chevalier, cunning, sly, and proud, did not understand
+his role in this way. The old woman wanted a favour, and in order to
+obtain it she must bow down and kiss the beneficent claws of government.
+
+He remained silent for some time, to collect his thoughts, and in the
+hope that the other would yield. Seeing that she remained mute and
+unbending, he himself became suddenly smiling and gracious, told her
+that he had come from Verona, and proposed that she guess what route he
+had taken. He had passed through such a sweet town, had seen such a
+charming villa, so splendid, a real paradise! The Marchesa was not good
+at guessing; she asked if he had been in Brianza. No, he had not come
+from Verona to Brescia by way of Brianza. He once more described the
+villa, and this time so minutely that the Marchesa could not help
+recognising her own estate of Monzambano. Then the Chevalier proposed
+that she guess why he had gone to see the villa. She guessed at once,
+guessed the whole plot of the comedy that was being acted for her
+benefit, but her dull face said nothing of this. The Delegate had once
+before sounded her to ascertain if she would be willing to let the villa
+to His Excellency the Marshal, but she--having been secretly threatened
+with fire and death by the Liberals of Brescia--had found some polite
+excuses. She now perceived in Greisberg's words the tacit offer of a
+bargain, and stood on her guard. She confessed to her cousin that she
+was unable to guess even this. Indeed she felt she was growing more and
+more stupid every day. The effect of years and grief! "I have had a
+great grief very lately," she said. "I am told that the Police have
+searched my grandson's house at Oria."
+
+Greisberg, feeling that this elderly hypocrite was slipping through his
+fingers, now pulled off his glove, and seized her with his talons.
+"Marchesa," said he, in a tone which admitted of no rejoinder, "you must
+not speak of grief! Through the Commissary of Porlezza and myself, you
+have furnished precious information to the government, of which service
+it is not unmindful. Not a hair of your grandson's head was touched, nor
+will be, if he is judicious. But, on the other hand, I regret that we
+may perhaps not be able to adopt severe measures against another person
+who has injured you seriously in private matters. In order to find a
+means of reaching this person the Commissary has even exceeded his duty.
+You must understand once for all, Marchesa, that this is not a question
+of grief, and that you are especially indebted to the government." The
+Marchesa had never before been spoken to in such strong language and
+with such formidable authority. Perhaps the continuous, undulating
+movement of neck and head visible above her stiffly-held body,
+corresponded with the angry beating of her heart, but it seemed the
+movement of some animal struggling to swallow an enormous mouthful. At
+any rate she did not unbend sufficiently to speak a word of
+acquiescence. Only, having regained her obese calm, she observed that
+she had never demanded that measures be adopted against any one; that
+she was glad the search had revealed nothing incriminating against
+Engineer Ribera; that, nevertheless, all sorts of things had been said
+in Casa Ribera, but that words were difficult to trace. The Chevalier
+replied more gently, that he could not say whether anything had been
+discovered, and that the last word would be spoken by the Marshal
+himself, who intended to give this matter his personal attention. This
+remark enabled him to return to the subject of the villa at Monzambano.
+He asked for it formally for His Excellency, who wished to go there
+within a week. The Marchesa thanked him for the great honour, which she
+said, her villa did not deserve; it seemed to her too dilapidated, it
+wanted repairing, and His Excellency must be informed of this. She
+wished to defer her decision, to await the payment of the miserable
+price of her condescension, but the Chevalier struck another blow with
+his talons, and declared she must answer at once, answer clearly, yes or
+no, and the old lady was forced to bow her head. "To accommodate His
+Excellency," she said. Greisberg at once became amiable again, and
+jested about the measures to be adopted against that _Signor Ingegnere_.
+There was no question of spilling blood, only a little ink need be
+spilled. There was no question of depriving any one of liberty, rather
+of conferring perfect liberty on somebody. The Marchesa made no sign.
+She sent for two lemonades, and drank hers slowly in little sips, not
+without a faint expression of satisfaction between the sips, as if this
+lemonade had a new and exquisite flavour. But the Chevalier wished for
+an explicit word from her concerning Ribera, a confession of her
+desire, and placing the glass he had hastily drained upon the tray, he
+said, "I will see to this myself, you know, and we shall succeed. Are
+you satisfied?"
+
+The Marchesa continued to sip the lemonade slowly, slowly, gazing into
+the glass.
+
+"Does that suit you?" her cousin asked, having waited in vain for an
+answer.
+
+"Yes, it is very good," the drowsy voice replied. "I drink it slowly on
+account of my teeth."
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The last whisperings were not human. Luisa and Franco were seated on the
+grass at Looch, near the cemetery. They were speaking of the mother's
+great and exquisite goodness, and comparing it to Uncle Piero's great
+and simple goodness, noting the similarity and the differences. They did
+not say which sort of goodness, taken as a whole, seemed to them
+superior, but from the opinions each expressed, their different
+inclinations could be divined. Franco preferred that goodness which is
+permeated with faith in the supernatural, while Luisa preferred the
+other form of goodness. He was grieved by this secret contradiction, but
+hesitated to reveal it, fearing to sound a too painful note. But it had
+brought a cloud to his brow, and presently he said, almost
+involuntarily: "How many misfortunes, how much bitterness your mother
+suffered, with such great resignation, such strength, such peace! Do you
+believe that natural goodness alone would be able to suffer thus?" "I
+do not know," Luisa replied. "I think poor Mamma must have lived in a
+better world before she was born into this, for her heart was always
+there." She did not say all she thought. She thought that if all the
+good souls on earth resembled her mother in religious meekness, this
+world would become the kingdom of the rascal and the tyrant. And as to
+ills, which do not come from man, but from the very conditions of human
+life itself, she felt greater admiration for such as strive against them
+with their own strength, than for such as invoke and obtain aid from
+that same Being by whom the blow was dealt. She would not confess these
+sentiments to her husband, but instead, expressed the hope that her
+uncle might never suffer deep affliction. Could it be possible that the
+Lord would wish such a man to suffer? "No, no, no!" Franco exclaimed; at
+another moment he would not perhaps have dared to admonish God in this
+manner. A breath of the _Boglia_ swept down the ravine of Muzai, and
+rustled the top branches of the walnut-trees. To Luisa that fluttering
+seemed connected with Franco's last words; it seemed to her that the
+wind and the great trees knew something of the future, and were
+whispering about it together.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE SECRET OF THE WIND AND THE WALNUT-TREES
+
+
+Maria's fever lasted only eight days; nevertheless, when she left her
+bed, her parents found her more changed in face and in mind than if the
+eight days had been eight months. Her eyes had grown darker, and had
+assumed a peculiar expression of calm and precocious maturity. She spoke
+more distinctly and rapidly, but to those who were not to her liking,
+she would not speak at all, would not even greet them. This was more
+displeasing to Franco than to Luisa. Franco wished her to be amiable,
+but Luisa feared to spoil her sincerity. For her mother Maria cherished
+an affection violent rather than demonstrative, a jealous, almost fierce
+affection. She was very fond of her father also, but it was evident that
+she felt he was unlike herself. Franco had passionate outbursts of
+affection for her, when he would catch her up unexpectedly, press her
+close, and cover her with kisses. At such moments she would throw her
+head back, plant one little hand upon her father's face, and look
+frowningly at him, as if something in him were strange and repugnant to
+her. Often Franco would scold her angrily, and Maria would cry and stare
+at him through her tears, motionless, and as if fascinated, and always
+wearing the expression of one who does not understand. He noticed the
+child's predilection for her mother, and this was pleasing to him, for
+it seemed a just preference, and he never doubted that later Maria would
+love him tenderly also. Luisa, loving her husband as she did, was much
+troubled that the child should exhibit greater affection for herself;
+however this sentiment of hers was less lively, less pure, than Franco's
+generous pleasure. It seemed to Luisa that, after all, in spite of his
+transports, Franco loved his daughter as a being distinct from himself,
+while she, who had no transports of external tenderness, loved the child
+as a vital part of herself. Moreover she cherished in her heart a future
+Maria probably very different from the one Franco cherished. For this
+reason also she could not regret her moral ascendency over her daughter.
+She foresaw the danger that Franco might favour an exaggerated
+development of the child's religious sentiment, and this, to her, was a
+very serious danger, for in Maria, full of curiosity, eager for stories,
+there were the germs of a very lively imagination, which would be most
+favourable to religious fancies, and a badly balanced moral sense might
+be the result. It was not a question of abolishing religious sentiment;
+this Luisa, out of respect for Franco, if for no other reason, would
+never have sought to do, but it was imperative that Maria, on reaching
+womanhood, should be able to find the pivot of her own existence in her
+own sure and vigorous moral sense, a moral sense not founded upon
+beliefs which, after all, were simply hypotheses and opinions, and
+which, sooner or later, might fail her. The preservation of faith in
+Justice and in Truth, setting aside all other faith, all hope, all fear,
+seemed to her the most sublime condition of the human conscience. She
+believed that because she went to Mass, and twice a year to the
+sacraments, she had renounced such perfection for herself, and she
+intended to renounce it for Maria also, but as one who, finding himself
+hampered by wife and children, must renounce Christian perfection, but
+who does so unwillingly, and in as slight a degree as possible.
+
+Fate might bestow riches upon Maria. Therefore they must carefully
+provide against her acceptance of a life of frivolity, compensated for
+by the giving of alms, the Mass in the morning, and the rosary at night.
+On several occasions Luisa had attempted to sound Franco upon the
+question of giving Maria's education a moral direction quite apart from
+the religious direction, but such attempts had never been accompanied by
+satisfactory results. Franco could understand an unbelief in religion,
+but it was quite incomprehensible to him that there were those who found
+religion insufficient as a rule of life. He had never for a moment
+believed that all should aspire to saintliness, or that those who love
+_tarocchi_, primero, hunting, fishing, nice little dinners and a bottle
+of fine wine, are not good Christians. And this moral direction in
+education as divided from the religious direction seemed to him a mere
+notion, because, to his thinking, all honest men who did not believe,
+were honest either by nature or from habit, and not from any moral or
+philosophical reasoning. So it was not possible for Luisa to come to an
+understanding with her husband on this delicate point. She must act
+alone and very cautiously, in order neither to offend nor to grieve him.
+When Franco pointed out to the child the stars and the moon, the flowers
+and the butterflies, as admirable works of God, using poetically
+religious language fit for a child of twelve, Luisa held her peace; but
+if, on the contrary, he chanced to say to Maria: "Mind, God does not
+wish you to do that!" Luisa would immediately add: "That is wicked! You
+must never do what is wicked!" In such cases some dissension must
+inevitably arise between the parents, for the moral judgment of one was
+not always in harmony with the moral judgment of the other. Once they
+were standing together at the window of the hall, while Maria played
+with a little girl of about her own age from Oria. A brother of the
+child passed, a tyrant of eight, and ordered his little sister to follow
+him. She refused and wept. But Maria, looking very grave, faced the
+tyrant with clenched fists. Franco restrained her by a sharp command;
+the little one turned and looked at him, and then burst into tears,
+while the tyrant dragged his victim away. Luisa left the window, saying
+in an undertone to her husband: "Excuse me, but that was not just." "Why
+was it not just?" said Franco, and he became heated and raised his
+voice, demanding whether his wife wished Maria to grow up pugilistic and
+violent. She answered gently and firmly, overlooking some sharp words of
+his, and maintaining that Maria's impulse had been good; that our first
+duty is to withstand tyranny and injustice; and that, though the child
+use his fists, the man would use more civilised weapons; but if the
+natural impulse of the soul be repressed in the child, there was danger
+of destroying the nascent sense of justice as well.
+
+Franco would not be convinced. According to him it was very doubtful
+whether Maria had harboured any such heroic sentiments. She had simply
+been angry because she was to be deprived of her playmate, that was all.
+Besides, was it not a woman's place to oppose gentle meekness to
+injustice and tyranny, to appease and correct the offender, rather than
+repulse the offence by force? Luisa flushed crimson, and replied that
+this role might suit some women, perhaps the best of women, but it would
+certainly not suit all, for not all were so meek and humble.
+
+"And you are of that number?"
+
+"I believe so."
+
+"A fine thing to boast of!"
+
+"Does it grieve you very much?"
+
+"Very much indeed."
+
+Luisa placed her hands on his shoulders. "Does it grieve you very much,"
+said she, "that I rebel as you yourself do against the presence of these
+masters in our house; that I desire as you yourself do, to help, even
+with my hands, in driving them out? Or would you prefer to see me
+attempt to correct Radetzky and appease the Croatians?"
+
+"That is a different thing."
+
+"In what way? No, it is the same thing."
+
+"It is a different thing!" Franco repeated, but he was unable to
+demonstrate this. He felt he was wrong according to superficial
+ratiocination, and right according to a profound truth which he was
+unable to grasp. He said no more but was thoughtful all day, and was
+evidently seeking for an answer. He thought about it in the night also,
+and finally, believing he had found an answer, called to his wife, who
+was asleep.
+
+"Luisa!" said he. "Luisa, that is a different thing."
+
+"What is the matter?" Luisa exclaimed, waking with a start.
+
+He had reflected that the offence of a foreign dominion was not personal
+like a private offence, and was always the result of a violation of a
+principle of universal justice. But while he was explaining this to his
+wife it struck him that in private offences also there was always the
+violation of a principle of universal justice, and he fancied he must
+have blundered.
+
+"Nothing," said he.
+
+His wife thought he was dreaming, and placing her head upon his
+shoulder, she went to sleep again. If any argument could convert Franco
+to his wife's ideas it was this sweet contact, this gentle breathing
+upon his breast, in which he had so often and so deliciously felt the
+blending of their two souls. But now it was not so. Through his brain
+the thought flashed suddenly like a quick and cold blade, that this
+latent antagonism between his wife's views and his own might one day
+burst forth in some painful form, and, terrified, he pressed her in his
+arms, as if to defend both himself and her against the phantoms of his
+own brain.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+After breakfast, on the sixth of November Franco took his great
+gardening-shears and proceeded as usual, to the extermination of all dry
+leaves and branches on the terrace and in the little garden. The great
+beauty and deep peace of the hour went to the heart. Not a leaf stirred;
+the air from the west was most pure and crystalline; on the east the
+hills between Osteno and Porlezza were fading against a background of
+light mist; the house was glorious with the sun and the tremulous
+reflections from the lake; but though the sun was still very hot, the
+chrysanthemums in the little garden, the olives and laurels along the
+coast--more plainly visible now among the reddening, falling leaves--a
+certain secret freshness in the air, scented with _olea fragrans_, the
+absence of all wind, the vaporous mountains of the Lake of Como, white
+with snow, all said, with one melancholy accord, that the sweet season
+was dying. When he had exterminated the withered brushwood Franco
+proposed to his wife that they should go to Casarico in their boat, and
+return the two first volumes of the _Mysteres du Peuple_ which they had
+eagerly devoured in a few days, to their friend Gilardoni, and borrow
+the next volume from him. They decided to start after lunch, when Maria
+should have gone to bed. But before Maria had been put to bed Barborin
+Pasotti appeared, all out of breath, her bonnet and mantle askew. She
+had come up from the garden-gate, and now stopped on the threshold of
+the hall. It was the first time she had been to see them since the
+search. Upon catching sight of her friends she clasped her hands, and
+kept repeating in a low tone: "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" Then she
+flung herself upon Luisa and covered her with kisses.
+
+"My dear girl! My dear girl!" she exclaimed. She would have liked to
+treat Franco in the same way, but Franco was not favourable to this sort
+of emotion, and his expression was not encouraging, so the poor woman
+had to be satisfied with taking both his hands and shaking them
+heartily. "My dear Don Franco! My dear Don Franco!" Finally she gathered
+Maria into her arms, but the child planted her two little hands upon
+Barborin's chest, her face wearing an expression similar to her
+father's. "I am old, am I not? And ugly? You don't like me? Well, never
+mind, never mind!" And she fell to kissing the child's arms and
+shoulders humbly, not daring to brave the sour little face. Then she
+told her friends she had brought them a piece of good news, and her eyes
+sparkled at the pleasant mystery. The Marchesa had written to Pasotti,
+and one passage in the letter Barborin had committed to memory. "It was
+with the deepest regret (deepest regret, those were the very words) that
+I learned of the sad affair at Oria ... at Oria ... (wait a moment) the
+sad affair at Oria ... (ah!) and although my grandson is most
+undeserving (wait! ... have patience!) I trust that it may have no
+unpleasant consequences." The passage did not produce any great effect.
+Luisa frowned and said nothing. Franco glanced at his wife, and did not
+dare to utter the favourable comment he had on his lips, but not in his
+heart. Poor Barborin, who had taken advantage of her husband's absence
+at Lugano to run to her friends with this sugar-plum, was deeply
+mortified, and after gazing ruefully from Luisa to Franco, ended by
+pulling a real sugar-plum from her pocket, and offering it to Maria.
+Then, having made out that the Maironis wanted to go away in the boat,
+and longing to be allowed to stay with Maria a little while, she begged
+and entreated so hard that they finally started, leaving orders with
+Veronica to put the child to bed a little later.
+
+Maria did not seem any too well pleased with the company of her elderly
+friend. She remained silent, obstinately silent, and before long she
+opened her mouth and burst into tears. Poor Barborin did not know which
+Saint to appeal to, so she appealed to Veronica, but Veronica was
+discoursing with a customs-guard, and either did not or would not hear.
+Barborin showed her rings, her watch, even the big bonnet, _a la
+vice-reine Beauharnais_, but nothing would do, and Maria continued to
+weep. Then she bethought her of going to the piano, where she strummed
+eight or ten bars of an antediluvian jig over and over again. Then
+little Princess Maria became more amiable, and allowed her old
+court-pianist to lift her as carefully as if her little arms had been a
+butterfly's wings, and place her on her lap as softly as if there had
+been danger of the old legs crumbling to dust.
+
+When the jig had been repeated five or six times Maria began to look
+bored and tried to pull the elderly pianist's hand from the key-board,
+saying in an undertone: "Sing me a song." Obtaining no answer, she
+turned, looked Barborin straight in the face, and shouted at the top of
+her voice: "Sing me a song."
+
+"I don't understand," Barborin replied. "I am deaf."
+
+"Why are you deaf?"
+
+"I am deaf," the unfortunate woman answered, smiling.
+
+"But why are you deaf?"
+
+Barborin could not imagine what the child was saying.
+
+"I don't understand," said she.
+
+"Then you are stupid," Maria announced with a very serious face, and
+knitting her brows, she repeated in a whining voice: "I want a song!"
+
+A voice from the little garden said--
+
+"Here is the person for songs."
+
+Maria raised her head and her face became radiant. "Missipipi!" she
+cried, and slipping down from Barborin's lap, ran to meet Uncle Piero
+who was coming in. Signora Pasotti rose also, astonished and smiling,
+and stretched out her arms towards this old and unexpected friend.
+"Behold, behold, behold!" she exclaimed, and hastened to greet him.
+Maria was calling so loudly for "Missipipi, Missipipi!" and clinging so
+tight to Uncle Piero's legs, that, although he did not seem inclined to
+do so, he was obliged to sit down on the sofa, take the child on his
+knees, and repeat the old story to her.
+
+ Proud shade of the river----
+
+After four or five "Missipipis" Signora Pasotti went home, fearing her
+husband might return. Veronica wished to put the child to bed, but the
+little one rebelled, and Uncle Piero interfered, saying: "Oh, leave her
+here a little while longer," and he took her out to the terrace to see
+if Papa and Mamma were coming.
+
+No boat could be seen coming from Casarico. The little one ordered her
+uncle to sit down, and then she climbed upon his knee.
+
+"Why did you come?" said she. "There isn't any dinner for you, you
+know."
+
+"Then you must cook some for me. I came to stay with you."
+
+"Always?"
+
+"Always."
+
+"But really always, always, always?"
+
+"Really always."
+
+Maria became silent and thoughtful, but presently she asked--
+
+"What have you brought me?"
+
+Uncle Piero drew a rubber doll from his pocket. Had Maria known, had she
+been able to understand how he had gone out to buy that doll for her in
+great anguish of mind, still smarting from a terrible blow, she would
+have wept with pity.
+
+"This is an ugly present," said she, recalling others he had brought
+her. "And if you stay here will you never bring me any more presents?"
+
+"No more presents."
+
+"Go away, Uncle," said she.
+
+He smiled.
+
+And then Maria wanted her uncle to tell her if his uncle had brought him
+presents when he was a little boy. But, though the thing was
+inconceivable to Maria, this uncle of her uncle had never existed. Who
+had brought him presents, then? And had he always been a good little
+boy? Had he cried much? Her uncle began telling her many tales of his
+childhood, things that had happened sixty years before, when people wore
+wigs and pig-tails. He enjoyed talking to his little grand-niece of that
+far-away time, making her share for a moment the existence of his dead
+parents, and he spoke with sad gravity, as if the dear ones who had
+passed away had been present, and he were speaking more for them than
+for her. She fixed her wide-open eyes on his face, and gazed intently at
+him. Neither he nor she heeded the flight of time, neither he nor she
+thought of the boat that was coming.
+
+And the boat came. Luisa and Franco drew near, suspecting nothing, and
+believing the child to be asleep. Franco was the first to perceive Uncle
+Piero seated under the drooping branches of the passion-flower vine with
+Maria on his knee. He uttered a loud exclamation of surprise, and,
+followed by Luisa, hastened towards them, fearing something had
+happened. "You here?" he called as he ran. Luisa, who was very pale,
+said nothing. Uncle Piero raised his head, and looked at them. They felt
+at once that he had brought bad news, for they had never seen him so
+grave.
+
+"_Addio!_ God bless you!" said he.
+
+"What has happened?" Franco whispered. Uncle Piero motioned to them to
+withdraw from the terrace to the loggia, whither he followed them. Then
+the poor old man spread wide his arms as one crucified, and said in a
+sad but firm voice--
+
+"I am dismissed."
+
+Franco and Luisa stared at him for a moment, dazed. Then Franco burst
+out: "Oh, Uncle, Uncle!" and fell upon his neck. Seeing her father's
+action and the expression on her mother's face Maria fell to sobbing.
+Luisa tried to pacify her, but she herself, strong woman that she was,
+felt the tears rising in her throat.
+
+Seated on the sofa in the hall Uncle Piero told them that the Imperial
+and Royal Delegate of Como had sent for him to tell him that the search
+which had been carried out in his house at Oria had given painful and
+unexpected results, but what these results were he had positively
+refused to state. The Delegate had added that the authorities had at
+first intended to take legal proceedings against him, but that in
+consideration of his long and faithful services to the government, it
+had been decided to remove him from office instead. Uncle Piero had
+insisted upon knowing the nature of the accusations brought against him,
+but the Delegate had dismissed him without an answer.
+
+"And what is to be done now?" said Franco.
+
+"What is to be done----" Uncle Piero was silent for a moment, and then
+pronounced that sacramental phrase of unknown origin which he and his
+fellow _tarocchi_ players were in the habit of repeating when the game
+was hopelessly lost. "We are done brown, O Queen!"
+
+A long silence ensued, which was finally broken by Luisa, who cast
+herself upon her uncle's neck, murmuring: "Oh, Uncle, Uncle! I am afraid
+it is our fault." She was thinking of the grandmother, but Uncle Piero
+thought she was accusing Franco and herself of some imprudence.
+
+"Listen, my dear friends," said he good-naturedly, but in his tone there
+was a hidden spirit of reproof, "these discourses are useless. Now that
+the evil is done we must think of bread. You may count upon this house,
+upon some modest savings which bring me in about four _svanziche_ a day,
+and upon two more mouths to feed, mine and Cia's. Let us hope you will
+not have to feed mine long." Franco and Luisa protested. "Better so,
+better so!" Uncle Piero exclaimed, waving his arms as if in contempt of
+unreasonable sentimentality. "Live well, and die in good time. That is
+the best rule. I have performed the first part, now I must perform the
+second. Meanwhile send some water to my room, and open my bag. You will
+find ten meat croquettes, which Signora Carolina dell'Agria insisted
+upon giving me. You see we are not so badly off, after all!"
+
+Whereupon Uncle Piero rose and went out at the drawing-room door with a
+firm step, and even when his back was turned, displaying a head and body
+held erect, and an unruffled serenity like that of an ancient
+philosopher.
+
+Franco, with knitted brows and arms crossed upon his breast, was
+standing motionless on the edge of the terrace, and looking towards
+Cressogno. If at that moment he had had a bundle of Delegates,
+Commissaries, police-agents, and spies between his teeth, he would have
+ground them so hard that all these functionaries would have been reduced
+to pulp.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE TRUMP CARD APPEARS
+
+
+"The boat is ready," said Ismaele, coming in unceremoniously, his pipe
+in his left hand, a lantern in his right.
+
+"What time is it?" Franco asked.
+
+"Half-past eleven."
+
+"And the weather?"
+
+"It is snowing."
+
+"That is good!" Uncle Piero exclaimed ironically, stretching his legs
+towards the flames of the juniper bush that was crackling in the little
+fireplace.
+
+In the small parlour, arranged for winter, Luisa, on her knees, was
+tying a muffler round Maria's neck. Franco, holding his wife's cape,
+stood waiting while the old housekeeper, her bonnet on and her hands
+buried in her muff, was grumbling at her master. "What a man you are!
+What are you going to do all alone here at home?"
+
+"I don't need any one when I am asleep," the engineer answered. "Other
+people may be mad, but I am not. Put my milk and the lamp here."
+
+It was Christmas Eve and the mad idea these otherwise sane people had
+conceived, the determination which seemed so incomprehensible to Uncle
+Piero, was to go to the solemn Midnight-Mass at S. Mamette.
+
+"And that innocent victim also!" said he, glancing at the child.
+
+Franco flushed hotly, and declared that he wished to prepare precious
+memories for her. He believed this excursion at night, in the boat, on
+the dark lake, the snow, the crowded and brightly lighted church, the
+organ, the singing, the holy associations of Christmas, would prove to
+be such. He spoke with heat, perhaps not so much for the uncle as for
+some one who was silent.
+
+"Yes, yes, yes," said Uncle Piero, as if he had expected this rhetoric,
+this useless poetry.
+
+"I am going to have some punch, too, you know!" said the child. The
+uncle smiled. "That is not bad! That will indeed form a precious
+memory!" Franco frowned at beholding his frail structure of poetical and
+religious memories thus demolished.
+
+"And Gilardoni?" Luisa asked.
+
+"Here they are now," Ismaele said, going out with his lantern.
+
+Professor Gilardoni had invited the Maironis and Donna Ester Bianchi to
+come to his house for punch after Mass. He was now expected from
+Niscioree, whither he had gone to fetch the young lady, who had lived
+there alone with two maid-servants since her father's death, which had
+taken place in 1852. The worthy Professor had mourned secretly for
+Signora Teresa for a reasonable length of time, but during the
+convalescence of his heart, which kept him weak and languid, and in
+permanent danger of a relapse, he had not been careful enough of the
+merry little face, the lively eyes, and sparkling gaiety of the little
+Princess of Niscioree, as the Maironis called Donna Ester.
+
+At seven-and-twenty Donna Ester looked like a girl of twenty, save in
+her movements there was a certain languor, and in her eyes a certain
+delicious hidden knowledge. She had not intended to fish for this
+respectable lover, but now she knew he was caught, and she was pleased,
+believing him to be a man of great genius, and infinite wisdom. That he
+should ever dare speak to her of love, that she might marry all this
+sallow, wrinkled, dry knowledge, had never entered her head.
+Nevertheless she did not wish to quench this little fire, which was so
+discreet, which was an honour to her, and probably a source of happiness
+to him. If she sometimes laughed about him with Luisa she was never the
+first to laugh, and always hastened to repeat: "Poor Signor Gilardoni!
+Poor Professor!"
+
+She came in hastily, her fair head enveloped in a great black hood,
+looking like Spring out on the spree disguised as December. December was
+close behind her, his neck shrouded in a great scarf, above which rose
+the red and shining professorial nose, irritated by the snow. As it was
+already late they immediately took leave of Uncle Piero, who was left
+alone with his milk and his lamp before the dying embers of the
+juniper-bush.
+
+A slight shadow of disapproval still rested on his face. Franco was
+playing the poet too much. Nowadays life was hard at Casa Maironi.
+Breakfast consisted of a cup of milk and chicory-coffee, and they used a
+sort of reddish sugar that tasted of the chemist's shop. They indulged
+in meat only on Thursdays and Sundays. A bottle of Grimelli wine
+appeared on the table regularly every day for Uncle Piero, who rebelled
+against being the privileged one. Every day clouds gathered around this
+bottle and a little storm burst forth, which, however, always ended as
+Uncle Piero wished, in a short shower of the decoction into each of the
+five glasses. The servant had been dismissed, and only Veronica remained
+to do the heavy work, stir the _polenta_, and sometimes look after
+Maria. But in spite of these and other economies Luisa could not make
+both ends meet, though Cia had refused to accept any wages, and gifts of
+curds, of _mascherpa_, of goats'-cheeses, of chestnuts and walnuts were
+always pouring in upon them from the townspeople. She had obtained some
+copying from a notary at Porlezza, but it was hard work for miserable
+pay. Franco had also begun to copy diligently, but he accomplished less
+than his wife and, moreover, there was not work enough for two. He
+should have bestirred himself, have sought some private employment, but
+Uncle Piero saw no signs of this, and so----?
+
+And so this thinking about poetic expeditions seemed to him more out of
+place than ever. After having pondered a long time upon their sad
+plight, and upon the slender probability that Franco would ever be able
+to extricate them from it, he reflected that, for him, the first thing
+to do was to drink his milk, and the second, to go to bed. But another
+thought came to him. He opened the hall-door, and seeing the room was
+quite dark, went into the kitchen, lighted a lantern, and carried it to
+the loggia, where he opened one of the windows. Although it was snowing
+there was no wind, so he placed the lantern on the window-sill, that its
+light might help those poetic people to steer their homeward course over
+the dark lake.
+
+Then he went to bed.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Ismaele brought his freight safely to S. Mamette in the covered boat.
+The snow was still falling placidly in big flakes. The church was
+already quite full, and even the ladies were obliged to stand, behind
+the first row of benches. Ester volunteered to look after Maria, and
+lifted her to a seat on top of the bench in front of them, while the
+sacristan was busy lighting the candles on the high-altar. Cia was
+tormenting the Professor, whom she believed to be a pious man, with a
+thousand questions concerning the difference between the Roman and
+Ambrosian rites, and Maria was keeping Ester busy with still more
+puzzling questions.
+
+"Who are they lighting those candles for?"
+
+"For our Lord."
+
+"Is our Lord going to bed now?"
+
+"No, hush!"
+
+"And has the _bambino Gesu_--the child Jesus--gone to bed already?"
+
+"Yes, yes," Ester replied thoughtlessly, to put an end to these
+questions.
+
+"With the mule?"
+
+Once Uncle Piero had brought Maria an ugly, little wooden mule which she
+detested, and when she was obstinate and capricious her mother would put
+her to bed with the mule under her pillow, under her obstinate little
+head.
+
+"Be quiet, chatterbox!" said Ester.
+
+"I don't go to bed with the mule. I say _excuse me_!"
+
+"Hush! Listen to the organ."
+
+All the candles were now lighted, and the organist having mounted to his
+post, was teasing his old instrument as if to waken it, drawing from it
+what seemed to be angry grunts. When, on the ringing of a bell, the
+organ poured forth all its great voice, and the altar-boys and the
+priest appeared, Luisa stole her hand into her husband's, as if they had
+still been lovers.
+
+Those two hands pressing each other furtively were speaking of a fast
+approaching event, of a serious resolve which must be kept a secret,
+and which was not yet formed irrevocably. The little nervous hand said:
+"Have courage!" The manly hand said: "I will!" They must indeed make up
+their minds to it. Franco must go away, leave his wife, his child, and
+the old man, perhaps for some months, perhaps for some years. He must
+leave Valsolda, the dear little house, his flowers, perhaps for ever. He
+must emigrate to Piedmont, seek for work and gain, in the hope of being
+able to call his family to him in case that other great national hope
+should not be realised. He was glad his wife had chosen this solemn
+place and hour in which to encourage him in his sacrifice, and he did
+not drop the gentle hand, but held it as a lover might, never looking at
+Luisa, his face and person immovable. He spoke with his hand only, with
+his soul in palm and fingers, he spoke the most varied, passionate
+language, consisting of soft caresses, of embraces, of tenderness and
+ardour. From time to time she would endeavour to gently withdraw her
+hand, and then he would clasp it violently. His gaze was fixed on the
+altar, and he held his head erect as if absorbed in the music of the
+organ, in the voice of the priest, in the singing of the congregation.
+As a matter of fact he was not following the prayers, but he felt the
+Divine Presence, was experiencing an ecstasy, a fervour of love, of
+pain, of hope in God. Luisa had taken his hand in the belief that he was
+praying, that all his fears, all his doubts were stirring in his soul.
+She had indeed wished to inspire him with courage, convinced that this
+painful step was best for him. She only half understood the pressure
+that answered her; it seemed to her a passionate protest against this
+separation, and although this was most sweet to her, she could not
+approve of it, and so from time to time she strove to withdraw her hand.
+At the moment of the Elevation it was he who withdrew his, out of
+respect. Then he was obliged to take Maria in his arms, for she had
+fallen asleep, and slept on, her head on her father's shoulder,
+displaying half of a little, peaceful face. She, his darling, did not
+know that her father was going so far away, and his heart was filled
+with tender yearning towards that little, warm treasure, which breathed
+upon it, towards that tiny head, which had the perfume of a little wild
+bird. He imagined himself already gone, imagined that she was seeking
+for him, was crying, and then a desire to press her closer ran through
+his arms, a desire he quickly checked for fear of waking her.
+
+It had stopped snowing when they left the church.
+
+"Wind! Wind!" said Ismaele, coming towards them.
+
+"I shall walk! I shall walk!" groaned Cia, who had a great horror of the
+lake. Meanwhile the crowd issuing from the church pushed and dispersed
+the group, and carried them down the steps. The six travellers and the
+boatmen met again in the square of S. Mamette and here Donna Ester
+declared that, as she was not feeling very well, she must forego the
+punch, and that she would walk home with Cia.
+
+Franco, Luisa, and the Professor saw it would be useless to insist, and
+the two women started towards Oria escorted by Ismaele, who was to come
+back for the Maironis and the boat.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+A _moderateur_ lamp illumined Gilardoni's salon, a good fire was burning
+on the hearth, and Pinella had prepared everything for the punch over
+which Luisa presided, the host himself being much depressed in spirit by
+Donna Ester's desertion.
+
+"Look at Maria," said Franco softly.
+
+The little one had gone to sleep in the Professor's armchair near the
+window. Franco took the lamp and held it aloft in order to see her
+better. She seemed like some little creature descended from heaven,
+fallen there with the star-light, unconscious, her face suffused with a
+sweetness which was not of this world, with a solemnity full of mystery.
+"Darling!" said he, and drew his wife towards him with an encircling
+arm, his eyes still fixed on Maria. Gilardoni came up behind them, and
+murmured: "How lovely!" Then he went back to the fireplace sighing:
+"Happy people!"
+
+Franco, who was deeply moved, whispered in his wife's ear: "Shall we
+tell him?" She did not understand, and looked questioningly into his
+eyes. "That I am going away," said he, still in an undertone. Luisa
+started and answered, "Yes, yes!" She was greatly affected, for she had
+not expected this. In the church she had believed he was still
+undecided. Her astonishment did not escape Franco. He was troubled by it
+and felt his resolution shaken, but she at once perceived this, and
+repeated earnestly: "Yes, yes!" and gently pushed him towards Gilardoni.
+
+"Dear friend," said he, "I have something to tell you."
+
+The Professor, absorbed in contemplation of the fire, did not answer.
+Franco placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ah!" he exclaimed, rousing
+himself, "I beg your pardon! What it is?"
+
+"I wish to commend some one to your care."
+
+"To my care? Who is it?"
+
+"An old man, a woman, and a little child."
+
+The two men looked at each other in silence, one deeply moved, the other
+amazed.
+
+"Don't you understand?" Luisa whispered.
+
+No, he neither understood nor answered.
+
+"I commend my wife, my daughter, and the old uncle to your care," Franco
+replied.
+
+"Oh!" the Professor exclaimed, looking in astonishment from one to the
+other.
+
+"I am going away," said Franco, with a smile that went to Gilardoni's
+heart. "We have not told Uncle Piero yet, but I must go. In our position
+I cannot stay here doing nothing. I shall say I am going to Milan, and
+those who will may believe it, but I shall really be in Piedmont."
+
+Gilardoni clasped his hands in silent amazement. Luisa embraced Franco
+and kissed him, holding his head upon her breast, her eyes closed.
+
+The Professor imagined it was painful to her to bow to her husband's
+will in this matter.
+
+"Now listen to me," said he, addressing Franco. "If war had broken out I
+could understand your going, but as it is, I think you do wrong to cause
+your wife so much suffering for a question of money."
+
+Luisa who was still clinging with one arm to her husband's neck,
+motioned to Professor Gilardoni with the other hand, entreating him to
+be silent.
+
+"No, no, no!" she murmured, once more clasping her arms about Franco.
+"You are doing right! You are doing right!" As Gilardoni continued to
+insist, she drew away from her husband, and cried, her hands extended
+protestingly towards their host: "But, Professor, it is I who tell him
+he is doing right! I, his wife, tell him so! Dear Professor, don't you
+understand?"
+
+"After all, dear lady," Gilardoni burst out, "it is time you were
+informed----"
+
+Franco flung his arms towards him, crying impetuously: "Professor!"
+
+"You are doing wrong," the other replied. "You are doing wrong, very
+wrong!"
+
+"What is it, Franco?" Luisa demanded in astonishment. "Is there
+something I do not know?"
+
+"Only that I must go away, that I shall go away. That is all!"
+
+Franco's exclamation, "Professor!" had awakened Maria with a start.
+Seeing her mother's agitation she prepared to cry; presently she burst
+into violent sobbing, and wailed: "No Papa! Papa not go away! Not go
+away!"
+
+Franco took her in his arms, kissing and caressing her, while she kept
+repeating: "My Papa! My Papa!" in a pitiful, grieved voice that made
+their hearts ache. Her father yearned over her, and protested that he
+would always stay with her; but he wept at his own deceit, wept with the
+emotion this new tenderness, springing up at such a moment, caused him.
+
+Luisa was thinking of her husband's cry. Gilardoni saw she suspected a
+secret, and, hoping to distract her thoughts, asked her if Franco
+intended to start at once. Franco himself replied. Everything depended
+upon a letter from Turin. Perhaps it would be a week, at the latest a
+fortnight, before he started. Luisa was silent, and the subject was
+dropped. Then Franco talked of politics, of the probability that war
+would break out in the Spring. But again conversation soon languished.
+Gilardoni and Luisa seemed to be thinking of something else, to be
+listening to the beat of the waves against the garden wall. Finally
+Ismaele returned, drank his punch, and assured them that the lake was
+not very rough, and that they could start homewards.
+
+As soon as the Maironis were seated in the boat, and Maria had gone to
+sleep, Luisa asked her husband if there was something she did not know,
+and which Gilardoni must not tell.
+
+Franco did not answer.
+
+"Enough!" said she. Then her husband threw his arm around her neck and
+pressed her to him, protesting against words she had not uttered. "Oh,
+Luisa, Luisa!"
+
+Luisa suffered his embrace, but did not return it, and at last, in
+despair, her husband promised to tell her every thing, at once. "Do you
+think I am curious?" she whispered, in his arms. No, no. He would tell
+her at once, tell her everything; he would explain why he had not spoken
+before. She did not wish this; she preferred that he should speak at
+some other time, and of his own free will.
+
+The wind was in their favour and the light shining in the window of the
+loggia served Ismaele well as a guide. Franco's arm still encircled his
+wife's shoulders, and his gaze was fixed upon that shining point.
+Neither he nor she thought of the loving and prudent hand that had
+lighted it. But Ismaele thought of it, and reflected that neither
+Veronica nor Cia were capable of such an act of genius, and blessed the
+engineer's kind heart.
+
+On leaving the boat Maria woke up, and her parents seemed to have no
+thought save for her. When they were in bed Franco put out the light.
+
+"It concerns my grandmother," said he in a broken and agitated voice.
+"Poor boy!" Luisa murmured and took his hand affectionately. "I have
+never told you in order to avoid accusing my grandmother, and also
+because----" He paused, and then it was he who mingled with his words
+the most tender caresses, to which Luisa now no longer responded. "I
+feared your impressions, your sentiments, the ideas you might
+conceive----!" As his words began to express his doubts his voice grew
+more tender.
+
+Luisa felt the approach, not of a dispute, but of a far more lasting
+disagreement. Now, she no longer wished her husband to speak, and he,
+noticing her increasing coldness, did not continue. She rested her
+forehead against his shoulder, and said, almost in spite of herself:
+"Tell me!"
+
+Then Franco, his lips against her hair, related the story the Professor
+had told him on the night of their marriage. In repeating from memory
+the contents of his grandfather's letter and will, he greatly softened
+the injurious expressions used against his father and grandmother. In
+the middle of his recital Luisa, who had not expected such a revelation,
+raised her head from her husband's shoulder. He stopped. "Go on," said
+she.
+
+When he had finished she asked if there was any proof that his
+grandfather's will had been suppressed. Franco promptly answered that
+there was not. "Then," said she, "why did you speak of the ideas I
+might conceive?" Her thoughts had immediately flown to the probability
+of his grandmother's crime, to the possibility of a prosecution. But if
+prosecution were not possible?
+
+Franco did not answer, and she exclaimed, after a moment's reflection,
+"Ah! the copy of the will! Could that be used? Would that be valid?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you would not use it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not, Franco?"
+
+"There!" Franco exclaimed. "You see? I knew you would say so! No, I will
+not make use of it! No, no, never!"
+
+"But what reasons have you for not doing so?"
+
+"Good Lord! My reasons! My reasons can be felt. You should feel them
+without my having to explain them."
+
+"I do not feel them. Don't imagine I am thinking of the money. We will
+not touch the money. Give it to whomever you like; I feel the claims of
+justice. There are your grandfather's wishes to be respected; there is
+the crime your grandmother has committed. You who are so religious
+should perceive that Divine Justice has brought this document to light.
+Would you place yourself between this woman and Divine Justice?"
+
+"Let Divine Justice alone," Franco retorted, hotly. "What do we know of
+the ways of Divine Justice? There is also Divine Mercy. She is my
+father's mother, think of that! And have I not always despised this
+accursed money? What did I do when my grandmother threatened not to
+leave me a penny if I married you?"
+
+Unable to speak, he drew Luisa's head to his breast.
+
+"I despised the money for your sake," he went on in a stifled voice.
+"Would you have me try to regain it now by going to law?"
+
+"No indeed!" Luisa broke in, raising her head. "You may give the money
+to whomever you wish. I am talking of justice. Don't you also feel the
+demand of justice?"
+
+"_Dio mio!_" said he, with a deep sigh. "It would have been better if I
+had not spoken to-night."
+
+"Yes, perhaps. If you were bound never to alter your decision, it would
+perhaps have been wiser."
+
+Luisa's voice expressed sadness, not anger, as she uttered these words.
+
+"In any way, that document no longer exists," Franco remarked.
+
+Luisa started. "It no longer exists?" said she anxiously, in an
+undertone.
+
+"No. The Professor was to destroy it, by my orders."
+
+A long silence followed. Very slowly Luisa withdrew her head and rested
+it on her own pillow. Suddenly Franco exclaimed, aloud: "A law-suit
+indeed! With those documents! With those insults! To the mother of my
+father! And all for money!"
+
+"Don't keep repeating that," his wife exclaimed indignantly. "Why do you
+keep repeating that? Don't you know very well it is not true?"
+
+Both spoke excitedly. It was plain that during the preceding silence
+their thoughts had been hard at work on this point. The reproof
+irritated him, and he replied blindly--
+
+"I know nothing about it!"
+
+"Oh, Franco!" cried Luisa, much hurt. He already regretted the affront,
+and begged her to forgive him, accusing his hot temper, which made him
+say things he did not mean, and he entreated her to speak a kind word to
+him. "Yes, yes," Luisa answered with a sigh, but he was not satisfied,
+and wished her to embrace him and say, "I forgive you." The touch of the
+dear lips did not refresh him as usual. Some minutes passed, and then he
+strained his ear to hear if his wife had fallen asleep. He heard the
+wind, Maria's quiet breathing, the noise of the waves, the jarring of a
+window, but that was all. "Have you really forgiven me?" he whispered,
+and he heard her soft answer: "Yes, dear." Presently she, in her turn,
+listened, and besides the wind, the waves, the creaking of a shutter,
+the even, regular breathing of the child, she heard the even, regular
+breathing of her husband. Then she once more sighed deeply, sighed
+despairingly. Oh, God! How could Franco have acted thus? What wounded
+her heart most sorely was the fact that he did not seem to sense the
+injuries which her poor mother and Uncle Piero had suffered. But she
+would not allow herself to dwell on this thought, at least not until she
+had considered his other mistake, his mistaken idea of justice. And here
+she felt bitterly, but not without a certain satisfaction, that he was
+her inferior, that he was controlled by sentiments that were the outcome
+of his fancy, while her own sentiment was inspired by reason. Franco had
+in him so much of the child. He had, even now, been able to go to sleep,
+while she was sure of not closing her eyes all night long. She believed
+she was without imagination because she did not feel it move, because in
+her it was less easily inflamed. She would have laughed had she been
+told that imagination was more powerful in her than in her husband. But
+indeed such was the case. Only, in order to demonstrate this, both souls
+must be turned upside down, for Franco's imagination was visible on the
+surface of his soul, and all his reason was at the bottom, while in
+Luisa's soul imagination was at the bottom, and reason was plainly
+visible on the surface. In fact, she did not sleep, but all night long
+she thought, with that imagination that lay at the bottom of her soul,
+how religion favours weak sentimentality, how incapable it is, even
+while preaching the thirst for justice, of forming a correct sense of
+justice in those intellects which are devoted to it.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The Professor also, who was subject to serious infiltrations of
+imagination into the ratiocinative cells of his brain, as well as into
+the amorous cells of his heart, having put out the light, spent the
+greater part of the night in front of the fireplace, working with the
+tongs and with his imagination, taking up, examining and then dropping
+embers and projects, until only one glowing coal and one last idea
+remained. Then he took a match, and having held it in contact with the
+ember, lighted the lamp once more, seized the idea, which was also hot
+and luminous, and carried it off to bed with him.
+
+This was the idea. He would start secretly for Brescia, present himself
+before the Marchesa with the terrible document, and obtain a
+capitulation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE PROFESSOR PLAYS HIS TRUMP CARD
+
+
+Three days later, in Milan, at five o'clock in the morning, Professor
+Gilardoni, muffled up to the eyes, issued from the Albergo degli Angeli,
+passed in front of the cathedral, turned into the dark street called dei
+Rastrelli behind a line of horses led by postilions, and entered the
+booking office of the public coaches. The little courtyard where the
+post-office now stands, was already full of people, of horses, of
+lanterns. To the hermit of Valsolda all these voices of postilions and
+of guards, this stamping of horses and jingling of bells, seemed like a
+real pandemonium.
+
+The horses were being harnessed to two coaches, four to each. The
+Professor was going to Lodi because he had learned that the Marchesa was
+visiting a friend there, and the Lodi coach would start at half-past
+five.
+
+It was intensely cold, and the poor Professor wandered anxiously around
+the ungainly carriage, stamping his feet to warm them, until presently
+another traveller said jestingly to him: "Cool, is it not?" "Just a
+little fresh! Just a little fresh!" The horses were harnessed at last,
+an employe called the passengers by name, and the worthy Beniamino
+disappeared within the bowels of the huge vehicle, together with two
+priests, an old woman servant, an elderly gentleman with an enormous
+wart on his face, and a fashionably dressed young man. The doors were
+closed, an order was given, the bells jingled, the huge vehicle shook
+itself, the priests, the old woman, and the gentleman with the wart
+crossed themselves, the horses' sixteen hoofs rattled under the portal,
+the massive wheels rumbled through it, and then all this noise grew
+fainter as the coach turned to the right, towards Porta Romana.
+
+Now the wheels revolved almost noiselessly, and the travellers heard
+only the irregular beat of the sixteen hoofs on the stones. The
+Professor watched the passing of dark houses, the pale glow of
+infrequent street lamps, the flashing light from some small
+coffee-house, or a vanishing sentry-box.
+
+It seemed to him that the presence of these soldiers lent something
+threatening, something so formidable to the silence of the great city,
+that the very walls of the houses were black with hatred. When the coach
+entered the Corso di Porta Romana, so filled with fog that he could
+hardly see out of the window, he closed his eyes, and gave himself up to
+the pleasure of thinking of and conversing with the things and persons
+that filled his heart.
+
+It was no longer the passenger with the wart who sat opposite him, but
+Donna Ester, all enveloped in a great black cape, a broad-brimmed hat
+upon her head. She was looking at him fixedly, and her lovely eyes were
+saying: "Well done! You are acting nobly! Showing a great heart. I would
+not have believed it! I admire you! To me you are no longer old and
+ugly. Courage!" At this exhortation to have courage, he was seized with
+fear, for the image of the Marchesa rose before him, and the dull rumble
+of the wheels became the old lady's nasal voice, saying: "Won't you sit
+down? What can I do for you?"
+
+At this point the coach stopped and the Professor opened his eyes. Porta
+Romana. An official opened the door and asked for the passports and
+having collected them, carried them away. Returning again in about five
+minutes, he restored their passports to all the passengers save the
+fashionably dressed young man. To him he said sharply: "Come with me."
+The young man turned pale, but got out in silence and did not return. In
+a moment or two the door was closed, and a rough voice cried:
+"_Avanti!_" The gentleman with the wart placed his travelling-bag on the
+seat that was now vacant, but none of the other passengers gave any sign
+of having noticed what had happened. Only when the four horses had once
+more begun to trot did Gilardoni ask the priest, his neighbour, if he
+knew the young man's name, but the priest's only answer was a cross
+grunt, as he turned two terrified and suspicious eyes upon the
+Professor. Beniamino now looked towards the other priest, who
+immediately drew a rosary from his pocket and, having made the sign of
+the cross, began to pray. Once more the Professor closed his eyes, and
+the image of the unknown young man was lost for ever in the mist, like
+the few and phantom-like trees, the poplars and willows, slipping past
+on either side of the road.
+
+"How shall I begin?" thought Gilardoni. Ever since Christmas Eve he had
+done nothing but imagine and debate within himself how he should present
+himself before the Marchesa, how introduce the subject, how explain it,
+and what terms he should offer. This was the only point on which he was
+clear. If the Marchesa would make her grandson a liberal allowance, he
+would destroy the documents. He had not brought them with him, but he
+had copies of them. Their effect would surely be tremendous, but how
+should he begin? Not one of the many preambles he had thought of
+satisfied him. Even now with closed eyes and fancy hard at work, he was
+considering the question, starting from the only known factor: "Take a
+seat. What can I do for you?" But invariably his answer would appear to
+him either too obsequious or too daring, too remote from the subject or
+too close to it, and he would once more go back to the beginning. "What
+can I do for you?"
+
+The pale light of dawn, dreary, sad, and sleepy, invaded the coach. Now
+that the time for the interview was approaching, a thousand doubts, a
+thousand fresh uncertainties upset all the Professor's plans. The very
+base of his calculations suddenly collapsed. What if the Marchesa should
+not say either, "Take a seat," or "What can I do for you?" What if she
+should receive him in some other embarrassing manner? And what if she
+should not receive him at all! Merciful heavens! What then? The sudden
+ringing of the sixteen hoofs on a paved way set his heart to beating.
+However, it was not yet the streets of Lodi, but those of Melegnano.
+
+He reached Lodi at about nine o'clock, and got out at the Albergo del
+Sole, where they gave him a room without fire or sun. Not daring to
+brave either the fog in the street or the fumes in the kitchen, he
+decided to go to bed, and putting on his night-cap, which was acquainted
+with all his woes, he waited, a camphor cigarette between his lips, for
+the coming of noon and a happy thought.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+At one o'clock he ascended the steps of the Palazzo X. with the wise
+determination to carefully forget all the speeches he had prepared, and
+to trust to the inspiration of the moment. A footman in a white tie
+ushered him into a large, dark apartment, with a brick floor, walls hung
+with yellow silk, and a stuccoed ceiling, and having bowed respectfully,
+went away. A few antique, white and gilt armchairs covered with red
+damask stood in a semicircle before the fireplace, where three or four
+enormous logs were burning slowly, behind the brass fender. The air was
+laden with the mixed odours of ancient mould, ancient cakes, ancient
+stuffs, ancient leather, and decrepit ideas, the whole forming a subtle
+essence of old age enough to shrivel the very soul.
+
+The servant reappeared and announced, to Gilardoni's utter confusion,
+the imminent arrival of the Signora Marchesa. He waited and waited, and
+at last a great door, ornamented with gilding, swung open, a little
+moving bell tinkled, Friend trotted in, sniffing the floor to right and
+left, and was followed by a great bell-shaped mass of black silk, under
+a small cupola of white lace, while, between two blue ribbons, appeared
+the black wig, the marble brow, the lifeless eyes of the Marchesa
+herself.
+
+"What miracle! The Professor in Lodi!" said the drowsy voice, while the
+small dog sniffed at the Professor's boots. Gilardoni made a low bow,
+and the lady, who might have been the jar containing the essence of old
+age, seated herself on one of the chairs near the fire, and installed
+her lap-dog on another; after which she motioned to Gilardoni to be
+seated also. "I suppose," said she, "that you have some relative at the
+convent of the 'Dame Inglese'?"
+
+"No," the Professor replied, "I have not."
+
+Sometimes the Marchesa was facetious in her own way. "Then," said she,
+"you probably came for a supply of _mascherponi_."[M]
+
+"Not for that either, Signora Marchesa. I came on business."
+
+"Indeed. You are unfortunate in the weather. I believe it is raining
+now."
+
+At this unexpected digression the Professor came near losing his
+bearings. "Yes," said he, feeling that he was growing foolish, like the
+scholar whose examination is taking a bad turn. "It is drizzling."
+
+His voice, his expression, could not fail to reveal his inward
+embarrassment, to show the Marchesa that he had come to tell her
+something important. However, she carefully avoided helping him to
+unburden himself, and continued to talk of the weather, the cold, the
+dampness, a catarrh from which Friend was suffering, while the dog
+punctuated his mistress's recital with frequent sneezes.
+
+The drowsy voice had a calm, almost jocose inflection, a sort of bland
+benevolence, and the Professor was bathed in cold sweat at the bare
+thought of checking this mellifluous flow, and offering in exchange the
+bitter pill he had in his pocket. He might have taken advantage of a
+pause to pour forth his preamble, but he was not equal to it, and it was
+the Marchesa who seized the opportunity to close the interview.
+
+"I thank you very much for your visit," said she, "and now I am going to
+dismiss you, for you have your business to attend to, and, to tell the
+truth, I also have an engagement."
+
+Now or never he must take the leap.
+
+"As a matter of fact," Gilardoni began, greatly agitated, "I came to
+Lodi to speak with you, Signora Marchesa."
+
+"I should never have been able to guess that," said the lady frigidly.
+
+The Professor was carried forward by the impetus of his daring.
+
+"It is a most urgent matter," said he, "and I must beg----"
+
+"If it is a matter of business, you must apply to my agent in Brescia."
+
+"Pardon me, Signora Marchesa, it is really a most important affair. No
+one knows and no one must know that I have come to see you. I will tell
+you at once that it concerns your grandson."
+
+The Marchesa rose, and the dog that had been crouching in the armchair
+also sprang up, barking in Gilardoni's direction.
+
+"Do not speak to me of that person who no longer exists for me," the old
+lady said solemnly. "Come, Friend!"
+
+"No, Signora Marchesa," the Professor protested. "You cannot possibly
+imagine what I have to tell you."
+
+"I do not in the least care to know. I do not wish to hear anything.
+Good-day to you!"
+
+Whereupon the inflexible old lady moved towards the door.
+
+"Marchesa!" Beniamino called after her, while Friend, who had jumped
+from the chair, barked furiously around his legs. "It concerns your
+husband's will!"
+
+This time the Marchesa could not but stop. She did not, however, turn
+round.
+
+"This will cannot be pleasing to you," Gilardoni added rapidly. "But I
+have no intention of publishing it. I entreat you to listen to me,
+Marchesa."
+
+She turned round. Her impenetrable face betrayed a certain emotion in
+the quivering of the nostrils. Nor were the shoulders entirely at rest.
+
+"What tales have you to tell?" she retorted. "Do you think it fitting to
+thus inconsiderately mention my poor Franco to me? How dare you meddle
+with my family affairs?"
+
+"Excuse me," the Professor repeated, searching in his pocket. "If I do
+not meddle some one else may do so even less considerately. Kindly
+examine these documents. These----"
+
+"Keep your scribblings to yourself," the Marchesa interrupted, seeing
+him draw some papers from his pocket.
+
+"These are copies I have made----"
+
+"I tell you to keep them, to take them away!"
+
+The Marchesa rang the bell, and once more started to leave the room.
+
+Gilardoni, quivering with excitement, hearing the approaching steps of
+a servant, and seeing her about to open the door, threw his documents
+upon one of the armchairs, saying hastily, in an undertone: "I will
+leave them here. Let no one see them. I am staying at the Sole, and will
+return to-morrow. Examine the papers, and think over them carefully!"
+And before the servant arrived he had rushed out at the same door by
+which he had entered, had seized his heavy cape, and fled downstairs.
+
+The Marchesa dismissed the footman, and stood listening for a few
+moments. Then she retraced her steps, took up the papers, and went to
+her room, locking her door behind her. Having put on her spectacles she
+took her stand near the window, and began to read. Her brow was clouded
+and her hands trembled.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The Professor was preparing to go to bed in his icy room at the Sole
+when two police-agents came with a summons for him to appear at once at
+the police-station.
+
+He felt some secret misgivings, but did not lose his head, and went
+quietly away with the two men. At the station a little impudent
+Commissary asked him why he had come to Lodi, and upon being informed
+that he had come on private business shrugged his shoulders in
+contemptuous incredulity. What private business did Signor Gilardoni
+pretend to have in Lodi? With whom? The Professor mentioned the
+Marchesa. "There are no Maironis at Lodi," the Commissary exclaimed,
+and when his victim protested he speedily interrupted him. "_Basta!_
+That will do! That will do!" The police knew for a certainty that
+Professor Gilardoni, although he was an Imperial and Royal pensioner,
+was not a loyal Austrian; that he had friends at Lugano, and that he had
+come to Lodi for political ends.
+
+"You are better informed than I am," Gilardoni exclaimed, restraining
+his wrath with difficulty.
+
+"Silence!" the Commissary commanded. "You must not think the Imperial
+and Royal government is afraid of you. You are free to go, but you must
+leave Lodi within two hours."
+
+At this point Franco would have immediately perceived from whence the
+blow came, but the philosopher did not understand.
+
+"I came to Lodi on most urgent business, which is not yet finished,"
+said he. "On most important, private business. How can I leave in two
+hours?"
+
+"By carriage. If you are still in Lodi at the end of two hours I shall
+have you arrested."
+
+"My health does not permit me to travel at night in December," the
+victim urged.
+
+"Very well, then I will have you arrested at once!"
+
+The poor philosopher took up his hat in silence, and went out.
+
+An hour later he started for Milan in a closed calash, his feet
+embedded in straw, a rug over his legs, a great muffler round his neck,
+reflecting that this had been a most successful expedition, and
+swallowing momently to see if his throat were sore. He passed a horrible
+night, indeed, but the Marchesa herself did not rest on a bed of roses.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[M] _Mascherponi_: A sort of common cheese made in Lodi. [_Translator's
+note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+HOURS OF BITTERNESS
+
+
+On the last day of the year, while Franco was writing out the very
+minute directions concerning the care of the flowers and the
+kitchen-garden, which he intended to leave for his wife's guidance, and
+the uncle sat reading for the tenth time his favourite book, the
+_History of the Diocese of Como_, Luisa went out for a walk with Maria.
+The sun was shining brightly. There was no snow save on Bisgnago and
+Galbiga. Maria found a violet near the cemetery, and another down in the
+Calcinera. There it was really warm, and the air was pleasantly scented
+with laurel. Luisa sat down to think, with her back to the hill, and
+allowed Maria to amuse herself by climbing up the bank behind her, and
+sliding down again on the dry grass.
+
+She had not seen the Professor since Christmas Eve, and she longed to
+speak with him; not to hear the story of the Maironi will over again,
+but to get him to tell her about his interview with Franco, when he had
+shown it to him: to ascertain what Franco's first impression had been
+and what the Professor's opinion was. As the will had been destroyed,
+all this could only be of psychological importance, but Luisa's
+curiosity was not the curiosity of the idle observer. Her husband's
+conduct had deeply wounded her. Thinking of it over and over again, as
+she had done ever since Christmas Eve, she had arrived at the conclusion
+that his silence towards her had been an outrage against justice and
+affection. It was a bitter sorrow to her to feel her esteem for him
+diminishing, especially bitter now, on the eve of his departure, and at
+a time when he really deserved praise. She would have liked, at least,
+to know that when Gilardoni had shown him the documents there had been
+some inward struggle, that a more just sentiment had been aroused in his
+soul, if only for a moment. She rose, took Maria by the hand, and
+started towards Casarico.
+
+She found the Professor in the garden with Pinella, and told Maria to
+run and play with the boy, but Maria, always eager to listen to the
+conversation of her elders, would not hear of going. Then Luisa broached
+the subject without mentioning any names. She wished to speak to the
+Professor about certain papers, about those old letters. The Professor,
+who was crimson, protested that he did not understand. Fortunately,
+Pinella called Maria, enticing her with a picture-book, and she ran to
+him, conquered by her curiosity concerning the book. Then Luisa relieved
+the Professor of his scruples, by informing him that Franco himself had
+told her everything, and she confessed to him that she had disapproved
+of her husband's conduct, that it had been, and still was a source of
+great sorrow to her----
+
+"Why, why, why?" said the worthy Professor, interrupting her. Because
+Franco had not been willing to do anything. "I have done something! I
+have done something!" Gilardoni exclaimed, anxiously and excitedly. "But
+for the love of Heaven, don't tell your husband!" Luisa was amazed. What
+had the Professor done? And when, and how? And was not the will already
+destroyed?
+
+Then Gilardoni, as red as a glowing coal, his eyes full of anxiety, his
+recital often interrupted by such exclamations as, "For mercy's sake,
+don't tell!--You will be silent, eh?" revealed all his secrets to her,
+from the preserving of the will to his journey to Lodi. Luisa listened
+to the very end, and then, clasping her face tightly between her hands,
+uttered a horrified "Ah!"
+
+"Did I do wrong?" said the poor Professor, much alarmed. "Did I do
+wrong, Signora Luisina?"
+
+"Very wrong! Terribly wrong! Forgive me, but it looked as if you were
+proposing some transaction, some bargain, and the Marchesa is sure to
+believe we are in league with you! Oh, it is awful!"
+
+She wrung her clenched hands as if striving to press into shape, to
+remodel a more level professorial head for him. In utter amazement the
+poor Professor kept repeating: "Oh, Lord! Oh, dear me! Oh, what an ass
+I am!" without really comprehending the nature of his blunder. Luisa
+flung herself upon the parapet overhanging the lake, and stared into the
+water. Suddenly she started up, beating the back of her right hand upon
+the palm of her left, her face brightening. "Take me to your study,"
+said she. "Can I leave Maria here?" The Professor nodded, and,
+trembling, accompanied her to the study. Luisa took a sheet of paper and
+wrote rapidly: "Luisa Maironi Rigey begs to inform the Marchesa Maironi
+Scremin that Professor Beniamino Gilardoni is a most faithful friend of
+both her husband and herself, but that they nevertheless heartily
+disapprove of his inopportune use of a document which should have been
+disposed of in a different manner. Therefore, no communication from the
+Marchesa is either expected or desired."
+
+When she had finished she silently held out the letter to the Professor.
+"Oh no!" he exclaimed, as soon as he had read it; "For the love of
+Heaven don't send that letter! What if your husband should find it out?
+Think what a misfortune for me, for you yourself! And how can it
+possibly be kept from your husband?" Luisa did not answer, but gazed
+fixedly at him, not thinking of him, but of Franco; thinking that the
+Marchesa might look upon the letter as a snare, an attempt to intimidate
+her, she took it back and tore it in pieces, with a sigh. The Professor
+became radiant, and wished to kiss her hand, but she protested. She had
+not done it for his sake or for Franco's but for other reasons. The
+sacrifice of this outlet for her feelings exasperated her still more
+against Franco. "He is wrong! He is wrong!" she repeated, with
+bitterness in her heart, and neither she nor the Professor noticed that
+Maria was in the room. On seeing her mother leave the garden the little
+one no longer wished to remain with Pinella, so he had brought her to
+the door of the study, opening it noiselessly for her. The child, struck
+by her mother's expression, stopped and stared at her with a look of
+terror. She saw her tear the letter and heard her exclaim: "He is
+wrong!" and then she began to cry. Luisa hastened to her, folded her in
+her arms, and consoled her, and then they immediately took their
+departure. The Professor's parting words were: "For pity's sake, be
+silent!"
+
+"Why be silent?" Maria quickly demanded. Her mother did not heed her;
+her thoughts were elsewhere. Three or four times Maria repeated: "Why be
+silent?" until at last Luisa said: "Hush! That will do." Then she was
+quiet for a time, but presently she began again, simply to tease her
+mother, and lifting her little, laughing face repeated: "Why be silent?"
+This time she was well scolded, and once more became silent; but when
+they were passing below the cemetery, only a few steps from home, she
+again burst forth, with the same mischievous laugh. Then Luisa, who had
+been absorbed in the effort to compose her face into an expression of
+indifference, simply gave her a shake, but it sufficed to silence her.
+
+That day Maria was in very high spirits. At dinner, while jesting with
+her mother, she suddenly recalled the reprimands she had received when
+out walking, and looking covertly at Luisa, once more repeated her "Why
+be silent?" with the same timid and provoking little laugh. Her mother
+pretended not to hear, so she persevered. Then Luisa checked her with an
+"Enough!" so unusually stern that Maria's little mouth opened wider and
+wider, and the tears began to flow. Uncle Piero exclaimed: "Oh dear me!"
+and Franco frowned, showing that he disapproved of his wife's action. As
+Maria kept on crying, he vented his displeasure upon her, took her in
+his arms, and carried her off, screaming like an eagle. "Better still!"
+said Uncle Piero. "Fine disciplinarians, both of you!" "You let them
+alone," said Cia, for Luisa did not speak. "Parents must be obeyed."
+"That's it! Let us have your wisdom also!" Uncle Piero retorted, and Cia
+relapsed into sullen silence.
+
+Meanwhile Franco returned, having deposited Maria in one corner of the
+alcove-room, grumbling something about people who seemed bound to make
+children cry. And now Luisa also was vexed, and went to fetch Maria,
+whom she presently brought back in a lachrymose but mute state. The
+short meal ended badly, for Maria would not eat, and all the others were
+out of temper for one reason or another; all save Uncle Piero, who set
+about lecturing Maria, half seriously half playfully, until he succeeded
+in bringing a little sunshine back to her face. After dinner Franco went
+to look after some flower-pots, which he kept in the cellar below the
+little hanging garden, and took Maria with him. Seeing her once more in
+good spirits, he gently questioned her about what had happened. What did
+she mean by that "Why be silent?" "I don't know." "But why did mamma not
+wish you to say it?" "I don't know. I kept saying that, and mamma kept
+scolding me." "When?" "Out walking." "Where did you go?" "To the Signor
+Ladroni's." (It was Uncle Piero who had thus simplified the Professor's
+name.) "And did you begin saying that when you were at Signor Ladroni's
+house?" "No. Signor Ladroni said it to mamma." "What did he say?" "Why,
+papa, you don't understand anything! He said: 'For pity's sake be
+silent!'" Franco said no more. "Mamma tore a paper at Signor Ladroni's
+house," Maria added, believing her father would be all the better
+pleased the more she told him concerning that visit, but he ordered her
+to be quiet. On returning to the house Franco asked Luisa, with an
+expression that was far from amiable, why she had made the child cry.
+Luisa scrutinised him closely. It seemed to her he suspected something,
+and she asked indignantly if he expected her to seek to justify herself
+for such petty matters. "Oh no!" Franco answered coldly, and went into
+the garden to see if the dry leaves at the base of the orange-trees and
+the straw around the trunks were in order, for the night promised to be
+very cold. As he worked over the plants he reflected that had they
+possessed intelligence and words they would have shown themselves more
+affectionate, more grateful than usual, on account of his imminent
+departure, while Luisa had the heart to be harsh with him. He did not
+remember that he also had been harsh. Luisa, on the other hand, at once
+regretted her answer, but she could not hold him back, throw her arms
+about his neck, and end it all with a kiss or two; that other matter
+weighed too heavily on her heart. Franco finished swathing his orange
+trees and came into the house for his cape, intending to go to church at
+Albogasio. Luisa, who was in the kitchen peeling some chestnuts, heard
+him pass through the corridor, stood hesitating a moment, struggling
+with herself, and then rushed out, catching up with him just as he was
+starting downstairs.
+
+"Franco!" said she. Franco did not answer, but seemed to repulse her.
+Then she seized his arm and dragged him into the neighbouring alcove
+room.
+
+"What do you want?" said he, shaken, but still determined to appear
+vexed. Luisa, instead of answering, threw her arms about his neck, drew
+his unwilling head upon her breast, and said softly--
+
+"We must not quarrel these last days."
+
+He had expected words of excuse, and pushed his wife's arm aside,
+answering dryly--
+
+"I have not quarrelled. Perhaps you will tell me," he added, "what
+Professor Gilardoni confided to you that was such a great secret that he
+felt obliged to entreat you to be silent."
+
+Luisa looked at him, amazed and pained. "You doubted me?" said she. "You
+questioned the child? Did you indeed do that?"
+
+"Well," he cried, "and what if I did? Anyway, I am well aware you always
+think the worst of me. Listen now. I don't want to know anything." She
+interrupted him. "But I will tell you! I will tell you!" His conscience
+was pricking him a little on account of his questioning of the child,
+and now seeing Luisa ready to speak, he would not listen to her, and
+forbade her to explain. But his heart was full to overflowing with
+bitterness, for which he must find an outlet. He complained that since
+Christmas Eve she had not been the same to him. Why protest? He had seen
+it clearly. Indeed, something else had long been clear to him. What? Oh,
+something very natural! Perfectly natural! Was he, after all, worthy of
+her love? Certainly not. He was only a poor useless creature, and
+nothing more. Was it not natural that upon knowing him better she
+should love him less? For surely she did love him less than at one time!
+
+Luisa trembled, fearful that this might be true.
+
+"No, Franco, no!" she cried, but her very dread of not saying the words
+with proper conviction was sufficient to paralyze her voice. He had
+expected a violent denial, and murmured terrified: "My God!" Then it was
+her turn to be terrified, and she pressed him despairingly in her arms,
+sobbing: "No, no, no!" By means of some magnetic current they understood
+each other's every thought, and remained long united in a close embrace,
+speaking in a mute, spasmodic effort of their whole being, complaining
+one of the other, reproaching, passionately striving to draw together
+again, revelling in the sharp and bitter delight of being, for the
+moment, united by sheer force of will and of love, in spite of the
+secret disunion of their ideas, of their natures; and all this without a
+word, without a sound.
+
+Franco once more started to go to church. He would not invite Luisa to
+accompany him, hoping she would do so of her own free will, but she did
+not, fearing he might not wish it.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+On the morning of the seventh of January, shortly after ten o'clock,
+Uncle Piero sent for Franco.
+
+The uncle was still in bed. He was in the habit of rising late, because
+his room could not be heated, and for the sake of economy he did not
+wish the fire in the little salon lighted too early. However, the cold
+did not prevent his sitting up in bed and reading, half his chest and
+both arms outside the covers.
+
+"_Ciao!_ Good-morning!" said he, as Franco entered.
+
+From the tone of his greeting, from the expression of the fine face,
+serious in its kindliness, Franco understood that Uncle Piero was about
+to say something unusual.
+
+In fact, the uncle pointed to the chair beside his bed, and uttered the
+most solemn of his exordiums--
+
+"Sit you down!"
+
+Franco sat down.
+
+"So you are leaving to-morrow?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+"Good!"
+
+It would seem that in uttering that "Good!" the uncle's heart came into
+his mouth, for the word filled his cheeks, and came out full and
+ringing.
+
+"So far," the old man continued, "you have never heard me--let us
+say--either approve or disapprove of your plan. Perhaps I did not feel
+quite sure you would carry it out. But now----"
+
+Franco stretched out both hands to him. "Now," Uncle Piero went on,
+pressing those hands in his own, "seeing you are firm in your resolve, I
+say to you: Your resolve is good. We are in need, go; work, work is a
+great thing! May God help you to begin well, and then help you to
+persevere, which is a far more difficult thing. There!"
+
+Franco would have kissed his hands, but he was quick to withdraw them.
+"Let them alone! Let them alone!" And he once more began to speak.
+
+"Now listen. It is quite possible we may never meet again." Franco
+protested. "Yes, yes, yes!" the old man exclaimed, withdrawing his soul
+from his eyes and voice. "Those are all fine things, things that must be
+said. But let them go!"
+
+The eyes once more resumed their kindly and serious light, and the voice
+its grave tone.
+
+"It is quite possible we shall never meet again. After all, I put it to
+you, what good am I now in this world? It would be far better for you if
+I took my departure. Perhaps your grandmother resents my having taken
+you in; perhaps, if I were gone, it would be easier for her to accept a
+reconciliation. Therefore, supposing we never meet again, I beg you to
+make some overtures to her as soon as I am dead, if things have not
+already been arranged."
+
+Franco rose and embraced his uncle with tears in his eyes.
+
+"I have made no will," Uncle Piero continued, "and I shall not make one.
+What little I have belongs to Luisa; no will is necessary. I commend Cia
+to your care. Do not let her want for a bed and a crust of bread. As to
+my funeral, three priests will suffice to sing my _requiem_ with true
+feeling; our own priest, Intrioni, and the Prefect of Caravina. There is
+no necessity of having five, who will sing it for love of the candles
+and the white wine. Leave the question of my clothes to Luisa, she will
+know what to do with them. You yourself will keep my repeater to remind
+you of me. I should like to leave Maria a keepsake, but what shall it
+be? I might give her a piece of my gold chain. If you have a little
+medallion or a crucifix you may attach it to my chain and hang it round
+her neck. And now, Amen!"
+
+Franco was in tears. It was a great shock to hear the uncle speak of his
+death thus calmly, as if it had been some matter of business which must
+be arranged judiciously and honestly; the uncle who, when conversing
+with his friends, seemed so deeply attached to life that he would often
+say: "If one could only avoid that inevitable breakdown!!"
+
+"Ah! Now tell me," said Uncle Piero, "what sort of work do you expect to
+find?"
+
+"T. writes that at first I am to go into a newspaper office in Turin.
+Perhaps I shall find something better later on. If I don't earn enough
+to live on in the office, and nothing else turns up, I shall come back.
+Therefore all this must be kept perfectly secret--at least, for a time."
+
+Uncle Piero was incredulous concerning the possibility of secrecy. "And
+how about the letters?" he inquired.
+
+As to letters, it had been arranged that Franco should address his to
+the postoffice at Lugano, and Ismaele would take those from the family
+to Lugano, and bring back his. And what should they tell their friends?
+They had already said that Franco was going to Milan, on the eighth, on
+business, and would be absent perhaps a month, perhaps longer.
+
+"It is not the most agreeable thing in the world to have to throw dust
+in people's eyes," the uncle said. "But however...! I am going to
+embrace you now, Franco, for I know you are leaving early to-morrow
+morning, and we shall hardly be alone together to-day. Good-bye, then.
+Once more, remember all my injunctions, and don't forget me. Oh, one
+thing more! You are going to Turin. As a government official I always
+did what I could to be of service to my country. I never conspired, and
+I would not conspire even now, but I have always loved my country. And
+so, salute the tricolour for me. Good-bye, my dear boy!"
+
+Then Uncle Piero opened his arms.
+
+"You shall come to Piedmont also, uncle," Franco said, as he rose from
+that embrace, greatly moved. "If I can only manage to earn money enough
+I shall send for you all."
+
+"Ah no, my dear boy! I am too old, I shall not make another move."
+
+"Very well, then. I myself will come next spring, with two hundred
+thousand of my friends."
+
+"That's it! Two hundred thousand pumpkins! A fine idea! Fine hopes!--Oh!
+here is Signorina Missipipi."
+
+Signorina Missipipi--thus the family called Maria in happy moments--came
+in, dignified and serious. "Good-morning, uncle. Will you say
+'Missipipi' for me?"
+
+Her father lifted her up and placed her on Uncle Piero's bed. Smiling
+the old man drew her towards him, and set her across his legs.
+
+"Come here, miss. Did you sleep well? And did the doll sleep well, and
+the mule also? The mule was not there? So much the better. Yes, yes! I
+am coming to 'Missipipi.' Am I not to have a kiss first? Only one? Then
+I shall have to say:
+
+ Proud shade of the river
+ Of Missipipi,
+ Don't play you are bashful,
+ But of kisses give three."
+
+Maria listened as if hearing the lines for the first time, then she
+burst out laughing, and began to jump and clap her hands, while her
+uncle laughed with her.
+
+"Papa," said she, suddenly becoming serious. "Why are you crying? Have
+you been naughty?"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+They expected many friends would call that day, many who had promised to
+come and say good-bye to Franco before his departure for Milan. Luisa
+performed the miracle of lighting the stove in Siberia, as Uncle Piero
+called the hall, and at one time Donna Ester, the two Pauls from Loggio,
+Paolin and Paolon, and Professor Gilardoni were all there together. Then
+presently Signora Peppina arrived, most unexpectedly, for she had never
+been to see them since the search. "Oh, my dear _Sura_ Luisa! Oh, my
+dear Don Franco! Is it true you are really going away?" Paolin began to
+shift uneasily on his chair, for he feared Signora Peppina had been sent
+by her husband to see who had and who had not rallied round the
+suspected man, in this house that was under the ban. He longed to go
+away at once with his Paolon, but Paolon was more dense. "How shall I
+manage now, with this idiot, who doesn't understand anything?" thought
+Paolin, and without looking at Paolon he said to him, in an undertone:
+"Let us go, _Paol_, let us go!" It did indeed take Paolon some time to
+get it through his head, but finally he arose and went out with Paolin,
+getting his lesson on the stairs.
+
+Franco had the same thought as Paolin, and greeted Signora Peppina
+coldly. The poor woman could have wept, for she dearly loved his wife,
+and held Franco himself in great esteem, but she understood his
+aversion, and in her heart excused it. Franco was relieved when Veronica
+came to call him.
+
+He was wanted in the kitchen garden. He went there and found Signor
+Giacomo Puttini and Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri, who had come to say
+good-bye, but having been informed by Paolin and Paolon of the presence
+of Signora Peppina, they did not wish her to see them. Even the soil of
+the kitchen-garden scorched their feet. While the little lean hero was
+puffing and parrying Franco's invitation to go up to the house, the
+little fat hero was rolling his head and his small eyes like a
+good-natured blackbird, looking from the hills to the lake, almost from
+a habit of suspicion. He caught sight of a boat coming from Porlezza.
+Who knows? Might it not be bringing the Imperial and Royal Commissary?
+Although the boat was still at some distance, he immediately began to
+cast about for an excuse for going away, and determined to take Puttini
+to call upon the Receiver, as they would be sure of not finding Signora
+Peppina at home.
+
+Having lavished many hasty and muttered compliments on Franco, the two
+old hares trotted off, with bowed heads, leaving Franco in the
+kitchen-garden. Meanwhile the boat Don Giuseppe had seen had come
+rapidly forward, and was now passing in front of the garden, at some
+distance from the shore. It contained a lady and a gentleman. The
+gentleman rose and saluted Franco in a loud voice: "How are you, Don
+Franco? Long life to you!" The lady waved her handkerchief. The
+Pasottis! Franco saluted with his hat.
+
+The Pasottis in Valsolda in January! Why had they come? And that
+greeting! Pasotti salute him thus? Pasotti, who had never been near them
+since the search? What did all this mean? Franco, greatly perplexed,
+went up to the house and told the news. All were amazed, and most of all
+Signora Peppina. "How? Do you really mean it? The Signor Controller of
+all men! And Signora Barborin also, poor little woman!" The event was
+excitedly discussed. Some thought one thing, some another. In about five
+minutes Pasotti came noisily in, dragging Signora Barborin behind him.
+She was laden with shawls and bundles and half dead with the cold. The
+poor creature could only keep repeating: "Two hours in the boat! Two
+hours in the boat!"
+
+"Whatever brought you to Valsolda in this weather, _Sura_ Pasotti?"
+Peppina screamed at her. "Oh, gracious! She don't understand anything,
+poor little woman!" And though Luisa and Ester shouted the same question
+in her ear, and though she opened her mouth wide, the poor deaf woman
+could not understand, and continued to answer at random: "Have I had my
+dinner? If I will dine here?" At last Pasotti came to the rescue, and
+told them that he and his wife had been called away by urgent business
+in October, and the last washing had been left undone. His wife had been
+worrying him for some time about that blessed washing, and finally he
+had made up his mind to satisfy her by coming. Then Donna Ester turned
+to Signora Pasotti, going through the pantomime of washing.
+
+Barborin glanced at her husband, who had his eyes fixed upon her, and
+answered: "Yes, yes. The washing! The washing!" That glance, the order
+she read in the Controller's eyes, made Luisa suspect a mystery
+underlying all this. This mystery and the inexplicable effusiveness of
+Pasotti suggested another suspicion to her. What if they had come on her
+account and Franco's? What if the Professor's trip to Lodi had something
+to do with bringing about this unexpected visit? She would have liked to
+consult the Professor and beg him to remain until the Pasottis had left,
+but then, how could she speak to him without Franco's noticing it?
+Meanwhile Donna Ester was saying good-bye, and Gilardoni was graciously
+permitted to escort her home.
+
+The Pasottis could not go up to Albogasio Superiore until the farmer,
+who had been notified at once, should have had time to prepare and heat
+at least one room for their reception. The Controller at once proposed a
+three-handed game of _tarocchi_ with the Engineer and Franco. Then
+Signora Peppina went away, and Barborin asked Luisa to allow her to
+withdraw for a few minutes, and begged her hostess to accompany her. As
+soon as he was alone with her friend in the alcove room, she glanced all
+about her with wide, frightened eyes, and then whispered: "We are not
+here on account of the washing, you know. Not on account of the
+washing!" Luisa questioned her silently with face and gestures, for had
+she spoken in a loud voice they would have heard her in the hall. This
+time Signora Pasotti understood, and replied that she did not know
+anything, that her husband had not told her anything, that he had
+ordered her to corroborate the story about the washing, but that really
+she was not in the least anxious about it. Then Luisa took a piece of
+paper and wrote: "What do you suspect?" Signora Pasotti read the words,
+and then began a most complicated pantomime: shakings of the head,
+rollings of the eyes, sighs, imploring glances towards the ceiling. It
+was as if a mighty struggle were going on within her between hope and
+fear. At last she uttered an "Ah?" seized the pen, and wrote below
+Luisa's question:
+
+"The Marchesa!"
+
+Then she dropped the pen and stood looking at her friend. "She is at
+Lodi," she said in an undertone. "The Controller has been to Lodi. So
+there you have it!" And she hastened back to the hall, faring to arouse
+her husband's suspicions.
+
+The game over, Pasotti went to one of the windows, saying something in a
+loud voice about the effect of the twilight, and called Franco to him.
+"You must come and see me this evening," he said softly. "I have
+something to say to you." Franco sought to excuse himself. He was
+starting the next morning for Milan, leaving his family for some time;
+he could hardly spend this last evening away from home. Pasotti answered
+that it was absolutely necessary. "It concerns your journey to-morrow!"
+said he.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"It concerns your journey to-morrow!" As soon as the Pasottis had left
+for Albogasio Superiore, Franco repeated the conversation to his wife.
+He had been much upset by it. So Pasotti knew! He would not have been so
+mysterious had he not been alluding to the journey to Turin, and Franco
+was greatly vexed to think that Pasotti was aware of this. But how had
+he found out? Perhaps the friend in Turin had been indiscreet. And now
+what did Pasotti want of him? Was another blow perhaps about to be
+struck by the police? But Pasotti was not the man to come and warn him.
+And all that hypocritical amiability? Perhaps they did not wish him to
+go to Turin, did not wish him to find an easier path, to free himself
+and his family from poverty, from commissaries and gendarmes. He thought
+and thought, and finally decided this must be the reason. In her heart
+Luisa greatly doubted it. She feared something else; but she also was
+persuaded Pasotti knew about Turin, and this upset all her suppositions.
+After all, the only way was to go and find out.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Franco went at eight o'clock and Pasotti received him with the most
+effusive cordiality, and apologised for his wife's absence, she having
+already gone to bed. Before opening the conversation he insisted that
+Franco should take a glass of S. Colombano, and a piece of _panettone_.
+With the wine and the cake Franco was obliged to swallow, much against
+his will, many declarations of friendship, and the most exalted eulogies
+upon his wife, his uncle, and himself. The glass and the plate being at
+last empty, the mellifluous rogue showed himself disposed to come to
+business.
+
+They were seated facing each other at a small table. Pasotti, leaning
+back comfortably in his chair, held a red and yellow silk handkerchief
+in his hands, with which he played constantly.
+
+"Well," said he, "as I told you, my dear Franco, the matter concerns
+your journey to-morrow. I heard it said to-day at your house that you
+are going away on business. Now it remains to be seen whether I am not
+bringing you still more important business than that which calls you to
+Milan."
+
+Franco remained silent, surprised by this unexpected preamble. Pasotti
+continued, his eyes fixed on the handkerchief which he never ceased
+handling.
+
+"Of course, my good friend Don Franco Maironi knows that if I touch upon
+intimate and delicate questions it is because I have a serious reason
+for doing so; because I feel it my duty, and because I am authorised to
+do so."
+
+The hands became still, the shining and cunning eyes were raised to
+Franco's distrustful and troubled eyes.
+
+"It concerns both your present and your future, my dear Franco."
+
+Having uttered these words, Pasotti resolutely laid aside the
+handkerchief. Resting his arms and his clasped hands on the little
+table, he went to the heart of the matter, keeping his eyes fixed upon
+Franco, who now, in his turn, leaning back in his chair, returned the
+gaze, his face pale, his attitude one of hostile defiance.
+
+"You must know that the old friendship I bear your family has long been
+urging me to do something to put an end to a most painful quarrel. Your
+good father, Don Alessandro!--What a heart of gold!--How fond he was of
+me!" (Franco was aware that his father had once threatened Pasotti with
+his cane, for meddling overmuch in his family affairs.) "Never mind!
+Having learned that your grandmother was at Lodi, I said to myself last
+Sunday: After all the trouble the Maironis have had, perhaps this is the
+right moment. Let us go and make the attempt. And I went."
+
+There was a pause. Franco was quivering. What a mediator he had had! And
+who had asked for mediation?
+
+"I must tell you," Pasotti went on, "that I feel satisfied. Your
+grandmother has her own opinions, and she has reached an age when
+opinions are not easily changed; you know her character; she is very
+firm, but after all, she is not heartless. She loves you, you know, and
+she suffers. There is a continuous struggle going on within her, between
+her sentiments and her principles; or, one might rather say, between her
+sentiments and her resentment. Poor Marchesa, it is painful to see how
+she suffers! But anyhow she is beginning to yield. Of course we must not
+expect too much. She is indeed yielding, but not sufficiently to break
+what sustains her--her principles I mean, especially her political
+principles."
+
+Franco's eyes, his twitching jaws, a quivering of his whole person said
+to Pasotti: "Woe to you if you touch upon that point!" Pasotti stopped.
+Perhaps he was thinking of the cane of the late Don Alessandro.
+
+"I understand your feelings," he continued. "Do you think I don't? I eat
+the government's bread, and must keep what I feel shut up in my heart,
+but, nevertheless, I am with you. I sigh for the moment when certain
+colours shall replace certain others. But your grandmother holds
+different opinions, and there is nothing for it but to take her as she
+is. If we want to arrive at an understanding we must take her as she is.
+You may seek to oppose her as I myself did, but----"
+
+"All this talk appears to me perfectly useless," Franco exclaimed,
+rising.
+
+"Wait!" Pasotti added. "The affair may not prove as disagreeable as you
+think! Sit down and listen."
+
+But Franco would not hear of resuming his seat.
+
+"Out with it, then!" said he, his voice ringing impatiently.
+
+"First of all your grandmother is prepared to recognise your
+marriage----"
+
+"How kind!" Franco put in.
+
+"Wait!----and to make you a suitable allowance: from what I heard I
+should think of from six to eight thousand _svanziche_ a year. Not bad,
+eh?"
+
+"Go on."
+
+"Be patient! There is nothing humiliating in all this. Had there been a
+single humiliating condition I should not have mentioned the matter to
+you. Your grandmother wishes you to have an occupation, and also desires
+that you give a certain guarantee not to take part in political doings.
+Now there is a decorous way of combining these two points, as you
+yourself will be obliged to recognise, although I tell you plainly that
+I had proposed a different course to your grandmother. My idea was that
+she should place you at the head of her affairs. You would have had
+enough to do to keep you from thinking of anything else. However, your
+grandmother's idea is good also. I know fine young fellows like
+yourself, who think as you do, and who are in the judicial service. It
+is a most independent and respectable calling. A word from you and you
+will find yourself an auditor of the court."
+
+"I?" Franco burst out. "I? No, my dear Pasotti! No! They don't send the
+police into my house--be quiet!--they don't brutally dismiss from
+service an honest man, whose only crime is that he is my wife's
+uncle,--be quiet, I tell you!--they don't seek every possible means of
+reducing my family and myself to the verge of starvation to-day, that
+they may offer us filthy bread to-morrow! No, my man, no! Do your worst!
+By God! I am not to be trapped by any one through hunger! Tell my
+grandmother so, you----you----you----"
+
+Pasotti's nature certainly had much that was feline; he was rapacious,
+cunning, prudent, a flatterer, quick to feign, but also subject to fits
+of rage. He had continued to interrupt Maironi's outpouring with
+protests which became ever more violent, and at this last invective,
+forseeing the approach of a deluge of accusations which were all the
+more exasperating because he could guess their character, he also
+started to his feet.
+
+"Stop!" said he. "What do you mean by all this?"
+
+"Good-night!" cried Franco, who had seized his hat. But Pasotti had no
+intention of letting him go thus. "One moment!" said he, bringing his
+fist down swiftly and repeatedly on the little table. "You people are
+deluding yourselves! You hope great things from that will; but it is not
+a will at all, it is simply a bit of waste paper, the ravings of a
+madman!"
+
+Franco, who had already reached the door, stopped short, stunned by the
+blow. "What will?" said he.
+
+"Come now!" Pasotti retorted, half coldly, half mockingly. "We
+understand each other perfectly!"
+
+A flash of rage once more set Franco's blood on fire. "We do not!" he
+cried. "Out with it! Speak! What do you know of any will?"
+
+"Ah! Now we are getting on famously!" Pasotti said with ironical
+sweetness.
+
+Franco could have strangled him.
+
+"Didn't I tell you I have been to Lodi? So of course I know!"
+
+Franco, quite beside himself, protested that he was entirely in the
+dark.
+
+"Of course," Pasotti continued, with greater irony than before. "It is
+for me to enlighten the gentleman! Then I will inform you that Professor
+Gilardoni, who is by no means the friend you believe him to be, went to
+Lodi at the end of December, and presented himself before the Marchesa
+with a legally worthless copy of a will which he pretends was made by
+your late grandfather. This will appoints you, Don Franco, residuary
+legatee, in terms attrociously insulting to both the wife and the son of
+the testator. So now you know. Indeed, Signor Gilardoni did not betray
+his trust, but stated that he had come on his own responsibility, and
+without your knowledge."
+
+Franco listened, as pale as death, feeling darkness creeping over his
+sight and his soul, mustering all his strength that he might not lose
+his head, but be able to give a fitting answer.
+
+"You are right," said he. "Grandmother is right also. It is Professor
+Gilardoni who has done wrong. He showed me that will three years ago, on
+the night of my marriage. I told him to burn it, and believed he had
+done so. If he did not, he deceived me. If he really went to Lodi on the
+charming errand you describe, he has committed an act of outrageous
+indelicacy and stupidity. You were quite justified in thinking ill of
+us. But mark this! I despise my grandmother's money as heartily as I
+despise the money of the government, and as this lady has the good
+fortune to be the mother of my father, I will never--never, I
+say--although she resort to the most base, the most perfidious means of
+ruining me--never make use of a document that dishonours her. I am too
+much her superior! Go and tell her this in my name, and tell her also to
+withdraw her offers, for I spurn them! Good-night!!"
+
+He left Pasotti in a state of utter amazement, and went his way,
+trembling with over-excitement and rage. He forgot his lantern, and went
+down the hill in the dark, striding along, neither knowing nor caring
+where he placed his feet, and from time to time uttering an ejaculation,
+pouring out that which was seething within him--rage against Gilardoni,
+and accusations against Luisa!
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Uncle Piero had gone to bed early, and Luisa was waiting for Franco in
+the little salon with Maria, whom she had kept up that her father might
+see something of her this last night. Poor little Signorina Missipipi
+had very soon grown weary, and had begun to open wide her little mouth,
+and assume a tearful expression, asking in a small and pitiful voice:
+"When is papa coming?" But she possessed a mamma who was unrivalled in
+consoling the afflicted. Now it was some time since Signorina Missipipi
+had owned a pair of whole little shoes: and little shoes, even in
+Valsolda, cost money. Not much money, it is true, but what is to be done
+when you have hardly any? However, this unique mamma was also unrivalled
+in shoeing those who were shoeless. The very day before, Luisa, in
+searching for a piece of rope in the attic, had found a boot which had
+belonged to her grandfather, buried beneath a heap of rubbish, of empty
+boxes and broken chairs. She had put it in water to soften, and had
+borrowed a shoemaker's knife, an awl, and shears. She now took the
+venerable boot, that frightened Maria, and placed it on the table. "Now
+we will recite its funeral oration," said she, with that liveliness she
+could assume at will, and of which even mortal anguish could not rob
+her, if she deemed it necessary to be lively. "But first you must ask
+your great-grandfather's permission to take his boot." She made Maria
+clasp her hands, and recite the following jingle, her eyes comically
+raised to the ceiling.
+
+ Great granddad of mine
+ Who to heav'n did climb,
+ This boot, to you useless
+ Pray give to this princess,
+ Who longs in vain
+ For slippers twain,
+ And throws you a kiss,
+ The pert little Miss,
+ Which she begs you to put
+ On the sole of your foot.
+
+Then followed a somewhat irreverent fancy, one of many such born in
+Luisa's brain--a strange story of the little angel who polishes the
+boots in heaven, and who one day let great-grandfather's boot fall to
+the earth while attempting to grab a bit of golden bread he had been
+forbidden to touch. Maria brightened visibly; she laughed and
+interrupted her mother with a hundred questions concerning the other
+boot that was still in heaven. What would her great-grandfather do with
+that? Her mother replied that he would apply it from behind to the
+Emperor of Austria, and push him out of heaven with it, if he chanced to
+meet him there.
+
+Just at that moment Franco entered.
+
+Luisa at once saw signs of storm on his brow and in his eyes.
+
+"Well?" she questioned. Franco answered shortly: "Put Maria to bed."
+
+Luisa observed that she had kept the child up waiting for him, that she
+might spend a little time with him. "I tell you to put her to bed!"
+Franco said, so harshly that Maria began to cry. Luisa flushed, but was
+silent. Lighting a candle she took the child in her arms and silently
+held her up that her father might give her a kiss. He did so coldly, and
+then Luisa carried her away. Franco did not follow her. The sight of the
+boot irritated him, and he threw it upon the floor. Then he sat down,
+planted his elbows on the table, and rested his head in his hands.
+
+The bitter thought that Luisa was Gilardoni's accomplice had immediately
+flashed into his mind while Pasotti was talking, and with it there came
+also the recollection of that "Why be silent?" of that "Enough!" and of
+the child's story. He felt as if he had a whirlwind within him, in which
+this idea was being continually caught up and whirled away, to reappear
+again farther down, ever nearer the heart.
+
+"Well?" Luisa once more asked, as she entered the room. Franco looked at
+her a moment in silence, scrutinising her closely. Then he rose and
+seized her hands. "Tell me if you know anything?" said he. She guessed
+his meaning, but that look and manner offended her. "What do you mean?"
+she exclaimed, her face aflame. "Why do you ask in that way?" "Ah! you
+do know!" cried Franco flinging away her hands, and raising his arms
+with a despairing gesture.
+
+She foresaw what was coming--his suspicion of her complicity with
+Gilardoni, her denial, and the mortal irremediable offence Franco would
+be offering her if, in his wrath, he refused to trust her word, and she
+clasped her hands in terror. "No, Franco! No, Franco!" she murmured
+softly, and threw her arms about his neck, striving to close his lips
+with kisses. But he misunderstood her, believed she was seeking
+forgiveness, and pushed her aside. "I know! Yes, I know!" she cried,
+once more casting herself passionately upon his breast. "But I found out
+afterwards, when it was already done, and I was as indignant as you are,
+even more indignant!" But Franco was too anxious to give vent to his
+feelings, too anxious to offend. "How can I know you are speaking the
+truth?" he exclaimed. She started back with a cry, and then once more
+coming a step nearer, she held out her arms to him. "No, no!" she
+entreated in agony, "Tell me you believe me! Tell me so now, for if you
+do not say so, you don't know, you can't realise what will happen!"
+
+"What is it I can't realise?"
+
+"You don't know me as I am, for though I may love you still, I can never
+again be a wife to you, and though I may suffer deeply, I shall never
+change, never again. Do you realise what that means, _never again_?"
+
+He drew her slender, trembling figure towards him, pressed her hands as
+if to crush them, and said, in a stifled voice: "I will believe you!
+Indeed I will believe you!" But Luisa, gazing at him through her tears,
+was not satisfied. "I _will_ believe you?" she said. "I _will_ believe
+you?"
+
+"I do believe you, I do believe you!"
+
+Indeed he did believe her; but where there is anger there is always
+pride as well. He did not wish to surrender entirely, and at once, and
+his tone was rather condescending than convinced. Both were silent,
+holding each other's hands, and then with a slow, almost imperceptible
+movement they began to draw apart. It was Luisa who at last gently drew
+away completely. She felt this silence must be broken; he could find no
+glowing words, and cold words she would not speak, so she began to tell
+him how she had heard of the unfortunate journey to Lodi from Gilardoni
+himself. Seated at the table opposite her husband, she spoke in a calm
+voice that was not precisely cold, but rather grieved. While she was
+relating the Professor's disclosures Franco again took fire, and often
+interrupted her. "And did you not say that to him?--And did you not say
+this to him?--Did you tell him he was a fool?--Did you not call him an
+ass?" At first Luisa ignored these exclamations, but finally she
+protested. She had already said that Gilardoni's blunder had filled her
+with indignation, but now it would almost seem as if her husband doubted
+this. Franco was reduced to unwilling silence.
+
+Her story finished, he once more stormed against that blockhead of a
+philosopher, and Luisa was moved to take his part. After all he was
+their friend; he had indeed made a terrible mistake, but with the best
+of intentions. Where were all Franco's maxims about charity, and
+forgiving injuries, if he was not willing to forgive one whose only wish
+had been to benefit him? And here thoughts came to her which she did not
+utter. She reflected that Franco was ready enough to forgive great
+things when there was glory and sometimes even folly in forgiving, while
+he would not now forgive a slight offence when there were the best of
+reasons for doing so. When she spoke of charity Franco became
+exasperated; he did not venture to say he felt he did not deserve a
+similar attack, but returned the blow somewhat roughly. "Ah! Indeed!" he
+exclaimed, with a reticence that was full of insinuations. "So you
+defend him! Oh, of course!"
+
+Luisa's shoulders twitched nervously, but she held her peace.
+
+"And why did you not speak!" Franco continued. "Why did you not tell me
+everything at once?"
+
+"Because when I reproached Gilardoni he entreated me not to tell.
+Besides, I thought--and I was perfectly correct--that the thing being
+done, it was useless to cause you such great annoyance. The last day of
+the year, when you were so angry, I wished to tell you, to relate all
+Gilardoni had confided to me. Do you remember? But you absolutely
+refused to listen. I did not insist, especially as Gilardoni had told
+your grandmother we knew nothing about the matter."
+
+"She did not believe him. Naturally!"
+
+"And what good would it have done if I had spoken? As it is, Pasotti
+must have seen plainly that you knew nothing."
+
+Franco did not answer. Then Luisa asked him to repeat the conversation
+to her, and she listened to his recital with breathless attention. She
+guessed, her intuition sharpened by hatred, that if Franco had accepted
+the proffered position, a further condition would have been imposed:
+separation from her uncle, from an official who had been dismissed from
+service for political reasons. "Certainly," she said, "she would have
+demanded this also. _Canaille!_" Her husband started, as if he also had
+been cut to the quick by that lash. "Steady," said he. "Be careful of
+your expressions! In the first place, that is only a supposition of
+yours, and then----"
+
+"Only a supposition? And how about the rest? How about the cowardly
+action she proposed to you?"
+
+Franco, who had answered Pasotti with such violence, now answered his
+wife weakly.
+
+"Yes, yes, yes! But after all----"
+
+It was her turn to be violent now. The idea that his grandmother should
+dare propose that they forsake the uncle drove her nearly out of her
+mind. "You will at least acknowledge this," she cried, "that she
+deserves no mercy? My God! And to think that will still exists!"
+
+"Oh!" Franco exclaimed. "Are we to begin over again?"
+
+"_Let us begin over again!_ Have you any right to demand that I shall
+neither think nor feel save in such a way as is pleasing to you? Did I
+obey you I should be cowardly, I should deserve to become a slave. And I
+will be neither cowardly nor a slave!"
+
+The rebel he had suspected, even felt at times lurking behind the loving
+woman, the creature possessed of an intellect intensely proud, and
+stronger than love, whom he had never succeeded in conquering
+completely, now stood before him, quivering in the consciousness of her
+rebellion.
+
+"Well, well!" said Franco, as if speaking to himself, "so you would be
+cowardly, would be a slave? Do you at least reflect that I am going away
+to-morrow?"
+
+"Do not go! Stay here! Carry out your grandfather's wishes. Remember
+what you told me concerning the origin of the Maironi wealth. Give it
+all back to the Ospitale Maggiore. See that justice is done!"
+
+"No," Franco retorted. "These are idle dreams. The end does not justify
+the means. The real end with you is to strike my grandmother. This talk
+of the Ospitale is simply a means of justifying the blow. No, I will
+never make use of that will. I declared as much to Pasotti, in such
+strong language that should I ever change, I should deserve to be spit
+upon. I shall certainly leave to-morrow."
+
+A long silence followed, then the dialogue was once more resumed, but
+the two voices were cold and sad as if now some dead thing lay in the
+heart of either.
+
+"Do you realise," said Franco, "that I should be dishonouring my own
+father?"
+
+"In what way?"
+
+"In the first place by the outrageous nature of the terms in which the
+document is couched, and then by implying my father's complicity in the
+suppression of the will. But then you don't understand these matters.
+And, after all, what do you care?"
+
+"But there is no need to speak of suppression. It is quite possible the
+will was never found."
+
+Another silence. Even the tallow candle that was burning on the table
+had a lugubrious look. Luisa rose, picked up the great-grandfather's
+boot, and prepared to begin her work. Franco went to the window and
+pressed his forehead against the glass. He remained there some time,
+absorbed in contemplation of the shadows of night. Presently he said
+softly, without turning his head:
+
+"Never, never has your soul been wholly mine."
+
+No answer.
+
+Then he faced about and asked his wife in a tone entirely free from
+anger, and with that ineffable gentleness which was his in moments of
+moral or physical depression, if, since the very beginning of their
+union, he had ever failed her in any way. An almost inaudible "No" was
+the answer.
+
+"Then perhaps you did not love me as I believed?"
+
+"No, no, no!"
+
+Franco was not sure he had understood correctly, and repeated:
+
+"You did not love me?"
+
+"Yes, yes! So dearly!"
+
+His spirits began to revive, and a shade of severity returned to his
+voice.
+
+"Then," said he, "why did you not give me your whole soul?"
+
+She was silent. She had been trying in vain to resume her work, but her
+hands trembled.
+
+And now this terrible question! Should she answer or not? By answering,
+by revealing for the first time things that lay buried at the bottom of
+her heart, she would only be widening the painful gap between them; but
+could she be dishonest? She was silent so long that at last Franco said:
+"You will not speak?" Then she mustered all her strength and spoke.
+
+"It is true, my soul has never been wholly yours." She trembled as she
+spoke the words, and Franco held his breath.
+
+"I have always felt myself different from you, separated from you,"
+Luisa continued, "in that sentiment which should govern all others. You
+hold the religious views my mother held. Religion was to my mother, as
+it is to you, a union of certain beliefs, ceremonies, and precepts,
+inspired and governed by the love of God. I have always shrunk from this
+conception of religion; no matter how hard I may have tried, I have
+never been able to feel this love of an invisible and incomprehensible
+Being; I have never been able to understand what good could come of
+forcing my reason to accept things I do not understand. Nevertheless I
+felt an ardent longing to direct my life towards what was good,
+according to a disinterested ideal. Moreover, by her words and example
+my mother had embued me with such a strong sense of my duty towards God
+and the Church, that my doubts caused me great pain, and I struggled
+hard against them. My mother was a saint. Every act of her life was in
+harmony with her faith. This also influenced me strongly. And then I
+knew that the greatest sorrow of her life had been my father's unbelief.
+I met you, loved you, married you, and I was strengthened in my resolve
+to become as you are in matters of religion, because I believed you were
+as my mother was. Then, little by little, I discovered you are not like
+my mother. Shall I go on?"
+
+"Yes, to the end!"
+
+"I discovered you were kindness itself, that you had the warmest, most
+generous heart in the world, but that your faith and your religious
+practices rendered these treasures almost useless. You did not strive!
+You were satisfied to love me, the child, Italy, your flowers, your
+music, the beauty of the lake and the mountains. In this you followed
+your heart. As to a higher ideal, it was sufficient for you to believe
+and to pray. Without this faith and without these prayers you would have
+given the fire that is in your soul to that which is surely true, which
+is surely just in this world, you would have felt the same need to be
+doing that I feel. You are well aware, are you not, what I could have
+wished you to be in certain things? For example, who feels patriotism
+more keenly than you do? Surely no one. Well, I could have wished to see
+you endeavour to serve your country seriously, and according to your
+strength. Now you are indeed going to Piedmont, but your principal
+reason for doing so is that we have hardly anything left to live upon."
+
+Franco, frowning angrily, made an impatient gesture of protest. "If you
+wish it I will stop," Luisa said humbly.
+
+"No, no. Go on! Let us have the whole of it! It will be better!"
+
+He spoke so excitedly, so angrily, that Luisa was silent, and it was
+only after a second, "Go on!" that she continued.
+
+"Without going to Piedmont there would have been enough to do here in
+Valsolda, in Val Porlezza, in Vall' Intelvi; what V. does on the Lake of
+Como, communicating with different people, keeping the right spirit
+alive, preparing all that must be prepared against the coming of war,
+if, indeed, it ever comes. I used to tell you so, but you would not be
+convinced, you saw so many difficulties in the way. This sluggishness
+fostered my repugnance to your conception of religion, and my tendency
+towards another conception. For I also felt myself intensely religious.
+The conception of religion which was gradually shaping itself clearly in
+my mind was, in substance, as follows: God really exists, and is
+powerful and wise as you believe, but He is perfectly indifferent to our
+adoration of Him, and prayers to Him. What He demands of us is what we
+may learn from the heart he has formed for each one of us, from the
+conscience He has given us, from the surroundings in which He has placed
+us. He wishes us to love all that is good, to hate all that is evil, to
+labour with all our strength, according to this love and this hatred,
+and to occupy ourselves exclusively with the things of this world, with
+things we can comprehend, that can be felt! Now you will understand what
+my idea really is of my duty, of our duty, in the face of all injustice,
+all tyranny!"
+
+The further she went in this definition, this exposure of her own views,
+the greater was the relief she experienced in so doing, in being
+perfectly sincere at last, in frankly taking her stand on her own firm
+ground, and gradually all indignation against her husband died down
+within her, and in her heart there arose a tender pity for him.
+
+"Indeed," she added, "if it had been only this trouble about your
+grandmother, do you think I would not rather have sacrificed my own
+opinion a thousand times, rather than grieve you? There was something
+else underlying that. Now you know all. Now I have laid my bare soul in
+your hands."
+
+She read dull pain and hostile coldness on her husband's brow. She rose
+and moved towards him very slowly, with clasped hands, gazing at him,
+seeking his eyes, which avoided hers, and then halted on the way,
+repulsed by some higher power, for he had neither spoken nor made a
+gesture.
+
+"Franco!" she entreated, "can you no longer love me?"
+
+He did not answer.
+
+"Franco! Franco!" she cried, stretching out her clasped hands. Then she
+started to move forward. He drew back with a rapid movement. Thus they
+stood in silence, face to face, for half a minute that seemed an
+eternity.
+
+Franco's lips were pressed tight together, and she could hear his quick
+breathing. It was he who broke the silence.
+
+"What you have said is exactly what you feel?"
+
+"Yes!"
+
+His hands were clutching the back of a chair. He shook it violently,
+saying bitterly: "Enough!" Luisa looked at him with inexpressible
+sadness, and murmured: "Enough?" He answered angrily, "Enough, enough,
+enough!" After a moment's silence he went on harshly: "I may be
+indolent, sluggish, selfish, anything you like, but I am not a boy to be
+soothed by a couple of caresses after all you have said to me. Enough, I
+tell you!"
+
+"Oh, Franco! I know I have hurt you, but it has cost me so much, having
+to hurt you! Can't you take me kindly?"
+
+"Ah, take you kindly, indeed! You wish to be free to inflict any wound,
+and then expect to be taken kindly! You are superior to every one else!
+You judge, you pass sentence, you alone understand what God wishes and
+what He does not wish? But this at least I will not have! Say whatever
+you like about me, but let those things you do not understand alone. You
+had better be working on your boot!"
+
+He was determined to see only pride in his wife, while his own anger was
+born almost wholly of pride, of outraged self-esteem; it was an impure
+anger which darkened his brain and his heart. Both husband and wife
+would have acknowledged the justice of any other accusation sooner than
+that of pride.
+
+She silently resumed her seat and tried to resume her work as well, but
+she handled the tools nervously without really knowing what she was
+doing. Franco went into the hall, banging the door behind him.
+
+It was very cold in the darkness of the hall which had been unoccupied
+since five o'clock, but Franco did not notice this. He threw himself
+upon the sofa, giving himself up entirely to his grief, to his anger, to
+an easy and violent mental defence of himself against his wife. As Luisa
+had rebelled against God and against himself--though indeed she had made
+a distinction--he now found it convenient to make common cause in his
+heart with that other mute and terrible One whom she had offended. At
+first astonishment, bitterness, rage, good reasons and bad, formed a
+whirling tempest in his brain. Then he found relief for his feelings in
+imagining Luisa's repentance, her prayers for forgiveness, and his own
+magnanimous answers.
+
+Suddenly he heard Maria screaming and crying. He rose to go and see what
+had happened, but he was without a light. He waited a moment thinking
+Luisa would go out, but he did not hear her move, and the child was
+screaming louder than ever. Very softly he went towards the parlour, and
+looked in through the glass door.
+
+Luisa had hidden her face in her arms, which were crossed on the table,
+and the light of the candle revealed only her beautiful dark hair.
+Franco felt his anger cooling, he opened the door, and called softly,
+his tone still gently severe: "Luisa, Maria is crying." Luisa raised her
+face, which was very pale, took the candle and went out without a word.
+Her husband followed her. They found the child sitting up in bed bathed
+in tears; a dream had frightened her. When she saw her father she
+stretched out her arms to him. "Not go away, papa, not go away!" she
+entreated, her voice big with tears. Franco pressed her in his arms,
+covered her with kisses, soothed her, and then put her back into her
+little bed. But she clung tightly to one of her father's hands, and
+could not be prevailed upon to let it go.
+
+Luisa took another candle from the table and tried to light it, but her
+hands shook so she did not succeed. "Are you not coming to bed?" Franco
+asked. "No," she said, trembling more violently than ever. Franco
+thought he divined a supposition, a fear in her, and was offended. "Oh,
+you can come!" he said angrily. Luisa lighted her candle and said, more
+calmly, that she must work on the little shoes. She went out, and only
+on the threshold did she murmur: "Good-night." "Good-night," Franco
+answered coldly. For a moment he thought he would undress, but he
+presently relinquished his intention because his wife was still up, and
+at work. He spread back the coverlet and lay down in his clothes, on the
+side of the bed next to the child, that he might hold Maria's little
+hand--she had not yet gone to sleep--and put out the light.
+
+What sweetness in the touch of that dear, tiny hand! Franco felt her the
+little child she was, his daughter, the innocent, loving baby, and then
+he imagined her a woman, her heart all his, united to him in every
+thought, every sentiment, and he fancied the little hand that pressed
+his was striving to compensate him for all that Luisa had made him
+suffer, and was saying: "Papa, you and I are united for ever!" Good God!
+he shuddered at the thought that Luisa might wish to bring her up in her
+own way of thinking, and that he, being far away, would be powerless to
+prevent this. He prayed to God, to the Virgin Mary, to the saintly
+grandmother Teresa, to his own mother, who, he was well aware, had been
+so pure and so pious. "Watch over my Maria, watch over her!" he
+murmured. He offered to sacrifice his whole being, his earthly
+happiness, his health, even life itself, that Maria might be saved from
+error.
+
+"Papa," said the child, "a kiss."
+
+He leaned out of bed, and, bending down, sought the dear little face in
+the dark, and told her to be quiet, to go to sleep. She was silent for a
+moment, and then called--
+
+"Papa!"
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"I haven't got the mule under my pillow, you know, papa."
+
+"No, no, dear, but now go to sleep."
+
+"Yes, papa, I am going to sleep."
+
+Once more she was silent for a moment and then said--
+
+"Is mamma in bed, papa?"
+
+"No, dear."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because she is making little shoes for you."
+
+"Shall I wear shoes in heaven also, like great grandfather?"
+
+"Hush! Go to sleep."
+
+"Tell me a story, papa."
+
+He tried, but he had neither Luisa's imagination nor her skill, and soon
+came to a stand-still. "Oh, papa!" said Maria, in a compassionate tone,
+"you don't know how to tell stories."
+
+This was humiliating. "Listen, listen!" he answered, and began reciting
+a ballad by Carrer, always going back to the beginning after the first
+four lines, which were all he knew of it, his expression becoming ever
+more mysterious, his voice ever fainter, until it was only an
+inarticulate murmur, and thus at last Signorina Missipipi, lulled by the
+rhythm of the lines, passed with them into the world of dreams. When he
+heard her sleeping peacefully it seemed to him he was so cruel to leave
+her, he felt himself such a traitor, that he wavered in his resolve. He
+at once controlled himself, however.
+
+The sweet dialogue with the child had greatly soothed him and raised his
+spirits. He began to be conscious of an imperative duty towards his wife
+which would henceforth be incumbent upon him. He must show himself a
+man, both in will and in deed, and this at the cost of any sacrifice. He
+must defend his faith against her by his works, by leaving home, by
+labour and suffering; and then--and then--if Almighty God should see
+fit to allow the cannon to roar for Italy, he must push ever to the
+front; and let the Austrian ball come, if it but teach her to weep and
+pray at last!
+
+He remembered that he had not said his evening prayers. Poor Franco, he
+had never been able to say them in bed without dropping off to sleep
+before they were half finished. Feeling comparatively calm, and
+reflecting that it might perhaps be some time before Luisa came to bed,
+he feared he should go to sleep, and what would she say if she found him
+sleeping? He rose very softly and said his prayers; then he lighted the
+candle and sat down at the writing-desk, intending to read, but
+presently he fell asleep in his chair.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+He was aroused by the beat of Veronica's wooden shoes on the stairs.
+Luisa was not yet come. Soon, however, she entered the room, and
+expressed no surprise at seeing Franco already up.
+
+"It is four o'clock," she said. "If you intend to start, you have only
+half an hour's time." He must leave home at half-past four, to be sure
+of reaching Menaggio in time for the first boat coming from Colico.
+Instead of going to Como and thence to Milan as had been officially
+announced, Franco was to leave the steamer at Argegno and go up to S.
+Fedele, coming down into Switzerland by Val Mara or by Orimento and
+Monte Generoso.
+
+Franco signed to his wife to be quiet, that she might not disturb Maria.
+Then with another silent gesture he called her to him.
+
+"I am going," he said. "Last night I was harsh with you. I beg you to
+forgive me. I should have answered you differently, even though I was in
+the right. You know my temperament. Forgive me! At least, do not let us
+part in anger."
+
+"For my part I feel none," Luisa answered gently, as one who finds it
+easy to condescend, because he feels himself superior.
+
+The final preparations were made in silence; breakfast was eaten in
+silence. Franco went to embrace the uncle to whom he had not said
+good-bye the night before; then he returned to the alcove-room alone,
+and kneeling beside the little bed, touched with his lips a tiny hand
+that was hanging over the edge. Upon returning to the parlour he found
+Luisa in shawl and hat, and asked if she were going to Porlezza also.
+Yes, she was going. Everything was ready. Luisa had the handbag, the
+valise was in the boat, and Ismaele was waiting on the stairs of the
+boathouse, one foot on the step, the other on the prow of the boat.
+
+Veronica accompanied the travellers with a light, and wished her master
+a pleasant journey, with a crestfallen expression, for she had an
+inkling of the quarrel.
+
+Two minutes later and the heavy boat, pushed forward by Ismaele's slow
+and steady "travelling strokes," was passing beneath the wall of the
+kitchen-garden. Franco put his head out of the little window. The
+rose-bushes, the caper-bushes, and the aloes hanging from the wall,
+passed slowly in the pale light of this starry but moonless night; then
+the orange-trees, the medlar, and the pine slipped by. Good-bye!
+Good-bye! They passed the cemetery, the _Zocca di Maine_, the narrow
+lane where he had so often walked with Maria, the Tavorell. Franco no
+longer watched. The light that usually burned in the little cabin was
+not there to-night, and he could not see his wife, who was silent.
+
+"Are you going to Porlezza about those papers of the notary's, or simply
+to accompany me?" he said.
+
+"This too!" Luisa murmured sadly. "I tried to be strictly honest with
+you, and you took offence. You ask my forgiveness, and now you say such
+things as this to me. I see that one cannot be faithful to truth without
+great, great suffering. But patience! I have chosen that path now. You
+will know soon whether I really came on your account or not. Do not
+humble me by making me say so now."
+
+"_Do not humble me!_" Franco exclaimed. "I do not understand. We are
+indeed different in so many ways. My God, how different we are! You are
+always so completely mistress of yourself, you can always express your
+thoughts so exactly, they are always so clear, so cool."
+
+Luisa murmured: "Yes, we are different."
+
+Neither spoke again until they reached Cressogno. When they were near
+the Marchesa's villa Luisa began to talk, and tried to keep the
+conversation alive until they should have left the villa behind. She
+asked him to repeat to her the itinerary that had been arranged for his
+journey, and suggested that he take only his handbag with him, for the
+valise would be a burden from Argegno on. She had already spoken to
+Ismaele about it, and he had promised to carry it to Lugano and send it
+on to Turin from that place. Meanwhile they had passed his grandmother's
+villa.
+
+Now the sanctuary of Caravina came in sight. Twice during their
+courtship Franco and Luisa had met under those olive-trees, at the
+_festa_ of Caravina, on the eighth of September. And now the dear little
+church in its grove of olives, beneath the awful rocks of the peak of
+Cressogno, was left behind also. Farewell, little church. Farewell to
+the past!
+
+"Remember," Franco said, almost harshly, "that Maria is to say her
+prayers every morning and evening. It is an order I give you."
+
+"I should have made her do so without this order," Luisa answered. "I
+know Maria does not belong to me alone."
+
+Then they were silent all the way to Porlezza. Coming forth from the
+tranquil bay of Valsolda, seeing other valleys, other horizons, the lake
+just rippled by the first breath of dawn, the two travellers were drawn
+towards other thoughts, were led to think, without knowing why, of the
+uncertain future, which must bring great events, of which prophetic
+whisperings already circulated mysteriously through the heavy Austrian
+silence. Some one called out from the shore at Porlezza, and Ismaele
+began to row rapidly. It was the driver, Toni Pollin, who was shouting
+to them to make haste if they wished to catch the steamer at Menaggio.
+
+The last moments had come. Franco let down the window in the little
+door, and looked at the man as if he were most anxious not to lose a
+word.
+
+When they touched the shore he turned to his wife. "Are you going to get
+out also?" "If you wish it," she said. They alighted. A cabriolet stood
+ready on the shore. "By the way," said Luisa, "you will find some lunch
+in your bag." They embraced, exchanging a cold and rapid kiss in the
+presence of three or four curious bystanders "Try and make Maria forgive
+me for leaving her thus," said Franco, and they were his last words, for
+Toni Pollin was hurrying them: "Quick, quick!" The horse started off at
+a brisk trot, and the cabriolet rattled noisily, with a great snapping
+of the whip, through the dark and narrow street of Porlezza.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Franco was on board the _Falcon_ between Campo and Argegno when he
+thought of his lunch. He opened the bag, and his heart gave a bound as
+he perceived a letter bearing as an address the words "For You" in his
+wife's hand. He tore it open eagerly, and read as follows--
+
+"If you only knew what I am experiencing in my soul, how I am suffering,
+how sorely I am tempted to lay aside the little shoes--in the making of
+which I am far less skilful than you think--and to go to you, taking
+back all I have said, you would not be so harsh with me. I must have
+sinned deeply against truth, that the first steps I now take in
+following her are so difficult, so bitter.
+
+"You think me proud, and I believed myself very sensitive, but now I
+feel that your humiliating words alone could not have kept me from
+hastening to you. What holds me back is a Voice within me, a Voice
+stronger than I am, which commands me to sacrifice everything save my
+consciousness of truth.
+
+"Ah! I hope this sacrifice may bring its reward! I hope that one day
+there may be a perfect union between our two souls.
+
+"I am going into the garden to gather for you that brave little rose we
+admired together the other day, the little rose that has challenged and
+conquered January. Do you remember how many obstacles lay between us the
+first time I received a flower from your hand? I was not yet in love
+with you, but you already dreamt of winning me. Now it is I who hope to
+win you!"
+
+Franco came near letting the steamer pass Argegno without moving from
+his seat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+FOR BREAD, FOR ITALY, FOR GOD
+
+
+Eight months later, in September, 1855, Franco was occupying a miserable
+attic in Via Barbaroux, Turin. In February he had obtained the post of
+translator for the _Opinione_, with a monthly salary of eighty-five
+lire. Later he began to write the parliamentary reports, and his salary
+was raised to a hundred lire. Dina, the manager of the paper, was fond
+of him, and procured him extra work outside the office, thus adding
+twenty-five or thirty lire to his earnings. Franco lived on sixty lire a
+month. The rest went to Lugano to be carried thence to Oria by the
+faithful hands of Ismaele. To live a month on sixty lire took more
+courage than Franco himself had believed he possessed. The hours at the
+office, the translating--a laborious task for one full of scruples and
+literary timidity--weighed more heavily upon him than the privations;
+moreover he felt even sixty lire was too large a sum, and reproached
+himself for not being able to do with less.
+
+He had attached himself to six other refugees, some of whom were
+Lombards, others Venetians. They ate together, walked together,
+conversed together. With the exception of Franco and a young man from
+Udine, all the others were between thirty and forty years of age. All
+were extremely poor, and not one of them had ever consented to accept a
+penny from the Piedmontese Government as a subsidy. The young man from
+Udine came of a rich family, of Austrian tendencies, and received not a
+penny from home. He was a good flutist, gave four or five lessons a
+week, and played in the small orchestras of second-rate theatres. A
+notary from Padua was copyist in Boggio's office. A lawyer from Caprino,
+Bergamasco, who had seen service at Rome in 1849, was book-keeper at a
+large establishment in Via Nuovo, where umbrellas and walking-sticks
+were sold, and for this reason his friends had dubbed him "the knave of
+clubs." A fourth, a Milanese, had been through the campaign of 1848 as
+one of Carlo Alberto's scouts. His present occupation was to quarrel
+continually with "the knave of clubs," for reasons of provincial
+rivalry, to teach fencing in a couple of boarding schools, and in winter
+to play the piano behind a mysterious curtain in halls where polkas were
+danced at a penny each. The others lived on insufficient allowances from
+their families. All except Franco were unmarried, and all were gay. They
+called themselves, and were called by others, the "seven wise men," and
+in their wisdom they dominated Turin from the elevated positions of
+seven attics, scattered all over the city from Borgo San Dalmazzo to
+Piazza Milano.
+
+Franco's was the most wretched of these attics, the rent being only
+seven lire a month. No member of this band had any services whatsoever
+performed for them, save the notary from Padua, for whom the
+doorkeeper's sister carried water to his attic, and had he not been the
+calm philosopher he was, the merciless teasings of his friends would
+have made him regret Marga's devotion. They all cleaned their own boots.
+The most skilful with his hands was Franco, and it was his lot to sew on
+his friends' buttons when they did not wish to humble themselves by
+applying to the lawyer and his Marga, who, nevertheless, often had her
+hands full, "poor, overworked woman that I am!" The young man from Udine
+had a sweetheart, a little _tota_[N] from the first booth in Piazza
+Castello on the corner of Po, but he was jealous, and would not allow
+her to sew on buttons for any one. The friends took their revenge by
+calling her "the puppet," because she sold puppets and dolls. However,
+thanks to "the puppet," he was the only member of the band whose clothes
+were always in order, and whose cravat was always tied in a graceful
+knot. They took their meals at a restaurant in Vanchiglia, which they
+had christened "Stomach-ache Tavern," and where they had lunch and
+dinner for thirty lire a month.
+
+Their only extravagance was the _bicierin_, a mixture of coffee, milk,
+and chocolate, costing only fifteen centimes. They drank this in the
+morning, the Venetians at the Cafe Alfieri, the others at Cafe Florio.
+All except Franco, however. He went without the _bicierin_ and the
+_torcett_, a cake costing a penny that went with it, in order that he
+might lay by enough for a little trip to Lugano, and a trifling present
+for Maria. In the winter they walked under the porticoes of Po, the
+"wise ones" in the vicinity of the University, while the more
+light-minded frequented the porticoes on the San Francesco side. After
+their walk they would go to a coffee-house, where the one whose turn it
+was would sip a cup of coffee, while the others read the newspapers and
+looted the sugar basin. Once a week, to satisfy the "knave of clubs,"
+they would betake themselves to a den in Via Bertola, where the purest
+and most exquisite Giambava wine was to be had.
+
+The flutist from Udine of course went to the theatres, and by his means
+some of the others went _gratis_ from time to time, but always to the
+play, and usually either to the Rossini or Gerbino theatres. For Franco
+to be obliged to pass the posters at the Regio and the other opera
+houses was a far greater trial than to be obliged to clean his own boots
+and lunch off two square inches of omelet that was so thin it would have
+served admirably to observe the spots on the sun through. He had had the
+good fortune to make the acquaintance of a certain C., a Venetian, who
+was secretary at the department of Public Works, and who presented him
+to the family of a most distinguished major in the sanitary corps, also
+Venetian, and who owned a piano and was in the habit of receiving a few
+friends of an evening, on which occasions he would regale them with a
+cup of most excellent coffee of a quality almost unique in the Turin of
+those days. When, for one reason or another, the "seven wise men" did
+not spend the evening together, Franco would go to this gentleman's
+house in Piazza Milano, to make music, to converse on art with the
+daughters, or to discuss politics with his hostess, a fierce Venetian
+patriot, a woman of great talents, and possessed of a strenuous soul,
+who had not only borne heroically all the hardships and the bitterness
+of exile, but had sustained the courage of her husband, whose first
+steps had been most painful and difficult; for those precious, honest
+old numskulls of the inflexible Piedmontese administration had actually
+obliged this already famous professor of the University of Padua to
+submit to an examination, before they would admit him into the army as
+surgeon.[O]
+
+The correspondence between Turin and Oria did not indeed reflect the
+true state of mind of Franco and Luisa; it ran on smoothly and
+affectionately enough, but with great caution and reserve on either
+side. Luisa had expected that Franco would answer her note, and resume
+the great discussion. As he never mentioned either the note or what had
+passed between them that last night, she risked an allusion. It was
+allowed to pass unheeded. As a matter of fact Franco had several times
+started to write with the intention of confuting his wife's opinions.
+Before beginning he always felt himself strong, and was convinced that
+with a little thought he could easily discover crushing arguments, and,
+indeed, arguments he believed to be such would rush to his pen, but when
+they were set down in writing, he would at once be forced to recognise
+their inadequacy. Though surprised and grieved he would make another
+attempt, but always with the same result. Nevertheless his wife was
+certainly in error; this he never for a moment doubted, and there must
+be a way of demonstrating it to her. He must study. But what, and how?
+He consulted a priest to whom he had been to confession soon after his
+arrival in Turin. This priest, a little misshapen old man, who was fiery
+and very learned, invited him to his house in Piazza Paisana, and began
+to help him enthusiastically, suggesting a number of books, some for his
+own perusal, and others to be sent to his wife. He was a learned
+Orientalist, and an enthusiastic Thomist, and had taken a great fancy to
+Franco, of whose genius and culture he had formed an opinion which was
+perhaps exaggeratedly favourable. At one time he was on the point of
+proposing to him the study of Hebrew, and indeed insisted upon his
+reading St. Thomas. He went so far as to sketch for Franco the outlines
+of a letter to his wife, with a list of the arguments he must expound.
+Franco had at once fallen in love with the enthusiastic little old man,
+who, moreover, had the pure expression of a saint. He began to study St.
+Thomas with great ardour, but did not persevere long. He felt he was
+embarking upon a sea without beginning and without end, across which he
+was unable to steer a straight course. The scholastic scheme of
+treatment, that sameness in the form of argument for and against, that
+icy Latin, dense with profound thought, and colourless on the surface,
+had successfully routed all his good intentions at the end of three
+days. Of the arguments contained in the sketch for the letter he
+understood only a small part. He got the priest to explain them to him,
+understood somewhat better, and prepared to open a campaign with them,
+but found himself as much encumbered by them as was David by the armour
+of Saul. They weighed upon him, he could not handle them, he felt they
+were not his own and never would be. No, he could not present himself
+before his wife with Professor G.'s priestly hat and tunic, a
+theological lance in his hand, and entrenched behind a shield of
+metaphysics. He recognised that he was not born to philosophise in any
+way; he was destitute of the very power of strictly logical reasoning,
+for indeed his glowing heart, rich in tenderness and indignation, would
+too often interfere, speaking for or against, according to its own
+passions. One evening at Casa C. he was playing the _andante_ of
+Beethoven's twenty-eighth sonata, when, with quivering nerves and
+flashing eyes, he said in a low tone: "Ah! This, this, this!" He was
+reflecting that no theologian, no doctor, could communicate the
+religious sentiment as Beethoven does. As he played on he put his whole
+soul into the music, and longed for Luisa's presence that he might play
+this divine _andante_ to her, that he might unite himself to her,
+praying thus in an ineffable spasm of the spirit. But he did not reflect
+that Luisa who, moreover, was far less sensitive to music than he was,
+would probably have attributed another meaning to the _andante_, that of
+the painful conflict between our affections and our convictions.
+
+He went to G., returned the works of St. Thomas and confessed his utter
+incapacity in such humble and feeling language, that after a few moments
+of frowning and uneasy silence, the old priest forgave him. "There,
+there, there!" said he, resignedly taking back the first volume of the
+_Somma_. "Commend yourself to our Lord, and let us hope He Himself will
+act." Thus ended Franco's theological studies.
+
+All this pondering of his wife's opinions and his own, and above all
+the Professor's advice: "Commend yourself to our Lord," were not
+fruitless. He began to see that on some points Luisa was not mistaken.
+When she had reproached him for not leading a life in conformity with
+his faith, he had been more offended by this than by anything else. Now
+a generous impulse carried him to the other extreme; he judged himself
+severely, exaggerated his faults of idleness, of anger, even of greed,
+and held himself responsible for Luisa's intellectual aberrations. He
+felt a desire to tell her this, to humble himself before her, to
+separate his own cause from the cause of God. When he obtained his
+position on the _Opinione_, and regulated his own expenses in such a
+manner as to be able to make an allowance to his family, his wife wrote
+that this allowance was entirely too large in proportion to his
+earnings, and that the thought of him, living in Turin on sixty lire a
+month, gave her own food a bitter taste. He answered--and this was not
+strictly true--that in the first place, he never went hungry, but that
+he would, indeed, be glad to fast, because he felt an intense desire to
+change his way of life, to expiate his past idleness, including the
+hours he had wasted on his flowers and music, to expiate all past
+softness, all past weaknesses, including the weakness for dainty dishes
+and fine wines. He added that he had asked God's forgiveness for this
+past life, and that he felt he must ask her forgiveness also. In fact
+the Paduan, with whom Franco had become very intimate, and to whom he
+read this passage in his letter as a sort of confirmation of previous
+confessions, exclaimed: "That bit sounds for all the world like the
+oration of Manasseh, king of Judaea!"
+
+Luisa wrote most affectionately, but with less effusion. Franco's
+silence on the painful subject displeased her, and she felt it would be
+unwise on her part to allude to it in the face of a silence so
+obstinate.
+
+His good intentions concerning labour and self-sacrifice moved her
+deeply; when she read that confession of great wickedness, followed by
+the prayer for pardon to God and to herself, she smiled and kissed the
+letter, feeling that this was an act of submission, and a humble
+acceptance of the censure which had at first only irritated him. Poor
+Franco! These were the impulses of his noble, generous nature! But would
+they last? She answered at once, and if her emotion was apparent in her
+answer, so also was her smile, which displeased Franco. At the end he
+found these words: "When I read your many self-accusations I thought,
+with remorse, of the accusations I brought against you, one sad night,
+and I felt that you also had been thinking of them as you wrote,
+although neither in this letter nor in any other are they alluded to. I
+deeply regret those accusations, my own Franco, but how I wish we could
+speak together as true friends, concerning those other questions of
+which I think so much here in my solitude!"
+
+Luisa's wish remained ungratified. In answering Franco did not even
+touch on this point; indeed his next letter was somewhat cool, so Luisa
+did not again revert to the subject. Only once, when speaking of Maria,
+did she write: "If you could only see how Maria recites her 'Our Father'
+every night and morning, and how well she behaves at Mass, on Sundays,
+you would be satisfied."
+
+He replied: "As to what you tell me concerning Maria's religious
+exercises, I am satisfied, and I thank you!"
+
+Both Luisa and Franco wrote almost every day, and sent their letters
+once a week. Ismaele went to the post at Lugano every Tuesday, taking
+the wife's letters and bringing back the husband's. In June Maria had
+the measles, and in August Uncle Piero lost the sight of his left eye,
+almost without warning, and for some time was greatly distressed. During
+these two periods the letters from Oria were more frequent, but in
+September the weekly correspondence was resumed. From the bundle of
+letters I take the last that passed between Franco and Luisa, on the eve
+of those events which overwhelmed them at the end of September.
+
+
+ LUISA TO FRANCO.
+
+ "_September 14, 1856._
+
+ "I do not think Pasotti will ever come to our house again. I am
+ sorry on poor Barborin's account, for I fear she will not be
+ able to come either, but I do not regret what I did.
+
+ "He has known perfectly well for some time that you are in
+ Turin. He even talked of it with the Receiver, so Maria Pon
+ told me. She was in the Romit chapel, and heard them talking on
+ their way down from Albogasio Superiore. When he came here he
+ would always pretend not to know, and would enquire for you
+ with his usual assumption of interest and friendship. To-day he
+ found me alone in the little garden and asked how much longer
+ you would be absent and whether you were in Milan at present. I
+ answered frankly that his question surprised me. He turned
+ pale. 'Why?' said he. 'Because you have been going about saying
+ that Franco is in an entirely different place.' He became
+ confused and protested angrily. 'You may protest as much as you
+ like!' I said. 'It is quite useless. You know that. At all
+ events Franco is very well off where he is. You may say as much
+ to whomever you please.' 'You wish to insult me!' he exclaimed.
+ I did not stop to think long, but retorted: 'That is quite
+ possible!' Then he rushed away without saluting me, and looking
+ as black as the ace of spades--that simile suits my present
+ mood! I am sure he will go to Cressogno this evening.
+
+ "Custant has sent us a present of a magnificent tench which he
+ caught this morning, much to the chagrin of Bianconi, who
+ fishes all day long, and never catches anything. He is furious
+ with the impudent tench because they snap their fingers--so to
+ speak--at His Imperial and Royal Majesty of Austria and his
+ Carlascia. 'Poor fellow!' says Signora Peppina. 'He is eating
+ his heart out!'
+
+ "However, he will get over it, he will get over it.
+
+ "_September 15._
+
+ "I related the Pasotti episode to Uncle Piero and he was very
+ much annoyed. 'Much good this will do you!' he said. Poor
+ Uncle! One might almost suspect him of being a utilitarian,
+ whereas he is really a philosopher. After all the strongest
+ argument he ever opposes to all my burning indignation against
+ the many ugly things in this world is: 'Worrying won't mend
+ it!'
+
+ "To-day the parish Mass was said at Albogasio Superiore. In
+ coming out of church with Maria I caught a despairing glance
+ from poor Barborin, who evidently had orders to avoid me.
+ However, Ester walked down with us and coming into the house
+ told me privately something I have been expecting to hear. She
+ began by begging me not to laugh, while all the time she was
+ laughing herself. I succeeded in gathering that the Professor,
+ by dint of great perseverance, has overcome her resistance,
+ although Ester still declares she does not know her own mind.
+
+ "'It is his nose!' she said this morning, laughing and hiding
+ her gay little face. Indeed that scandalous nose seems to me to
+ be prospering; it is redder than ever, and grows ever larger!
+
+ "_September 18._
+
+ "I have not written for three days, fearing I should not be
+ mistress of my pen, nor be able to confine my thoughts within
+ words which must not exceed certain bounds. Now I feel equal to
+ the task, and so I will set about it. But I must warn you,
+ Franco, that I am not sure of being able to control my feelings
+ all the way through.
+
+ "Well, then, your grandmother's agent came to me on the evening
+ of the fifteenth. As the half-yearly payment of your income is
+ due on the sixteenth, I concluded he had come to bring the five
+ hundred _svanziche_, and so I told him at once that I would go
+ and prepare the receipt for him. Then the most gracious Signor
+ Bellini informed me that my receipt would not be sufficient.
+ 'How can that be?' I said. 'It was sufficient on the sixteenth
+ of March.' 'I don't know,' he replied. 'I have my orders.' 'But
+ Franco is not here.' 'I know that.' 'Then what did you come
+ here for?' 'I came to tell you that if Don Franco wishes to
+ draw his money he must present himself at the Signora
+ Marchesa's agency in Brescia.' 'And what if he cannot go to
+ Brescia?' Here Signor Bellini made a gesture that meant, 'That
+ is your affair.' I replied that it was all right, had coffee
+ brought for him, and told him I was anxious to purchase the
+ book-shelves in your old study at Cressogno from the Signora
+ Marchesa. Bellini turned yellow, and sneaked away like our old
+ dog Pato at Casa Rigey when he had been stealing.
+
+ "Most certainly the worthy Pasotti has had a finger in this
+ dirty business.
+
+ "The Prefect of Caravina was here yesterday and told us that
+ Pasotti went to Cressogno on the evening of the fourteenth. He
+ was very late, and reached your grandmother's house while they
+ were saying the rosary, so he had to mumble the prayers with
+ the others, which greatly amused the prefect, for it is his
+ opinion that Pasotti goes to Mass simply because he is an
+ Imperial and Royal pensioner, but that his only prayer is 'the
+ rats' Pater,' whatever that may be. He added that after the
+ others had gone out Pasotti remained in confabulation with your
+ grandmother, and that Bellini was also present. Bellini had
+ arrived that very day from Brescia. He probably brought the
+ money for you.
+
+ "We have enough left to live upon until the money comes from
+ you in October. That is all I wish to say.
+
+ "Maria sends you the cyclamen you will find enclosed. I must
+ also tell you the following incident. You can fancy she notices
+ the state of mind I am in. She often hears me discussing the
+ subject with Uncle Piero. The uncle is always the uncle! In his
+ whole life he has set down as rascals only such contractors as
+ offered him bribes, and another uncle his exact opposite, who,
+ after making use of his nephew for many years, died without
+ leaving him so much as a dried fig. He would never recognise
+ any other rascals, nor will he do so even now. Well, when I am
+ talking with him, Maria always wants to listen. I send her
+ away, but I sometimes fail to notice that she has returned very
+ softly. This morning she began saying her prayers. Oh, Franco!
+ your daughter is indeed very religious in your own way! The
+ last prayer she repeats is a _requiem_ for poor Grandmamma
+ Teresa. 'Mamma,' said she when she had finished, 'I want to
+ recite a _requiem_ for the grandmother in Cressogno also.'
+ Never mind my answer. My words were bitter; perhaps I did
+ wrong; I am even ready to confess I did wrong. Maria looked at
+ me, and said: 'Is the grandmother at Cressogno really wicked?'
+ 'Yes.' 'But why does Uncle Piero say she is not really wicked?'
+ 'Because Uncle Piero is so very good.' 'Then you are not so
+ very good?' My dear little innocent! I devoured her with
+ kisses, I could not help it! As soon as she was free to speak
+ she began again: 'You will not go to Paradise, you know, if you
+ are not so very good.' Paradise is her one idea. Poor Franco,
+ not to have her with you, you who would be so satisfied with
+ her! You are indeed making a great sacrifice! If it will give
+ you any pleasure I will tell you that the only possibility for
+ me to love God is through this child, for in her God becomes
+ visible and intelligible to me.
+
+ "Good-bye, Franco. I embrace you.
+
+ "LUISA.
+
+ "P. S. I must tell you that I have dismissed Veronica for the
+ first of October. This I did in the first place for reasons of
+ economy, and secondly because I have discovered that she is
+ flirting with a customs-guard. Oh! I almost forgot something
+ else! Half an hour ago Ester came to tell me she has decided to
+ say 'yes,' but she wishes to wait a day longer before seeing
+ the Professor. She has evidently succeeded in swallowing the
+ nose, but has not yet digested it."
+
+ FRANCO TO LUISA.
+
+ "TURIN, _September 14, 1855_.
+
+ "The 'knave of clubs' is threatened with dismissal by his
+ employer on account of the truly miserable state of his
+ clothes. The 'knave' is indeed given to extravagance, and has
+ not yet learned--_duris in rebus_--to handle a clothes brush,
+ but however that may be, the other 'wise men' have decided not
+ to lunch for a week in order that he may re-clothe himself. Now
+ observe the baseness of the human heart! The 'knave,'
+ overflowing with expressions of gratitude, calmly prepared to
+ go to his own lunch! This, however, we would not stand. So
+ to-day, instead of repairing to Stomach-ache Tavern, we spent
+ half an hour on the banks of the Po, near the Valentino,
+ watching the water flow past. The wise man from Udine had
+ brought his flute with him, because music should not be wanting
+ at an ideal lunch, at which the most Irimalchionian ideas of
+ food and beverages are handed round. He also had with him a
+ letter from his family, containing magnificent proposals for
+ his return to the fold. They even offer him a riding-horse. He
+ says he has written them that they will soon see him come
+ dashing up on one of King Victor Emmanuel's horses. Then the
+ Paduan, who is a wag, said to him with a great assumption of
+ seriousness, "Ah, my hero! So you are beginning to blow your
+ own trumpet as well as play the flute!" The flutist was wild,
+ but presently he calmed down, and played us a nice little tune.
+ The strange part of it all is that none of us felt hungry.
+ However, when the meeting was adjourned, we decided that the
+ 'knave's' clothing should be simplified, and that he could get
+ along without the _justicoat_, known in modern parlance as the
+ waistcoat.
+
+ "Ah! We would all gladly do without dinner as well as lunch if
+ we could only cross the Ticino with the King in April, 1856! We
+ talked of this on our way back to the city after the ideal
+ lunch. The Paduan observed that the water is too cold in April
+ and that we had better wait until the end of June. We began to
+ talk about how great Italy will be without the Germans. I
+ assure you we were all enthusiastic, in spite of the emptiness
+ of our stomachs. All except the Paduan of course, but of him I
+ must tell you that if he is reduced almost to the verge of
+ starvation, it is because he will not tolerate the Austrians,
+ and that although he is knocking at the door of forty, he will
+ fight better than some of these young fellows who are now
+ devouring an Austrian for lunch, and two for dinner! He says we
+ shall once more become a cat and dog kingdom. 'Mark this, for
+ example,' he added. 'When the Germans shall have departed, each
+ of us will return to his own home, and woe to you if you come
+ and worry me in Padua!' I can almost fancy I am listening to
+ Uncle Piero, when, at Oria, we used to discuss the greatness
+ and the splendid future of Italy. 'Yes, yes, yes!' he would
+ say, 'Yes, yes, yes! The lake will turn into milk and honey,
+ and the Galbiga will become a Parmesan cheese!'
+
+ "We shall see! We shall see!
+
+
+ "_September 21._
+
+ "Your letter has awakened in me a tumult of feelings which
+ cannot be described in writing.
+
+ "Of course my grandmother's action and the indirect malevolence
+ of Pasotti grieve me deeply, but your too violent indignation
+ is far more painful to me. When some one holding my
+ power-of-attorney presents himself at Brescia, payment cannot
+ be refused. It is true that you, a woman, are not expected to
+ know these things. I can also forgive your anger, for in the
+ beginning I myself was not unmoved. Then I asked myself: Why
+ are you indignant? Why are you surprised? Were you not already
+ acquainted with that evil spirit, and have you not already
+ suffered greater insult from it?
+
+ "I am most deeply grieved that you did not succeed in hiding
+ your feelings from Maria; I am deeply moved to learn that you
+ repented of this; and deeply thankful that you love the Lord in
+ the child, and that you have confessed as much to me. Indeed I
+ feel I should not be so overjoyed at this, for the heavens and
+ the earth are always inviting us to love God; He is visible in
+ every ray of light, and His voice may be heard in every truth.
+ But, at least, you are beginning to hear this voice! I have
+ never touched upon this subject in my letters because I feel I
+ am not capable of speaking worthily and efficaciously of it to
+ you. And now I shall let God Himself speak to you through the
+ child, and once more resume my silence. But remember, I am
+ waiting in suspense; I am hoping and praying.
+
+ "How can I express to you what I feel for Maria? Who could
+ describe this emotion, this immense tenderness, this consuming
+ desire to clasp her for a moment, only for one moment, to my
+ heart? Do you believe I shall be able to wait until November?
+ No, no, no! I will write, I will copy, I will do the work of
+ others, but I must come to Lugano sooner! Cover her with kisses
+ for me, and meanwhile, tell her that Papa carries his Maria in
+ his heart always, and that he sends her his blessing. Ask her
+ what she wishes me to bring her and let me know, without
+ thinking too much about my poverty.
+
+ "With my whole soul I embrace you, my Luisa.
+
+ "FRANCO."
+
+ LUISA TO FRANCO. "_September 24, 1855._
+
+ "At last! Ever since you left I have been longing for you to
+ touch upon this question. How did I explain myself that night,
+ in my painful emotion? How did you understand me, in your
+ equally painful emotion? For months and months I have felt the
+ necessity of speaking of this to you, and I have never done so
+ because I lacked courage.
+
+ "You will remember you accused me of pride that night. I
+ implore you to believe that I am not proud. I cannot even
+ understand such an accusation.
+
+ "Your letter gives me the idea that you think I have returned
+ to a belief in God. But did I ever tell you that I do not
+ believe in God? I cannot have told you so, for the whole
+ history of my opinions is engraved upon my mind, and the
+ fright, the distressing thought that I might perhaps no longer
+ be able to believe in God, came to me after you left. I know
+ the day, the very hour. At S. Mamette I had heard them talking
+ of a great dinner your grandmother had given at Brescia, while
+ I could not even procure the food and wine necessary for the
+ diet the doctor--fearing the loss of the right eye--had
+ prescribed for our beloved Uncle. I struggled against these
+ awful shadows, Franco, and I conquered. It is true the victory
+ is due, in a great measure, to Maria. I mean that if all these
+ black clouds hide the existence of Supreme Justice from me, a
+ ray of light from it reaches me through Maria; and this ray of
+ light makes me believe, makes me hope in the Orb. For it would
+ be too horrible if the universe were not governed by justice!
+
+ "That night then, I can only have told you that I understood
+ religion in a different way from you; that prayers and acts of
+ Christian faith did not seem to me essential to the religious
+ idea, but rather love and actions for those who suffer, rather
+ indignation and actions against those who cause suffering!
+
+ "And you wish to resume your silence? No, you must not. You
+ feel weak, you say. Do you feel you yourself are weak, or your
+ _Credo_? Let us reason, let us discuss. Confess that one reason
+ why you who believe, love your beliefs, is because they are
+ comfortably restful to the intellect. You stretch yourselves at
+ your ease in them as in a hammock, suspended in the air by
+ innumerable threads spun by men and fastened by men to many
+ hooks. You are comfortable, and if any one examines or lays his
+ hand upon one only of these threads, you are troubled, and
+ afraid it will snap, because very probably its neighbour will
+ snap also, and after that one, another; and so, to your great
+ fright and pain, your fragile bed will come tumbling down from
+ the sky to the earth. I know this fright and this pain, I know
+ that the satisfaction of walking on solid ground must be
+ purchased at this cost, and therefore I am not deterred by a
+ pity that would be false from discussing with you. But I may
+ be mistaken, and perhaps it may be you who will lift me up, up
+ to your resting place of fragile threads and air. Maria is not
+ equal to this task. If Maria makes me believe in God, it does
+ not follow that she can make me believe in the Church as well.
+ And you yourself believe in the Church above all things.
+ Therefore try to convince me, and I also will listen in
+ suspense, and though I do not pray, at least I can hope,
+ because now my longing for a perfect union with you is stronger
+ than ever before. Now, together with my old affection, I feel a
+ new admiration for you, a new gratitude towards you.
+
+ "Will you take offence at this outpouring of mine? Remember
+ that you must have found a letter from me in your handbag,
+ eight months ago, and that I have waited eight months for an
+ answer!
+
+ "The Professor and Ester now meet at our house as fiances.
+ They, at least, are happy. She goes to church and he does not,
+ and neither of them thinks any more about it than they do about
+ the difference in the colour of their hair. And I believe nine
+ hundred and ninety-nine couples in a thousand do the same."
+
+ "I embrace you. Write me a long, long letter.
+
+ "LUISA."
+
+This letter did not leave Lugano until September 26th, and Franco
+received it on the 27th. On the 29th, at eight o'clock in the morning,
+he received the following telegram, also from Lugano:
+
+ "Child dangerously ill. Come at once.
+
+ "UNCLE."
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[N] _Tota_ is Piedmontese for young girl, often used in the sense of
+_grisette_. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[O] It must be remembered that Padua and its university were at that
+time dominated by the Austrians, and that patriotism drove this "already
+famous professor" to give up his position and migrate to free Piedmont.
+[_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+SIGNORA LUISA, COME HOME!
+
+
+In the early afternoon of the twenty-seventh of September Luisa was
+returning from Porlezza with some documents to copy for the notary. In
+those days the rocks between S. Michele and Porlezza were perfectly
+bare, and destitute of the narrow pathway which now runs across them.
+Luisa had had herself ferried that short distance, and had then walked
+along the lane that, like all those of my little world, both ancient and
+modern, would admit of no other method of travel; that pretty deceitful
+lane, that seeks in every way to avoid leading whither the traveller
+wishes to go. At Cressogno it passes above Villa Maironi, which,
+however, is not visible from the path.
+
+"What if I should meet her?" Luisa thought, her blood boiling. But she
+met no one. On the slope between Cressogno and Campo, the sun beat
+fiercely. When she reached the cool, high valley known as Campo, she sat
+down in the shade of the colossal chestnut-tree that is still alive, the
+last of three or four venerable patriarchs, and looked towards the
+houses of her native Castello, clustered in a circle round a lofty peak
+among those shady crags. She thought of her dead mother, and was glad
+she, at least, was at rest. Presently she heard some one exclaim: "Oh,
+blessed Madonna!" It was Signora Peppina, who was also on her way from
+Cressogno, and who was in despair because neither at S. Mamette, Loggio,
+nor Cressogno had she been able to find any eggs. "Carlo will beat me
+this time! He'll kill me outright, my dear!" She would have liked to go
+on to Puria, but she was half dead with fatigue. What roads! How many
+stones! "When I think of my Milan, my dear!" She sat down on the grass
+beside Luisa, saying many affectionate things to her, and wanted her to
+guess with whom she had been speaking about her, only a few minutes
+before. "With the Signora Marchesa! Certainly! Yes indeed! Oh, my
+dear...." It looked as if Signora Peppina had great things to tell, but
+did not dare do so, and as their presence in her throat was causing her
+discomfort, she was bound to make Luisa draw them out. "What a
+business!" she would exclaim from time to time. "What a business! What
+language! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" But Luisa held her peace. At last the
+other yielded to the terrible tickling in her throat, and poured forth
+her story. She had gone to the Marchesa's cook to borrow some eggs, and
+the Signora Marchesa, hearing her voice, had insisted upon seeing her,
+and had kept her there chattering. In her heart she had felt what she
+believed to be a heavenly inspiration, which prompted her to speak of
+that unhappy family. Perhaps this was the right moment! She must speak
+about Maria, "that precious darling, that sweet little mouse, that dear
+little creature!" But alas! The inspiration had come from the devil and
+not from Heaven! She had begun to speak, had been going to say how
+lovely Maria was, how sweet, and how wonderfully precocious, when that
+ugly old woman interrupted her, looking as black as a thunder-cloud.
+"Say no more about her, let her alone, Signora Bianconi. I am aware she
+is very badly behaved, and indeed one cannot expect her to be
+otherwise!" Then Peppina had tried sounding another note, and had
+touched upon Uncle Piero's misfortune in having lost his eye. "The Lord
+chastises the dishonest, Signora Bianconi." Here Peppina glanced at
+Luisa and regretted her chattering. She began caressing her, reproaching
+herself for having spoken, and entreated her to be calm. Luisa assured
+her that she was perfectly calm, that nothing coming from that source
+could surprise her. But Peppina insisted upon giving her a kiss, and
+then went her way, murmuring a string of "Oh, dear me's!" and haunted by
+a vague suspicion that she had made a mess of it!
+
+Luisa rose and turned to look towards Cressogno, clenching her fists.
+"If I only had a horse-whip!" she thought "If I could only lash her!"
+The idea of a meeting, the old idea that had made her quiver with
+passion four years ago, on the night of her mother's death, had flashed
+across her mind shortly before, as she passed Cressogno, and had once
+more taken violent possession of her, and now made her start suddenly
+downwards. She checked her steps at once, however, and returning slowly,
+went towards S. Mamette, stopping every now and then to think, her brow
+clouded, her lips tightly compressed, seeking to untangle a knot in the
+thread of a scheme she was weaving in her secret heart.
+
+At Casarico she sought out the Professor to offer him an opportunity of
+meeting Ester at her house the next day at two o'clock. As she was
+leaving she asked him if the Maironi documents were still in his
+possession. The Professor, greatly astonished at this question, replied
+that they were, expecting an explanation, but Luisa went away without
+further words. She was anxious to get home, for she could not rely
+either upon Cia or Uncle Piero to look after Maria, and she had little
+confidence in the girl to whom she had given notice. She found Maria
+alone on the church-place, and scolded Veronica. Then she went to her
+room and began a letter to Franco.
+
+She had been writing about five minutes when she heard a gentle tap on
+the window of the adjoining room. That window looked out upon a short
+flight of steps, leading from the square by the church to some stables,
+and thence to a short cut to Albogasio Superiore. Luisa went into the
+little room, and saw behind the iron grating the red and distracted
+countenance of Barborin Pasotti, who motioned to her to be quiet, and
+asked if she had visitors. Upon being reassured, Barborin glanced
+swiftly up and down, and hastily descending the steps entered the house
+in great trepidation.
+
+Poor woman, she was on forbidden ground, and before her loomed the
+spectre of the wrathful Pasotti. Pasotti was in Lugano. "Oh, Lord, yes!
+In Lugano." Having imparted this information to Luisa the unhappy woman
+began to roll her eyes and squirm. Pasotti had gone to Lugano on account
+of the great dinner that was to take place on the morrow--to purchase
+provisions. How? Had Luisa not heard about the dinner? Did she not know
+who was coming? Why! The Signora Marchesa! The Signora Marchesa Maironi!
+Luisa started.
+
+Barborin, misunderstanding the expression of her eyes, thought she read
+a reproach there, and began to cry, her face buried in her hands,
+shaking those two poor black curls, and saying through her fingers that
+she was so distressed about it, so distressed! She would rather have
+lived on bread and water for a year than invite the Marchesa to dinner.
+This dinner was indeed a cross to her, for it took a deal of thought,
+and then there was the trouble of preparing everything, to say nothing
+of Pasotti's awful scoldings, but the worst part of it all was the idea
+of displeasing Luisa. If, at least, it had been a cross she could lay
+at the feet of our Lord, but she could not do that, for it contained too
+much wrath. She had come on purpose to tell her Luisa how distressed she
+was on account of this dinner.
+
+"Forgive me, Luisa!" she said in her hoarse voice, that seemed to come
+out of an ancient and tightly closed spinet. "I really could not prevent
+it, indeed I could not, indeed I could not!"
+
+They were seated side by side on the sofa. Barborin drew a great
+handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to her face with one hand,
+while with the other she sought Luisa's hand, without turning her head.
+But Luisa rose, and going to the writing-desk, scrawled upon a piece of
+paper: "When is the Marchesa coming? What road will she take?" Barborin
+answered that the dinner was to be at half-past three; that at about
+three the Marchesa would leave her gondola at the landing-stage of the
+Calcinera, where Pasotti was to meet her with four men and the famous
+litter that had belonged to an archbishop of Milan a century ago.
+
+Luisa listened to every detail in silence and with the greatest
+attention. Before leaving, Signora Pasotti said she longed to kiss that
+love of a Maria, but was afraid the child might not know how to keep the
+secret. At this point the good creature plunged her left arm into her
+pocket up to the elbow, and drew out a small tin boat, which she begged
+Luisa to give to her little daughter in the name of another battered
+old craft, whose identity must not be made known. Then she rushed down
+stairs and disappeared.
+
+Luisa returned to her letter to Franco, but having thought a long time,
+pen in hand, she finally put the letter away again without having added
+a word, and drawing the notary's documents towards her, began to copy.
+Her resolution was formed. Fate itself was offering her this meeting
+with the old wretch. She had neither a doubt nor a scruple. The passion
+which had sprung up within her so long ago, which she had caressed and
+fostered, had now gathered that strength which, when it reaches its
+full, transforms the thought into the deed at one blow, and in such a
+manner that all responsibility seems removed from the agent, while in
+reality, it is simply carried back to the first inward movement of
+yielding to temptation.
+
+Yes, on the morrow, either at the landing-stage, on the Calcinera path,
+or on the church-place of the Annunciata, she would stand scornfully
+before the Marchesa, openly declaring war, and advising her to have a
+care, for now all legitimate weapons of defence were to be used against
+her. Yes, she would tell her so, and then she would act, act alone and
+unaided, since Franco would take no steps. If Franco had made promises
+she had not. A little later she wrote a note to the lawyer V. begging
+him to come to her as soon as possible. She wished to learn from him how
+to use the documents in Gilardoni's possession. Then she resumed her
+copying for the notary at Porlezza.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The next day Professor Beniamino arrived at Oria an hour earlier than
+the time fixed by Luisa. After Ester's "yes," the man had become
+transfigured. He seemed much younger than before. The sallowness of his
+skin, now irradiated by a rosy inner light, had entirely disappeared,
+and was only perceptible on his bald head, where Luisa daily expected to
+see the hair begin to grow. He neither walked nor breathed as before.
+But to-day he arrived with a clouded brow.
+
+It was reported at S. Mamette that the physician of Pellio had been
+arrested and taken to Como, and that letters and memoranda had been
+found in his possession which incriminated others, among whom was Don
+Franco Maironi.
+
+"I do not fear for Franco," said Luisa. "As to the rest, my good
+Professor, we will set the physician of Pellio, who is a big fellow and
+weighs pounds and pounds, down in the score the Emperor of Austria will
+have to pay. And now, Professor, I want you to promise me something."
+
+"What do you wish me to promise?"
+
+"I need those famous documents."
+
+"They are at your service."
+
+"Pray note that it is I and not Franco who ask for them."
+
+"Yes, yes. Whatever you do is well done. I will bring you the documents
+to-morrow."
+
+"That is right."
+
+Luisa knitted as she talked, her needles clicking continually, but her
+seeming calm and good spirits did not entirely conceal her inward
+excitement, which had begun on the previous day, had become more intense
+during a sleepless night, and was now steadily increasing as the moment
+for setting out drew nearer. Even in the playful tone of her voice an
+unusual chord seemed to be vibrating. About her hair, which was always
+most carefully dressed, there was a something of disorder, like the
+touch of a light breath brushing gently across her brow.
+
+Ester arrived at a quarter to two, and explained that she had come a
+little earlier because she had heard it thunder. Thunder? Luisa hastened
+to the terrace to examine the sky. It certainly did not look very
+threatening. Above the point of Cressogno and over Galbiga the sky was
+perfectly serene as far as the hills of the Lake of Como. Towards Carona
+it was indeed rather dark, but not so very dark, after all. What if the
+Marchesa should not come on account of the weather? She seized the
+little telescope that was kept in the loggia. There was nothing to be
+seen. Of course; it was still too early. In order to reach the Calcinera
+at three, the Marchesa, with that heavy gondola of hers, must start at
+about half-past two. Luisa went back to the hall, where she found
+Ester, the Professor, and Maria. She would have preferred to have Maria
+remain in the loggia with Uncle Piero, but Signorina Missipipi always
+clung fast to her mother when there were visitors, becoming all eyes and
+ears. Luisa decided that when she was ready to start she would send
+Maria away, meanwhile she would keep her with her. As to the happy
+couple, they were seated apart, and were conversing almost in whispers.
+
+Luisa, who now found it difficult to keep quiet, once more returned to
+the terrace, and looked through the telescope. Her heart gave a bound!
+The gondola was just coming in sight at the Tention.
+
+It was a quarter-past two o'clock.
+
+Some one coming from Albogasio had stopped in the church-place to speak
+to some one coming down the steps at the side of Casa Ribera. They were
+saying: "Signor Pasotti has just gone down with the litter. There was a
+troop of children following."
+
+Now the sky was overcast, even above the point of Cressogno and the
+Galbiga. Only the hills of the Lake of Como were still in the sunshine.
+The terrible wind which accompanies a thunderstorm, and which in
+Valsolda is called the _Caronasco_, was threatening seriously now. Above
+Corona the colour of the clouds was gradually becoming one with the
+colour of the hills. The great cloud over Zocca d'i Ment had become
+dark blue, and the Boglia was also beginning to knit its brows. The
+lake was calm and leaden.
+
+Luisa had decided to start when the gondola should have arrived opposite
+S. Mamette. She now returned to the hall.
+
+Maria had obeyed her mother's orders, and had not moved from the chair
+where Luisa had left her, but noticing that the Professor was speaking
+with animation and at great length to Ester, she had asked:
+
+"Are you telling her a story?"
+
+At this point Luisa entered.
+
+"Yes, dear," said Ester, laughing. "He is telling me a story."
+
+"Oh, tell it to me also! To me also!"
+
+A muffled peal of thunder resounded. "Go, Maria dear," said Ester. "Go
+to your room and pray the Lord not to send a terrible thunderstorm or
+hail."
+
+"Oh, yes, yes! I will pray to the Lord!"
+
+The little one went out, and entered the alcove-room, serious and
+dignified, as if in that moment the safety of the whole Valsolda
+depended upon her prayer. Prayer to her was always a solemn matter; it
+was a point of contact with mystery which always made her assume a grave
+and attentive air, as did also certain tales of enchantment and magic.
+She mounted a chair and said the few prayers she knew, and then assumed
+the attitude she had seen the most pious women of town assume in church,
+and began moving her lips as they did, repeating a wordless prayer.
+Seeing her thus one acquainted with the terrible secret of the next hour
+would have felt that the guardian angel of little children was standing
+beside her at that moment, and admonishing her to pray for something
+besides the vineyards and olive-groves of Valsolda, for something nearer
+to her, something the angel did not name, and she neither knew nor could
+put into words. The onlooker would have felt also that in these, her
+inarticulate whisperings, there was an element of occult tenderness, and
+tragedy, the docile surrender of a sweet soul to the admonitions of its
+guardian angel, to the mysterious will of God.
+
+At half-past two the great lowering clouds above Carona belched forth
+another peal of thunder, to which the other great clouds above Boglia
+and the Zocca d'i Ment immediately responded. Luisa ran out to the
+terrace. The gondola was opposite S. Mamette, and was making straight
+for the Calcinera. She could see quite plainly that the boatmen were
+pulling hard. As Luisa laid aside the telescope the first gust of wind
+swept through the loggia, banging doors and windows. Terrified by a
+feeling that she would be too late, she hastily closed both doors and
+windows, passed swiftly through the hall, seized an umbrella and went
+out, without telling any one she was going, and without closing the
+house-door behind her. She started towards Albogasio Inferiore. Just
+beyond the cemetery, on the spot they call Maine, she met Ismaele.
+
+"Where are you going in such weather, Signora Luisa?"
+
+She answered that she was going to Albogasio, and passed on. When she
+had gone about a hundred paces she remembered that she had not let
+Veronica know she was going out, that she had not told her to close the
+windows in the bedrooms, and look after Maria. She might send word by
+Ismaele. But he had already disappeared round the corner of the
+cemetery. In her heart she felt an impulse to go back, but there was not
+time. The rumbling of the thunder was continuous; great, infrequent
+drops were striking here and there on the maize; gusts of wind swept at
+intervals through the mulberry-trees, forerunners of the whirlwind of
+the _Caronasco_. Luisa opened her umbrella and hastened forward.
+
+A furious downpour overtook her in the dark lanes of Albogasio. But she
+never thought of taking refuge in a doorway, and pushed on undaunted.
+She met a troop of children who were running away from the rain, after
+waiting in vain on the church-place of the Annunciata for the passing of
+the Marchesa in the litter. While she was crossing the short space
+between the town-hall of Albogasio and the church, the wind turned her
+umbrella inside out. She began to run, and reached the strip of ground
+behind the church that overlooks the path leading down to the
+Calcinera. There, protected by the church from the driving rain, she
+righted her umbrella as best she could, and looked over the parapet.
+
+The Annunciata rests upon the summit of a cliff, sparsely covered with
+brambles and wild fig-trees, which rises from the foot of the Boglia and
+juts out over the lake, shutting in the narrow path to Calcinera on the
+west. The strip of ground where Luisa stood runs along that part of the
+cliff's brow. From here she could have followed the course of the boat
+from the waters of Cressogno as far as the landing-stage, but now that
+the rain was pouring down in sheets, a white mist hid all things from
+view. However, unless the Marchesa returned to Cressogno, she must
+certainly pass that way, no matter where she landed, for there, at the
+foot of the cliff, where it juts out with the coast, the narrow stairway
+starts upwards, leading from the Calcinera to the church-place, and this
+is the only way of reaching Albogasio Superiore either from the
+landing-stage below, or from S. Mamette, Casarico, or Cadate.
+
+Presently the violence of the downpour lessened, the dark phantoms of
+the mountains began to stand out against the white background. Luisa
+gazed down at the lake. There was no gondola on the lake, and no litter
+on the path; nothing was to be seen. This troubled her. Was it possible
+that the gondola had returned to Cressogno? The mist cleared rapidly,
+and Cadate became discernible, while at the door of the boathouse of
+the "Palazz" the prow of the gondola appeared, shimmering white in the
+thin, grey mist. Ah, the Marchesa had taken refuge at the "Palazz," and
+Pasotti with his bearers had done the same. The thunderstorm was now
+practically over and the litter would soon appear.
+
+But instead, ten long minutes elapsed. Luisa kept her eyes fixed on the
+point where the path from Cadate turns into the Calcinera. No movement
+of thought was going on within her. Her whole soul was watching and
+waiting, that was all. People passed her on the left going up to
+Albogasio or coming down, but each time she inclined her umbrella so
+that she was hidden from view, so that they might not recognise her,
+thus avoiding greetings and conversations.
+
+At last a group of people appeared at the bend of the path. Luisa could
+distinguish the litter, and behind the litter Pasotti and Don Giuseppe,
+and the Marchesa's boatmen bringing up the rear. Still she did not move,
+but followed the litter with her eyes as it slowly advanced. Presently
+she closed her umbrella, for the rain had almost ceased. Five or six
+children from Albogasio reappeared. She ordered them off sharply. They
+hesitated to obey, but a sudden downpour of rain, unaccompanied by wind
+or thunder, put them to flight. The litter had now reached the foot of
+the steps. Luisa moved forward.
+
+Her eyes glittered coldly, and she held herself very erect. Absorbed in
+one thought, she heeded not at all the pelting rain, which beat upon
+her head and shoulders, which surrounded her with a misty veil and loud
+noise. Perhaps she was glad of this outburst of passion in the elements,
+which was in keeping with the passion within her. She went slowly down,
+clasping the handle of her closed umbrella very tightly, as if it had
+been the handle of a weapon. There is a somewhat sharp bend in the
+stairway, and the bottom is not visible until this bend is reached. Upon
+arriving there she saw the litter had stopped. The two boatmen were
+taking the places of two of the bearers.
+
+Luisa went down as far as the spot where a great walnut-tree spreads its
+branches above the stairs. Here she stopped just as the Marchesa's
+bearers began coming upwards. Everything was as Luisa wished. Pasotti
+and Don Giuseppe, bringing up the rear with open umbrellas, could not
+see her. The bearers, on reaching the spot where she stood, would be
+obliged to stop to let her pass.
+
+As they drew nearer she recognised the two who carried the front of the
+litter; one was Ismaele's brother, the other a cousin of Veronica's.
+When they were within a yard or two of her she ordered them, by an
+imperious gesture, to stop. They obeyed at once, and set the litter
+down, the two other bearers doing the same without knowing why. Pasotti
+raised his umbrella, and seeing Luisa, made a movement of astonishment,
+frowning blackly. Seizing Don Giuseppe, he drew him aside that she
+might pass, never dreaming that the meeting was intentional.
+
+But Luisa did not move. "You did not think of meeting me, did you,
+Signor Pasotti?" she said in a loud voice. The Marchesa stuck her head
+out, caught sight of her, and withdrew it again, saying, with new
+strength in her usually lifeless voice:
+
+"Go on!"
+
+At that moment loud cries rang out from the top of the church-place
+above them. "_Sciora_ Luisa! _Sciora_ Luisa!" Luisa did not hear.
+Pasotti had called angrily to the bearers: "Go on!" and they had resumed
+the poles.
+
+"Go on if you like," said she, resolved to walk along beside the litter.
+"I have only a few words to say."
+
+If Pasotti and the old Marchesa had anticipated tears and supplications
+this fierce glance and ringing voice must now have led them to expect
+something quite different.
+
+"Words at present?" said Pasotti, coming forward almost threateningly.
+
+"_Sciora_ Luisa! _Sciora_ Luisa!" a voice cried close at hand in a tone
+of anguish, while with the cries was mingled the noise of hastening
+steps. But Luisa did not appear to hear anything. "Yes, at present!" she
+said, addressing Pasotti with indescribable haughtiness. "I am generous
+enough to wish to warn this lady that----"
+
+"_Sciora_ Luisa!"
+
+This time she was forced to pause and look round. Three or four women
+were upon her, distraught, dishevelled, sobbing: "Come home at once!
+Come home at once!" These faces, these tears, these voices, detached her
+from her passion, from her purpose, at one blow.
+
+She rushed in among the women, exclaiming: "What is the matter?" and
+they could only repeat, their eyes starting from their heads: "Come
+home, come home at once!"
+
+"But what has happened, you stupid things?"
+
+"The child, the child!"
+
+"Maria? Maria? What is it, what is it?" she shrieked like a mad woman.
+Amidst their sobbing she caught the word _lake_, and uttering a great
+cry, she dashed them out of her path like a wild beast, and rushed up
+the stairs. The women could not keep up with her, but on the
+church-place there were others waiting in spite of the rain, and they
+were also crying and sobbing.
+
+Luisa felt herself growing faint, and fell to the ground on reaching the
+last step.
+
+The women ran to her, many hands seized her and lifted her up. She
+shrieked: "Good God! Is she dead?" Some one answered: "No, no!" "The
+doctor?" she gasped. "The doctor?" Many voices answered that he was
+already there.
+
+Once more she appeared to regain all her energy, and sprang eagerly
+forward. Eight or ten people hastened after her, but only two could keep
+up with her. She flew! At the cemetery she met Ismaele and another man,
+and cried out as soon as she caught sight of them:
+
+"Is she still alive? Is she alive?" Ismaele's companion turned and ran
+back to tell them that the mother was coming, but Ismaele was weeping,
+and could only answer: "Good God! _Sciora_ Luisa!" as he tried to detain
+her. Luisa pushed him wildly aside and rushed on, followed by the
+boatman who had now quite lost his head and was calling out to her as
+she ran: "Perhaps it is nothing! Perhaps it is nothing, after all!" But
+the pelting, ceaseless, even downpour, seemed to be contradicting his
+words with its wail.
+
+Gasping for breath, she reached the square by the church of Oria, and
+had the strength to call out: "Maria! My Maria!" The window of the
+alcove-room was open. She heard Cia crying and Ester chiding her.
+Several people, among them Professor Gilardoni, came out to meet her.
+The Professor, as pale as a ghost, was weeping silently with clasped
+hands. The others whispered: "Courage, there is still hope!" In her
+exhaustion she came near falling. The Professor encircled her waist with
+one arm and drew her up the stairs, which were crowded with people, as
+was also the corridor of the first floor.
+
+As Luisa passed, the Professor almost carrying her, voices laden with
+words of comfort murmured: "Courage! Courage! Who can tell? Who can
+tell?" At the door of the alcove-room she freed herself from the
+Professor's arm, and went in alone.
+
+They had been obliged to light a lamp, because it was already dark in
+the alcove, owing to the rain. Poor, sweet little Maria lay naked upon
+the bed, her eyes half open, and her lips slightly parted. Her face was
+still tinged with pink, but her lips were discoloured and her body was
+deathly pale. The doctor, with Ester's help, was trying to induce
+artificial breathing, alternately raising the tiny arms above the head
+and stretching them along the sides, and compressing the abdomen.
+
+"Doctor! Doctor!" Luisa sobbed.
+
+"We're doing all we can," the doctor answered gravely. She flung herself
+face downwards upon her baby's little icy feet, and covered them with
+wild kisses. Ester began to tremble. "No, no!" the doctor exclaimed.
+"Courage! Courage!" "Help!" shrieked Luisa. The doctor checked her by a
+gesture, and motioned to Ester to pause in her work. He bent over
+Maria's little face, placed his mouth upon hers and having breathed
+deeply several times, raised his head again. "But she is still rosy, she
+is still rosy!" Luisa gasped softly. The doctor sighed gently, struck a
+match and held it close to Maria's lips.
+
+Three or four women who were praying on their knees, rose and approached
+the bed, holding their breath in suspense. The door leading into the
+hall was open, and other faces appeared there, all silent and intent.
+Luisa, kneeling beside the bed, kept her eyes fixed on the flame. A
+voice murmured:
+
+"It quivers!"
+
+Ester, standing very erect behind Luisa, shook her head. The doctor put
+out the match. "Hot flannels," he ordered. Luisa rushed from the room,
+and the doctor once more resumed the movements of the arms. When Luisa
+returned with the hot flannels they began to rub the child's chest and
+bowels, he on one side, she on the other. Presently, noting Luisa's
+pallor, and the distortion of her features, he motioned to a girl to
+take her place. "You must give up," said he, for Luisa had made a
+protesting gesture. "Even I am tired. You cannot go on." Luisa shook her
+head without speaking and continued her work with convulsive energy. The
+doctor silently shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows, and gave
+his place to the girl, ordering Ester to bring more flannel with which
+to cover the child's legs. Ester went out and herself heated the
+flannel, for Veronica, on hearing what had happened, had disappeared and
+was nowhere to be found. In the corridor and on the stairs people were
+discussing the how and where of the event, and as Ester passed all
+inquired: "What news? What news?" Ester made a despairing gesture and
+went on without answering. Then the talk once more flowed on in an
+undertone.
+
+No one knew how long the child had been in the water. While the
+thunderstorm had been raging a certain Toni Gall had happened to be in
+the stables behind Casa Ribera. Reflecting that if the engineer's boat
+was not tied fast enough it would be dashed to pieces against the walls
+of the boathouse, he bounded down the steps, and seeing the door open,
+went in. The boat was being frightfully knocked about, and was drenched
+with the splashing of the waves that broke against the walls. It was
+tossing and writhing among its chains, and had set itself crosswise,
+with the stern knocking against the wall. Opposite the door that opens
+from the road, there runs a gallery from which two flights of steps lead
+down to the water, the first on the side of the prow, the second on the
+side of the stern. Toni Gall went down the second flight to tighten the
+stern chain. There, between the boat and the lowest step, where the
+water is from sixty to seventy centimetres deep, he saw Maria's little
+body. She was floating face downwards, with her back above the water. As
+he drew her out he saw a little tin boat lying on the bottom. He carried
+the child to the house, crying out with his terrible voice, bringing the
+whole town to the spot, and fortunately the doctor also, who happened to
+be in Oria, and then he helped Ester undress the poor little creature,
+who gave no sign of life.
+
+With whom had she been before going down to the lake? Not with Veronica,
+for before Luisa went out Veronica had been seen going into the
+storeroom where the flowerpots were kept, with her customs-guard. Nor
+had she been with Ester and the Professor. Ester had sent her to pray in
+the alcove-room, and had not seen her again. Cia had been sewing and
+Uncle Piero had been writing when they heard Toni Gall's shouts. Maria
+must have gone straight from the alcove-room to the boathouse to sail
+her boat, and as ill-luck would have it, she had found both the house
+door and the door of the boathouse open. It was Toni Gall's opinion that
+she had been in the water several minutes, for she was floating at some
+distance from the spot where the little tin boat lay. Standing in the
+hall where Cia, the engineer, the Professor, and others from the village
+were assembled, he was describing his frightful discovery for the
+hundredth time. All save Uncle Piero were sobbing. Seated on the sofa
+where Ester and the Professor had sat, he seemed turned to stone. He
+shed no tears and spoke never a word. Toni Gall's chattering was
+evidently annoying to him, but he held his peace. His noble countenance
+was rather solemn and grave than distressed. It was as if the shade of
+ancient Destiny had arisen before his eyes. He did not even ask for
+news; it was evident he was without hope. And it was also evident that
+his sorrow was very different from all this nervous, noisy, fleeting
+sorrow that surrounded him. His was the mute, calm grief of the wise and
+the strong.
+
+From the open door of the alcove-room came voices now commanding, now
+questioning, but for an hour and a half no one could have asserted that
+they had heard Luisa's voice. From time to time half-frightened, almost
+happy exclamations were heard. Some one in there had thought they
+perceived a movement, a breath, the glow of life. Then all who were
+outside would press forward. Uncle Piero would turn his face towards the
+door, and only at such moments would his expression become slightly
+troubled. Alas! Each time he saw the others turn slowly away, in
+heartbroken silence. It was past five o'clock now, and as it continued
+to rain the light had begun to fade.
+
+Finally, at half-past five, Luisa's voice was heard. She gave a loud and
+terrible cry, which froze the blood in the veins of all. The doctor's
+voice answered in accents of eager protest. It was whispered that he had
+made a gesture which said plainly: "It is hopeless now, let us desist,"
+but at her cry he had once more renewed his efforts.
+
+The monotonous lament that the fine rain sent in through all the open
+windows made the stillness of the house seem more sepulchral than ever.
+The hall and the corridor were growing dark, and the pale candle-light
+from the alcove-room seemed brilliant by contrast. People began to go
+away silently and on tiptoe, one shadow after another, and presently
+steps and hushed voices and the beat of heavy boots were heard on the
+pavement of the street below. Cia went softly towards her master, and
+asked him in a whisper if he would not eat something. He silenced her
+by an imperious gesture.
+
+After seven o'clock, when all outsiders had left save Toni Gall,
+Ismaele, the Professor, Ester, and three or four women who were in the
+alcove-room, long, low groans, which seemed hardly human, broke the
+silence. The doctor came into the hall. It was now quite dark, and he
+knocked against a chair. "Is the engineer here?" he asked aloud. "Yes,
+sir," Toni Gall replied, and went for a candle. The engineer neither
+spoke nor moved.
+
+Toni Gall soon returned with a candle and Dr. Aliprandi--whom I am happy
+to recall here as a frank and upright man, possessed of a fine intellect
+and a noble heart--approached the sofa where Uncle Piero sat.
+
+"Engineer Ribera," said he with tears in his eyes, "it is time for you
+to do something now."
+
+"For me to do something?" said Uncle Piero, raising his eyes.
+
+"Yes. We must at least try to get her away. You must come and speak a
+word. You are like a father to her. At such moments as these it is a
+father's place to speak."
+
+"Let my master alone," Cia grumbled. "He can't do these things. It would
+just be making him miserable to no purpose."
+
+Now pitying voices and kisses mingled with the groans.
+
+The engineer pressed his clenched fists upon the sofa, and remained
+motionless for a moment, with bowed head. Then he rose, not without
+difficulty, and said to the doctor:
+
+"Must I go alone?"
+
+"Do you wish me to be present?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very well. Our efforts may be of no avail. I should not wish to force
+her, but we must, at least, make an attempt."
+
+The doctor dismissed the women who were still in the alcove-room; then,
+standing in the doorway, he turned to the engineer and motioned to him
+to come in.
+
+"Donna Luisa," said he gently, "here is your uncle, who is coming to
+beseech you----"
+
+The old man staggered as he came forward, although his face was
+composed. He advanced a few steps and then stopped. Luisa was seated
+upon the bed with her dead baby in her arms, holding her tight, kissing
+her face and neck, and uttering long, heart-rending groans as she
+pressed her lips to the little body.
+
+"Yes, yes, yes," she was saying, with almost a smile of tenderness in
+her voice. "It is your uncle, dear, your uncle, who is coming to see his
+little treasure, his little Maria, his little Missipipi, who loves him
+so much! Yes, yes, yes!"
+
+"Luisa," said Uncle Piero, "you must control yourself. Everything that
+could be done has been done. Now come with me--don't remain here any
+longer--come with me."
+
+"Uncle, Uncle!" cried Luisa, in a voice full of tenderness but without
+looking towards him, while she pressed the little dead body to her
+breast and rocked backwards and forwards. "Come here! Come here to your
+Maria! Come! Come to us, for you are our uncle, our dear uncle! No,
+dear, no, dear! Our uncle will not forsake us."
+
+Uncle Piero shuddered. His grief overwhelmed him for a moment, and
+wrenched a sob from him.
+
+"Let her rest!" he murmured in a stifled voice. She did not appear to
+hear him, and continued: "We will go to our uncle, dear, you and I. Do
+you want to go to him, Maria? Yes, yes! Let us go!" She slid from the
+bed to the floor and went to Uncle Piero. Clutching her sweet, dead
+burden to her breast with one arm, she threw the other about the old
+man's neck, and whispered: "A kiss, a kiss, for your little Missipipi.
+One kiss, only one!"
+
+Uncle Piero bent down and kissed the little face, already sadly ravaged
+by death, wetting it with two great tears.
+
+"Look, look, Uncle!" she said. "Doctor, bring the candle! Yes, yes!
+Don't be cruel, doctor. Look, Uncle! See what a little treasure she is,
+doctor!"
+
+Aliprandi hesitated, and tried to resist her appeals, but in this mad
+grief there was something sacred, something that must be respected. He
+obeyed, and raising the candle, held it close to the tiny corpse, that
+was intensely pitiful with its half-open eyes and dilated pupils, this
+little corpse that had once been Maria, sweet little Missipipi, the old
+man's delight, the smile and the love of the house.
+
+"Look at this tiny breast, Uncle. See how we have abused it, poor
+treasure, how we have hurt it with all our rubbing. It was your mamma,
+Maria darling! Your horrid mamma, and that wicked doctor there."
+
+"Enough!" said the doctor resolutely, setting the candle on the
+writing-desk. "Talk to your child if you will, but not to this one. Talk
+to the one in Heaven."
+
+The effect of his words was terrible. All tenderness vanished from
+Luisa's face. She drew back, frowning fiercely, and pressing her dead
+child closer to her breast. "No!" she cried aloud. "No, not in Heaven!
+She is mine! She is mine! God is wicked! I will not give her to Him!"
+
+She drew ever farther back, back into the alcove, where, standing
+between the great bed and the little one, she once more began uttering
+those low groans which did not seem human. Aliprandi sent the trembling
+old man out of the room. "It will pass! It will pass!" he said. "We must
+have patience. I will stay with her now." Ismaele came into the hall and
+drew the Professor aside.
+
+"Has Signor Don Franco been informed?" he asked.
+
+They consulted the uncle and it was decided that a telegram in Uncle
+Piero's name, and announcing serious illness, should be sent from Lugano
+the next morning, for it was now too late. There was some one else in
+the hall. Poor Barborin Pasotti, who had hastened thither while her
+husband was absent escorting the Marchesa back to Cressogno. She was
+sobbing, and in despair because she had given Maria the little boat. She
+wished to go to Luisa, but the doctor, hearing loud crying, came out and
+begged her to be calm and silent. Barborin went to cry in the loggia.
+The Curate, Don Brazzova, and the Prefect of the Caravina, who had been
+dining at Casa Pasotti, had accompanied Barborin. Later the Curate of
+Castello, Intrioni, arrived, weeping like a child. He was determined to
+go to Luisa in spite of the doctor's protests, and knelt in the centre
+of the room, entreating her to give her baby to the Lord. "Listen,
+Signora Luisa, listen. If you will not give her to God, give her to her
+grandmother Teresa, to your own dear mother who will be so happy to have
+her with her in Heaven."
+
+Luisa was touched, not by his words, but by his grief, and answered
+gently: "Can you not understand that I do not believe in your Heaven? My
+Heaven is here!"
+
+Aliprandi made a gesture of entreaty to the Curate, who went out,
+sobbing.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The doctor left Oria towards midnight with the Professor. The whole
+house was quiet, nor was any voice to be heard in the alcove-room.
+Aliprandi had spent the last two hours in the hall with the Professor
+and Ester, and not a single cry, not a groan, nor any movement had he
+heard. He had gone twice to look in. Luisa was sitting on the edge of
+her bed, her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands,
+contemplating the little bed which Aliprandi could not see. This state
+of immobility caused him more anxiety than the state of intense
+excitement that had preceded it. As Ester was going to remain all night
+he advised her to try and rouse her friend, to make her talk and weep.
+
+Some women from the village were to watch with Ester, and Ismaele would
+be there until five o'clock, when he must start for Lugano. Uncle Piero
+had gone to bed.
+
+Aliprandi and the Professor stopped on the square by the church to look
+at the lighted window of the alcove-room, and to listen. Silence.
+"Accursed lake!" the physician exclaimed, taking his companion's arm and
+once more starting forward. He was certainly thinking of the sweet
+little creature the lake had killed when he uttered the words, but in
+his heart there was also a great fear that other troubles might be
+approaching, that the treacherous waters had not yet done their worst;
+and he was overwhelmed with pity for the poor father, who, as yet, knew
+nothing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+SHADOWS AND DAWN
+
+
+On receiving the telegram Franco at once hastened to the office of the
+_Opinione_, in Via della Rocca. Perceiving his agitation, Dina said:
+"Ah! then you already know?" Franco's blood ran cold, but on hearing
+about the telegram Dina exhibited great surprise. No, no, of that he
+knew nothing. Information had reached him from the Prime Minister that
+the Austrian police had been searching houses and making arrests in
+Vall' Intelvi, and that among the papers of a certain doctor there was
+one in which the name of Don Franco Maironi was mentioned, with
+particulars of a compromising nature. Dina added that at a moment of
+such great anguish for a father, he would refrain from going into an
+explanation of Count Cavour's interest in him; suffice it to say that he
+himself had mentioned Franco to the Count, who had expressed his regret
+that a Lombard gentleman, bearing such a distinguished name, should be
+obliged to live in such straitened and obscure circumstances in Turin.
+Dina believed it was his intention to offer him a position in the
+Foreign Office. Now, of course, Franco must go. But the little girl
+would recover and he must return as soon as possible. Meanwhile he would
+stop at Lugano, would he not? He must, at least, await news there, and
+unless it became absolutely necessary, he must not venture into
+Lombardy. After this affair at Vall' Intelvi it would be extremely
+imprudent. As Franco remained silent, the director once more broached
+the subject before bidding him good-bye. "Be prudent! Don't let them
+take you!" But Franco would not answer.
+
+Ever since the receipt of the telegram Franco had walked the streets of
+Turin like one in a dream, deaf to the noise of his own footsteps,
+unconscious of what he saw, of what he heard, going mechanically
+wherever it was necessary for him to go at this juncture, wherever a
+certain servile and lower faculty of the soul might lead him, that
+faculty composed of reason and of instinct, which is capable of guiding
+us through a labyrinth of city streets, while the mind, concentrated
+upon some problem, some passion, takes no heed of our movements. He sold
+his watch and chain to a watchmaker of Doragrossa for one hundred and
+thirty-five lire, purchased a doll for Maria, stopped at Cafe Alfieri
+and Cafe Florio to leave word for his friends, and was at the station by
+eleven o'clock, although the train for Novara which he was to take did
+not start until half-past eleven. At a quarter-past the Paduan and the
+young man from Udine appeared. They endeavoured to encourage him with
+all sorts of rosy suppositions and unconvincing arguments, but he
+answered never a word and only longed intensely for the moment of
+departure, longed to be alone, to be hastening towards Oria, for he was
+determined to go to Oria, no matter how great the danger might be. He
+entered a third-class carriage, and when the locomotive whistled and the
+train began to move, he heaved a great sigh of relief, and gave himself
+up entirely to thoughts of Maria. But there were too many people about
+him, they were too many, too rough, and too noisy. At Chivasso, feeling
+he could no longer bear their chattering and laughter, he changed into
+an empty second-class carriage, where he began to talk aloud, his eyes
+fixed on the opposite seat.
+
+Good God! why had they not added another word to the telegram? Just one
+word more! At least the name of the illness.
+
+A terrible name flashed across his brain: Croup! He gasped with horror,
+and threw out his arms against this phantom, his muscles suddenly
+stiffening, then, letting his arms sink once more, he heaved a sigh so
+deep that it seemed to expel the very soul, even life itself, from his
+breast. It must indeed be a sudden illness, or Luisa would have written.
+Another name flashed across his mind. Brain-fever! He himself had been
+at the point of death with brain-fever when a child. Oh God! oh God! It
+must be that! God Himself had sent this thought to him. He was shaken
+by tearless sobbing. Maria, his treasure, his love, his joy! Yes,
+indeed it must be that. He could see her gasping, flushed, watched over
+by her mother and the doctor. In a moment he pictured to himself long
+hours spent by her bedside, long hours of anguish, then he pictured the
+birth of hope, heard the first whisper of that sweet voice:
+
+"Papa! my papa!"
+
+He started to his feet, clasping and wringing his hands in a mute
+impulse of prayer. Presently he sank back into his seat again,
+exhausted, and turned unseeing eyes upon the flying landscape, vaguely
+conscious of some connection between the misty Alps looming motionless
+there against the northern horizon and the thought that dominated him,
+looming motionless and torpid within his soul. From time to time the
+jolting of the train would rouse him from his stupor, suggesting the
+idea of a painful race, stimulating his heart to rush, to beat thus
+also. Sometimes he would close his eyes, the better to picture his
+arrival at home. Images would at once rise from his heart to his
+eyelids, but they were always changing, continually moving, and he could
+not hold them for more than a second. Now it was Luisa hastening towards
+him on the stairs; now the uncle holding out his arms to him from the
+door of the hall; now Dr. Aliprandi who was opening the door of the
+alcove-room to him, and saying: "She is better, she is better!" Now in
+the darkened room, filled with shadows, it was Maria herself who gazed
+at him with glassy, feverish eyes.
+
+When he reached Vercelli, he felt as if he were a thousand miles from
+Turin, and once more awoke to a sense of reality. How should he get from
+Lugano to Oria? What route should he take? Should he go openly by the
+lake, showing himself at the Custom-House? And what if they would not
+allow him to proceed because his passport had not been stamped on
+leaving Italy as the law demanded? Or, worse still, what if a warrant of
+arrest be out against him on account of those papers taken from the
+doctor at Pellio? He had better keep to the hills. They might arrest him
+later, but with his knowledge of the neighbourhood, acquired on his many
+hunting expeditions in 1848, he was almost sure of reaching home. This
+wearisome task of planning and arranging absorbed his attention for some
+time, and kept him occupied until he had passed Arona, on the Lake
+Maggiore steamer. He had arranged to reach Lugano in the middle of the
+night. Would there be some one there to meet him? If there were no one
+there, perhaps he might hear something at the Fontana pharmacy, where
+the Valsolda people were in the habit of congregating. If God would only
+permit reassuring news to reach him at Lugano he would postpone decision
+as to his journey to Oria until the morrow. He therefore determined to
+make no plans before reaching Lugano, and he prayed fervently that the
+Almighty would allow this good news to reach him. The sky was overcast;
+the mountains had already assumed their sad autumnal tints; a thin mist
+hung over the lake; the bells of Meina were ringing; on the steamer
+there were but few passengers, and Franco's prayer died in his heart,
+stifled by a crushing sadness, while his eyes unconsciously followed a
+flock of white gulls, that were winging their flight towards the distant
+waters of Laveno, towards that hidden country where his soul was.
+
+It was past seven when he reached Magadino. He climbed Monte Ceneri on
+foot, following the path that leads to the road-mender's house, took a
+carriage at Bironico and reached Lugano shortly after midnight. He
+alighted in the Piazza, near Cafe Terreni. The coffee-house was closed,
+the square was deserted and dark, and silence reigned; even the lake,
+which could be seen gently rising and falling in the gloom, was silent.
+Franco paused a moment on the shore, hoping that some one had come to
+meet him, and would presently appear. He could not see Valsolda, hidden
+behind Monte Bre, but that same water mirrored Oria, and slept in the
+boathouse at home. A wave of peace eased his heart somewhat; he felt he
+was among things familiar to him. Every human voice was hushed, but the
+great, dark hills spoke to him, Monte Caprino and the Zocca d'i Ment
+more than all, for they overlooked Oria. They spoke gently to him,
+suggesting comfort-bringing thoughts. Nineteen hours had passed since
+the telegram was sent. All danger might now be over.
+
+As no one appeared he went to the Fontana pharmacy, and rang the bell.
+For many years he had known that most worthy, cordial, and honest man,
+Signor Carlo Fontana, who has now passed away with the world of long
+ago. Signor Carlo came to the window, and was greatly surprised to see
+Don Franco. He had no news from Oria. He had spent the last two days at
+Tesserete, and had returned only a few hours before, so could tell him
+nothing. His assistant had started for Bellinzona that evening. Franco
+thanked him and walked away in the direction of Villa Ciani, for he was
+now determined to go to Oria at once.
+
+Two routes were open to him. He could either climb the Swiss slope of
+the Boglia from Pregassona, strike the heights of Bolla; cross the Pian
+Biscagno and the great beech wood, coming out at the venerable
+beech-tree of the Madonnina on the brow of the hill which slopes down
+into Lombardy, and then drop down on to Albogasio Superiore and Oria; or
+he could take the easy Gandria road, leading towards the lake, and then
+follow that treacherous and dangerous path which starts from Gandria,
+the last Swiss village, cuts along the face of the almost perpendicular
+cliff, crosses the frontier some hundred metres above the lake, runs on
+to the Origa farm, drops into the ravine of Val Malghera, rising once
+more to the Rooch farm, where it joins the paved way which passes above
+Niscicoree and finally leads down to Oria. The first route was much
+longer and far more difficult, but it afforded a better chance of
+eluding the vigilance of the guards at the frontier. On leaving the
+Fontana pharmacy Franco had been fully determined to go that way, but
+when, on reaching Cassarago, where the roads to Pregassona and to
+Gandria meet, he saw how near the point of Castagnola was, and reflected
+that it would take him less than half an hour to go from Castagnola to
+Gandria, and that another hour and a half would take him from Gandria to
+Oria, the idea of climbing the Boglia, of walking seven or eight hours,
+became intolerable to him. Besides, if he went by the Boglia he would
+arrive in the daytime, and this, of course, would jeopardise his safety.
+He turned his face resolutely towards Castagnola and Gandria. The sky
+was now completely overcast with heavy clouds. Beneath the great
+chestnut trees that line the road to Castagnola, he could not see where
+to set his feet, but how much worse it would have been in the great
+beech forest of the Boglia if Franco had chosen that route. It was just
+as dark in Castagnola, and worse in the labyrinth of narrow lanes at
+Gandria. After wandering backwards and forwards among these lanes for
+some time, always mistaking his way, Franco at last found himself on the
+path leading to the frontier, and stopped to rest. Before starting
+forward again in the impenetrable darkness, before braving the dangers
+of a difficult path, and of a meeting with the Austrian guards, and then
+facing another terrifying step, that of entering his house, of putting
+the first question, of listening to the first answer, he raised his
+heart to God, and concentrated all the powers of his mind upon a
+determination to be strong and calm.
+
+Once more he started forward. Now he must give his whole attention to
+the path, in order not to fall or lose his way. The little fields of
+Gandria soon come to an end. Then wild tracts follow, that jut out over
+the lake, and are covered with a thick growth of low bushes; then come
+ravines with crumbling sides, that go tumbling straight downwards, and
+are half hidden by the bushes. In such places as these Franco was
+obliged to feel his way blindly, to cling first to one branch, then to
+another, plunging his face in among the leaves, that, at least, smelt of
+Valsolda, and dragging himself from bush to bush. He must explore the
+ground with his foot, trembling lest it give way beneath him, and
+seeking for traces of the path. The bundle he carried was small, but
+nevertheless it embarrassed him. The rustling of the foliage as he
+brushed past, irritated him; it seemed as if it must be heard a long way
+off, on the hills and on the lake, in the solemn hush of the night. Then
+he would stop and listen. He could hear only the distant thundering of
+the falls at Rescia, the hooting of owls in the woods over yonder,
+across the lake, and from time to time, far below, a sharp stroke on the
+water, for which he could not account. It took him quite an hour to
+reach the frontier. There, between the Valle del Confine and the Val
+Malghera, the forest had been recently cut down, and the rocky slope was
+bare. This enhanced both the danger of falling, and that of discovery.
+He crossed this tract very slowly, often pausing, sometimes crawling on
+hands and knees. Before reaching Oria he heard the faint dip of oars far
+below. He knew the customs-guards' boat sometimes passed the shore of
+Val Malghera at night. Surely these were the guards. Beneath the
+chestnut trees of Origa he breathed freely once more. There he was
+hidden, and could walk noiselessly on the grass. He descended the
+western slope of Val Malghera and climbed up the other side without
+encountering any obstacles. On approaching Rooch his heart beat
+furiously. Rooch is a sort of outpost of Oria. There the little path
+ends that he had so often followed with Luisa on mild winter afternoons,
+gathering violets and laurel leaves, and talking of the future. He
+remembered that the last time, they had had a discussion concerning the
+most desirable husband for Maria, and the qualities he must possess.
+Franco had hoped he would be a country gentleman, but Luisa had been in
+favour of a civil engineer.
+
+Rooch is a little farmhouse perched above a few small fields which lie
+terraced against the hillside, and form a small, light clearing among
+the surrounding woods. The stable, a room above it, a small portico in
+front of the stable, a cistern under the portico--that is all. The
+little portico is just above the narrow paved way that passes some two
+or three metres below. It is only a few steps from the comb of the
+ravine of Val Malghera, to Rooch. Having reached the comb, Franco heard
+low voices in the farmhouse.
+
+He paused and drawing aside, stretched himself, face downwards, upon the
+grass, beyond the path, and near a cluster of low chestnut trees. The
+voices became silent, but he heard a man's steps coming rapidly towards
+him; he lay quite still, holding his breath. The man stopped almost at
+his side, waited a moment, and then slowly retraced his steps, saying in
+a loud voice, with a foreign accent: "There is no one here, it must have
+been a fox."
+
+The guards! A long silence followed, during which Franco did not dare to
+move. The guards once more began to talk, and he decided to crawl
+noiselessly backwards, to drop down into Val Malghera and pass behind
+and above the house. Slowly, very slowly he pulled off his boots. He was
+about to move when he heard two or three guards leave the farmhouse,
+talking as they came towards him. He heard one of them say: "Is no one
+going to stay here?" and another answered: "It is not necessary."
+
+Four guards brushed past him without noticing him. They certainly had
+no suspicions, for they were talking unconcernedly. One was saying that
+a person may remain ten minutes under water without drowning; but
+another maintained that five minutes is long enough to cause death. The
+fourth passed him in silence, but hardly had he done so when he stopped.
+Franco shuddered upon hearing him strike a match. He lit his pipe,
+puffed at it two or three times, and then called out to his companions
+in a loud voice, for they had already gone some way down the slope of
+Val Malghera.
+
+"How old was she?"
+
+One of the others answered, louder still:
+
+"Three years and one month."
+
+Then the fourth guard puffed twice more and started forward. Three years
+and one month! Maria's age! Franco, lying on his face, raised himself
+upon his elbows, clutching convulsively at the grass. The noise of the
+steps died away down below in Val Malghera.
+
+"My God! My God!" he cried. Rising to his knees he repeated the terrible
+words in his heart, slowly, as if stupefied. "_She was!_" He wrung his
+hands, moaning once more: "My God! My God!"
+
+After this he was hardly conscious of his movements. He went down to
+Oria with the vague sensation of having grown suddenly deaf, and his arm
+which clasped the doll trembled violently. Reaching the Madonna del
+Romit he crossed the town, and instead of going down by the Pomodoro
+stairway he followed the path that joins the short cut to Albogasio
+Superiore, and descended those same stairs that Barborin Pasotti had
+descended the day before the catastrophe. On the wall of the church he
+noticed a pale light which was reflected from the alcove-room. He
+neither paused beneath the window, nor called out, but stepped under the
+porch and tried the door.
+
+It was open.
+
+From the coolness of the night he passed into a heavy, close atmosphere,
+laden with the unfamiliar odour of burnt vinegar and incense. With
+difficulty he dragged himself up the stairs. Before him, on the landing,
+half-way up, light fell from above. On reaching the spot he saw that the
+light came from the alcove-room. He went on and presently stood in the
+corridor. The door of the room was wide open; there must be many candles
+burning in there. Mingled with the odour of incense he recognised the
+perfume of flowers, and began to tremble so violently that he could not
+go on. No sound reached him from the room. Suddenly he heard Luisa's
+voice, speaking tenderly, quietly: "Do you want me to go where you are
+going to-morrow, Maria? Do you want your mamma under the ground with
+you?" "Luisa! Luisa!" sobbed Franco, and they found themselves in each
+others' arms, on the threshold of their nuptial chamber, where the
+memory of their love was still alive, but where its sweet fruit lay
+dead.
+
+"Come, dear. Come in," said she, and drew him forward. In the centre of
+the room, between four lighted candles, stood the little open coffin, in
+which lay poor Maria, under a mound of flowers, broken and wilted like
+herself. There were roses, heliotrope, jasmine, begonia, geraniums,
+verbena, flowering sprays of _olea fragrans_, and other blossomless
+sprays, all dark and shiny, from the carob tree she had loved so well,
+because it had been dear to papa. Flowers and leaves lay across her face
+as well.
+
+Franco fell upon his knees sobbing: "My God! My God!" while Luisa chose
+two tiny rosebuds, placed them in Maria's little hand, and kissed her
+brow.
+
+"You can kiss her hair," said she, "but not her face. The doctor does
+not wish it."
+
+"But you have just done so!"
+
+"Oh, it is a different thing for me."
+
+But instead he pressed his lips to her icy lips, that showed among the
+geraniums and the carob leaves, touching them gently, as in a tender,
+but not despairing farewell to the outward wrapping now cast aside and
+empty, which had once belonged to his beloved baby, who had gone to
+dwell elsewhere.
+
+"Maria! My darling Maria!" he whispered between his sobs. "What was the
+matter?"
+
+He had not realised the connection between the guards' talk about
+drowning and the rest of their conversation.
+
+"You have not heard?" said his wife calmly, and without surprise. They
+had told her how the telegram had been worded, but she was also aware
+that Ismaele was to have met Franco in Lugano. She did not know,
+however, that as Franco had not arrived by the coach from Ceneri,
+Ismaele had gone to bed.
+
+"Poor Franco!" said she, kissing his hair almost maternally. "There was
+no illness."
+
+He started to his feet, terrified, and exclaiming: "What do you mean?
+There was no illness?"
+
+Leu, the person whom Franco had heard breathing heavily in her sleep,
+now came in with the intention of fumigating the room, but seeing Franco
+she stopped in amazement. "Come in," said Luisa. "You may place the
+brazier outside the door; sprinkle whatever is necessary upon it, and
+then return to the kitchen and sleep, my good Leu." The woman obeyed.
+
+"There was no illness?" Franco repeated.
+
+"Come," his wife answered. "I will tell you everything."
+
+She made him sit down on the _dormeuse_ at the foot of their bed. He
+wished her to sit beside him, but she made a gesture of refusal, and of
+entreaty that he should not insist, that he should be quiet and wait;
+then, sinking down on the floor beside her baby, she began the painful
+story in a low, even voice, that sounded almost indifferent to the
+tragedy it was relating, a voice that resembled poor, deaf Barborin's,
+seeming to come from a far-away world. She began with her meeting with
+Peppina Bianconi at Campo, and--always in the same calm tone--told him
+all the thoughts, all the sentiments that had brought her to confront
+his grandmother, told him everything, down to the moment when she had
+realised that Maria was indeed dead. When she had finished she rose to
+her knees, and kissing her dead child, whispered to her: "Now your papa
+thinks that I killed you, but it is not true, dear, indeed, it is not
+true!"
+
+He rose, quivering with nameless emotion, and bending over her, raised
+her--neither yielding nor resisting--from the floor. Touching her
+resolutely but tenderly, he placed her on the _dormeuse_ beside him. He
+encircled her shoulders with his arm, pressing her to him, speaking with
+his lips on her hair, wetting it with the hot tears, which from time to
+time choked his voice. "My poor Luisa! No, indeed you did not kill her!
+How could you suspect me of thinking such a thing? I bless you instead
+for all that you have done for her ever since she came into the world;
+I, who have done nothing, bless you who have done so much. Never say
+such a thing again! Never, dear. Our Maria----"
+
+A violent sob checked his words, but the man immediately exerted his
+strong will, controlled himself and continued:
+
+"Don't you know what our Maria is saying now? She is saying: 'My darling
+mamma, my darling papa, now you are all alone, you have only each
+other, you are more closely united than ever; give me to God that He may
+give me back to you; that I may become your little guardian angel, and
+lead you to Him at last, that we may dwell together in all eternity,' Do
+you hear her saying these words, Luisa?"
+
+She trembled in his arms, shaken by spasmodic quiverings; her face bent
+low, resisted Franco when he would have raised it. At last she took his
+hand and kissed it. Then he also kissed her on the hair, and murmured:
+"Answer me."
+
+"You are good!" Luisa replied, in a faint and despairing voice. "You
+wish to spare me, but you do not believe what you say. You must feel
+that I caused her death, that if I had adopted your sentiments, your
+ideas, I should not have left the house, and if I had not left the house
+this would not have happened, and Maria would still be alive."
+
+"Don't think of that, my dear, don't! You might have believed Maria was
+with Veronica; you might have remained in the room with the fiances, and
+the accident would have happened just the same. Don't think of this any
+more, Luisa. Rather listen to what Maria is saying."
+
+"Poor Franco! Poor, poor fellow!" said Luisa, with such bitterness of
+terrible hidden meanings, that his blood ran cold. He shuddered and was
+silent, unable to grasp her meaning, and at the same time dreading an
+explanation. Slowly they withdrew from each other's arms, Luisa being
+the first to move. She again took her husband's hand and wished to
+carry it to her lips, but Franco drew her hand tenderly towards him and
+made a last attempt.
+
+"Why will you not answer me?"
+
+"I should hurt you too much," she murmured.
+
+He began to realise the irreparable ruin of her soul, and was silent. He
+did not withdraw his hand, but felt his strength deserting him, felt
+darkness and icy cold creeping over him, as if Maria, whom he had evoked
+in vain, had died a second time. Anguish, fatigue, the heavy atmosphere,
+the mingled odours of the room, affected him so strongly that he was
+obliged to go out, or he would have fainted.
+
+He went to the loggia. The windows were open and the sweet, fresh air
+restored him. Out there in the dark he wept for his little daughter
+unrestrainedly, without even that restraint which light imposes. He
+knelt by one of the windows, crossed his arms on his breast and wept,
+his face raised towards heaven, tears and words flowing together,
+disjointed words of anguish and of faith, calling out to God for help,
+to God, to God who had dealt him the blow. With streaming eyes he cried
+out, begging that his tears might continue to flow, confessing that he
+knew full well why the child had died. Had he not prayed again and again
+that God would preserve her from the danger of losing her faith through
+her mother's influence? Ah! that last night! That last night when Maria
+had said to him: "Darling papa, a kiss!" and so many other tender
+things, and would not let go his hand, how he had prayed! The memory of
+it was a terror, a joy, a spasm to him. "Lord, Lord!" said he, gazing
+heavenward. "Thou wert silent, but my voice reached Thee. Thou hast
+answered my prayer in Thine own mysterious way. Thou hast taken my
+treasure to Thyself, she is safe, she is happy, she awaits me. Thou wilt
+reunite us." The fast-falling tears that accompanied his last words had
+no bitter taste, but presently, while thinking once more of that last
+night, he was bitterly sorry he had left Maria without telling her that
+he had deceived her. "Maria, my own Maria!" he entreated, weeping,
+"forgive me!" Good God! it seemed impossible that all this could be
+true; it seemed impossible that if he went into the alcove-room he
+should not find her there asleep in her little bed, her head drooping
+towards her shoulder and her tiny hands resting, palms upward, upon the
+sheet. Indeed she was still there, but----! Oh! how awful it all was!
+Surely his tears would never end.
+
+Leu came in bringing a light and a cup of coffee. The Signora had sent
+her. He felt a thrill of tender gratitude towards his wife. Good God!
+Poor Luisa! How hopeless was her grief! And what an awful semblance of
+punishment for her in the blow which had fallen upon her at that very
+moment, that very moment! She herself had realised that he must think
+this, and he did indeed think it, but had denied his thought in order
+to spare her, and this she had also realised. And was this awful
+semblance of punishment destined not to bear any fruit whatsoever? She
+seemed to shrink from God more than ever now, and who could tell how far
+she might wander! Poor, poor Luisa! It was not Maria he should pray for,
+Maria did not need his prayers. He must pray for Luisa, pray night and
+day, trusting also in the prayers of the precious little soul now hidden
+in God.
+
+He talked with Leu, feeling more calm now, and had her tell him all she
+had seen, all she had heard of this terrible event. "The Lord wanted
+your little child for Himself," said Leu at last. "If you could only
+have seen her in church, with her little folded hands and her serious
+little face! She looked just like an angel. Indeed she did." Then she
+asked Franco if she should leave the light. No, he preferred to be in
+the dark. At what time was the funeral to take place? At eight o'clock,
+Leu thought. When Leu once began talking it was always hard for her to
+leave off, and perhaps now she was afraid of staying in the kitchen all
+alone. "Her papa!" she added, before going out. "Her dear papa! It isn't
+more than a week ago that I came here with some chestnuts for the
+Signora, and that blessed little creature, who spoke so well, for all
+the world like a lawyer, said to me: 'Do you know, Leu, my papa is
+coming to Lugano very soon, and I am going to see him.' Oh, dear! What a
+dreadful thing!"
+
+His tears flowed afresh. Ah, God had taken the child to save her from
+the errors of the world. God had punished Luisa for her errors, but was
+not this awful punishment intended for him also? Was he not guilty also?
+Ah, yes! Very, very guilty! A clear vision of his past life rose before
+him, his life, barren of all useful labour, full of vanities,
+corresponding ill with the beliefs he professed, a life which rendered
+him responsible for Luisa's unbelief. The world accounted him virtuous
+for certain qualities he possessed through no merit of his own, for they
+were inborn in him, and he felt that for this very reason God's judgment
+of him must be doubly severe; for God had endowed him richly, and he had
+gathered no fruit. Once more he fell upon his knees and humbly accepted
+his punishment, in the desolate contrition of his heart, in his burning
+desire to expiate, to purify himself, to become worthy of re-union with
+Maria at last.
+
+A long, long time he prayed and wept. At last he went out to the
+terrace. Above Galbiga and the hills of the Lake of Como the sky was
+growing light; day was breaking. From neighbouring Boglia a cold north
+wind was blowing. From far and near, from the lake shore, from the lofty
+bosom of the valley, bells rang out. The thought that Maria and
+Grandmother Teresa were together and happy, rose suddenly, clear and
+sweet in Franco's heart. It seemed to him the Lord was saying to him: "I
+afflict thee, but I love thee. Wait, be steadfast, and thou shalt
+know." The bells chimed far and near, from the lake shore and from the
+lofty bosom of the valley. The sky grew ever brighter above Galbiga and
+towards the Lake of Como, along the steep, black profile of the Picco di
+Cressogno; and the sweep of smooth water down there in the East, between
+the great shadows of the mountains, was like a shining pearl. The sprays
+of the passion-flower vine, touched by the north wind, waved silently
+above Franco's head, in quivering anticipation of the light, of the
+immense glory that was rising out of the east, colouring clouds and
+clear sky with itself, and welcomed by the bells.
+
+To live, to live, to work, suffer, adore, and ascend! That was what the
+light demanded! He must carry the living away in his arms, carry the
+dead away in his heart, return to Turin, work for Italy, die for her!
+The dawning day demanded this. Italy! Italy! Beloved Mother! Franco
+clasped his hands in a transport of desire.
+
+Luisa heard the bells also. She wished that she might not have heard
+them, wished that day might never dawn, bringing with it the hour in
+which Maria must be consigned to the grave. On her knees beside her
+baby's little body she promised her that every day of her life she would
+come and talk to her, bring her flowers, and bear her company; morning
+and evening she would come. Then she sank down and gave herself up to
+those dark thoughts which she had not wished to confess to her husband,
+and which had grown and matured in her during the last twenty-four
+hours, as a malignant infection of remote origin which has lain dormant
+in the system, being caught up at last in the current of the blood,
+suddenly bursts forth with overwhelming violence.
+
+All her religious views, her faith in the existence of God, her
+scepticism concerning the immortality of the soul were tending towards
+subversion. She was convinced that she was in no way responsible for
+Maria's death. If indeed there did exist an Intelligence, a Will, a
+Power which was master of men and of things, then the monstrous guilt
+was of this Intelligence, which had coldly pre-ordained Barborin
+Passotti's visit and gift; had withdrawn Maria from those who should
+have watched over her in her mother's absence; had lured her,
+defenceless, towards destruction; had killed her. That same Power had
+checked her, the mother, when she had been about to perform an act of
+justice. Fool that she was, ever to have believed in Divine Justice!
+There was no such thing as Divine Justice! Instead there was the altar
+allied to the throne; the Austrian God, a party to all injustice, all
+tyranny, author of suffering, and of evil, slayer of the innocent and
+protector of the wicked. Ah! if such a God did indeed exist, it were
+better that Maria be there in that body, better that no part of her
+should live on to fall into the toils of this fiendish Omnipotence!
+
+But it was possible to doubt the existence of this horrible God. And if
+He did not exist we might desire that a part of a human being should
+continue to live beyond the grave, live not miraculously, but naturally.
+That was perhaps easier to conceive than the existence of an invisible
+tyrant, of a Creator who was cruel to the beings of His own creation.
+The rule of nature without God was certainly preferable; better a blind
+master, who was not our enemy, not deliberately cruel. But henceforth,
+at least, no thought must be wasted in any way, either in this life or
+in the next--if, indeed, the next exist--upon that vain phantom,
+Justice!
+
+The faint light of dawn mingled with her thoughts as it had mingled with
+Franco's thoughts, solemn and consoling to him, hateful to her. He, the
+Christian, meditated an insurrection of wrath and of arms against
+brothers in Christ, for love of a dot upon the surface of one of
+Heaven's orbs; she meditated an immense rebellion, the liberation of the
+Universe. Her thought might be the greater, her intellect might appear
+the stronger, but he whom the human generations learn to know even
+better as they advance in civilisation and science; He who allows each
+generation to honour Him according to its strength, and who gradually
+transforms and raises the ideals of the nations, making use even of
+inferior and fleeting ideals, when He deems it opportune, in His
+government of the world; He who, being Peace and Life, has allowed
+Himself to be called the God of armies, had impressed the sign of His
+judgment upon the face of the woman and upon the face of the man. While
+dawn burned into the glory of sunrise, Franco's brow became ever more
+brightly illumined by a light from within, and through his tears his
+eyes shone with the vigour of life; but Luisa's brow grew ever darker,
+and from the depths, the shadows mounted to her dull eyes.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+As the sun rose a boat came in sight off the point of Caravina. It
+brought the lawyer, V., who had come from Varenna in obedience to
+Luisa's call.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+PHANTOMS
+
+
+On the evening of that same day a numerous company assembled in the
+Marchesa's red drawing-room. Pasotti had brought his unlucky wife by
+main force, and he had brought Signor Giacomo Puttini also, although
+that gentleman had held out for some time against the most gracious
+Controller's despotic caprices. The curate of Puria and Paolin had also
+put in an appearance, both being anxious to observe the effects of the
+tragedy on the old lady's marble countenance. Paolin of course dragged
+the worthy Paolon in his wake, he being still in a state of limp and
+sheepish resistance. The curate of Cima, who was devoted to the
+Marchesa, came also, as did the prefect of Caravina, whose heart really
+belonged to Franco and Luisa, but who, as parish-priest of Cressogno,
+was bound to treat their enemy with a certain amount of consideration.
+
+She received them all with her usual impassive expression, with her
+usual calm greeting. Signora Barborin, who had been cautioned by her
+master against alluding to the event at Oria, was made to sit on the
+sofa beside her hostess, who graciously accepted the homage of the
+others, put the usual questions to Paolin and Paolon concerning their
+respective consorts, and having satisfied herself that both Paolina and
+Paolona were enjoying the best of health, she folded her hands over her
+stomach and relapsed into dignified silence, her courtiers forming a
+semicircle around her. Pasotti, noting the absence of Friend, inquired
+for him with obsequious solicitude. "And Friend? Dear little Friend?"
+Although, had he had him in his clutches--_solus cum solo_--the nasty,
+little snarling beast which worried his trousers and his wife's skirts,
+he would have joyfully wrung his neck. Friend had been ill for two days.
+The entire company was greatly affected by this news, and loudly
+deplored the misfortune, secretly hoping the while that the accursed
+little monster might not recover. Barborin, not hearing a word, but
+seeing so many mouths at work, so many faces assuming a look of
+affliction, naturally supposed they were speaking of Oria, and turning
+to her neighbour Paolon, questioned him with her eyes, opening her mouth
+and pointing towards Oria. Paolon shook his head. "They are talking
+about the little dog," said he. The deaf woman did not understand, but
+she said: "Ah!" on general principles, and assumed an expression of
+affliction like the rest.
+
+Friend ate too much, and his food was too rich, and he was now suffering
+from a disgusting skin disease. Paolin and the curate of Puria gave
+much careful advice. The prefect of Caravina had elsewhere expressed the
+charitable opinion that the creature ought to be pitched into the lake
+with his mistress tied to his neck. While the others were discussing the
+favourite with such lively interest, the prefect was thinking of Luisa
+as he had seen her that morning, her features distorted, opposing mad
+resistance first to the closing of the coffin, and then to its removal.
+He was thinking how, in the cemetery, she with her own hands had cast
+the earth upon her child, telling her to be patient, that she herself
+would soon come and lie down beside her, and that that would be their
+Paradise.
+
+In spite of the animated and eager conversation concerning the mangy
+Friend, the phantoms of the dead child and the distracted mother were
+hovering in the room. Presently there came a moment of silence when no
+one could think of anything more to say about the dog, and then the two
+unhappy phantoms were heard by all, demanding that they speak of them,
+and all could see them distinctly in the eyes of one who loved them, in
+the eyes of poor, deaf Barborin. Her husband at once sought a diversion,
+and propounded a problem in _tarocchi_ to Signor Giacomo. The other
+_tarocchi_ enthusiasts immediately took up the question, the voices of
+the phantoms could no longer be heard, and every one breathed more
+freely.
+
+It was nine o'clock. Usually at that hour the footman would come in
+with two lighted candles, and prepare the little _tarocchi_ table in one
+corner of the room, between the great fireplace and the balcony on the
+West. Then the Marchesa would rise and say, with her habitual, drowsy
+calm:
+
+"If you are ready----"
+
+The two or three guests would invariably answer: "Quite ready," and then
+the three-handed or four-handed game would begin.
+
+The old footman--who was devotedly attached to Don Franco--hesitated
+that night about bringing the candles. He did not believe it possible
+that his mistress and her guests would have the courage to play. At five
+minutes past nine, as the footman had not yet appeared, each one began
+privately commenting upon the delay. Before entering the house Paolin
+had maintained that there would be no playing, while the prefect had
+maintained the contrary. He now cast a triumphant glance at his
+adversary, as did also Paolon, who, from a spirit of solidarity with the
+other Paul, was pleased that he should be in the right. Pasotti, who had
+felt sure of his game, began to show signs of uneasiness. At seven
+minutes past nine the Marchesa requested the prefect to ring the bell.
+It was now the prefect's turn to bestow a triumphant glance on Paolin,
+and he put into it all the silent contempt for the old woman that it
+would hold.
+
+"Prepare the table," said the Marchesa to the footman.
+
+He soon returned with the two candles. From the depths of his sorrowful
+eyes also, the phantom of the dead child looked forth. While he was busy
+arranging the candles, the cards, and the ivory counters on the table,
+the room was enveloped in that silence which always preceded the rising
+of the Marchesa. But the Marchesa showed no intention of rising. She
+turned to Pasotti, saying:
+
+"Controller, if you and the others wish to play----"
+
+"Marchesa," Pasotti promptly replied, "my wife's presence must not deter
+you from enjoying your game. Barborin is not a good player, but she
+delights in looking on."
+
+"I shall not play this evening," the Marchesa answered, and although the
+tone was mild, the refusal was decisive.
+
+The worthy Paolon, who was always silent and could not play _tarocchi_,
+believed he had at last discovered a word which was both wise and
+obsequious, and which he might safely utter:
+
+"Exactly!" said he.
+
+Pasotti gave him a surly glance, thinking: "What business is it of his?"
+but he did not venture to speak. The Marchesa appeared not to have
+noticed Paolon's utterance, and added:
+
+"The others can play if they like."
+
+"Never!" exclaimed the prefect. "We should not think of such a thing!"
+
+Pasotti drew his snuff-box from his pocket. "The _Signor Prefetto_,"
+said he, speaking very distinctly, and slightly raising his open hand, a
+pinch of snuff between the thumb and forefinger, "The _Signor Prefetto_
+must speak for himself. For my part, as the Signora Marchesa wishes us
+to play, I am quite willing to oblige her."
+
+The Marchesa was silent, and the fiery prefect, encouraged by her
+silence, grumbled in an undertone:
+
+"After all, we are in a house of mourning."
+
+Never since Franco had left the house had his name been mentioned at
+these evening assemblies in the red drawing-room, nor had the Marchesa
+even alluded either to him or to his wife. She now broke the silence
+that had lasted four years.
+
+"I am sorry for the baby," said she, "but as for her father and mother,
+the Almighty has seen fit to punish them."
+
+No one spoke. After some minutes Pasotti said in a low and solemn tone:
+
+"A fearful punishment!"
+
+And the curate of Cima added in a louder voice:
+
+"A manifest punishment!"
+
+Paolin dared not remain silent, neither did he dare speak, so he
+ejaculated: "Dear, dear!" and this encouraged Paolon to repeat his
+"Exactly!" Signor Giacomo simply puffed.
+
+"A chastisement from the Almighty!" the curate of Cima repeated with
+emphasis. "And also, considering the circumstances, a mark of His
+especial regard for some one else."
+
+All, save the prefect, who was chafing inwardly, looked at the Marchesa
+as if the protecting hand of the Omnipotent were suspended above her
+wig. But instead that Divine Hand was hovering above the lofty bonnet of
+Barborin Pasotti, and was keeping her ears tightly closed, that they
+might not hear those contaminating and iniquitous words. "Curate," said
+Pasotti, "as the Signora Marchesa has proposed it, shall we have a
+little game? You, Paolin, Signor Giacomo, and I?"
+
+The four, seated in their corner at the little card table, at once gave
+themselves up to the luxury of unrestrained conversation, and to the
+enjoyment of certain stale, Ambrosian[P] witticisms, which cling to the
+_tarocchi_ cards like grease.
+
+"I shall get there first!" Pasotti exclaimed after the first round,
+laughing loudly, with the intention of proclaiming both his victory and
+his good spirits.
+
+The players had rid themselves of the phantoms; not so the others. The
+deaf woman, sitting stiff and motionless on the sofa, had suffered
+mortal anguish, dreading a gesture from her husband which should command
+her to play. Oh, dear Lord! was she to be made to suffer this also? By
+the grace of Heaven the sign was not given, and her first feeling upon
+seeing the four seat themselves at the little table had been one of
+relief. But at once bitter disgust seized her.
+
+What an insult that game was to her Luisa! What contempt it showed for
+poor, dear little Maria, who was dead! No one spoke to her, no one
+noticed her, so she began to recite in her heart a string of _Paters_,
+_Aves_, and _Glorias_, for the soul of that wicked creature seated at
+the other end of the sofa, who was so old, so rapidly approaching the
+moment when she must appear before her God. She repeated, for her
+benefit, the prayer for the conversion of sinners which she had been in
+the habit of repeating night and morning for her husband's benefit, ever
+since she had discovered his over-familiarity with a certain menial
+attached to her household.
+
+When the prefect heard Pasotti's outburst of mirth, he rose to take his
+leave. "Wait," said the Marchesa, "you must have a glass of wine." At
+half-past nine a precious bottle of old San Colombano was usually
+brought in. "I shall not drink to-night," said the prefect heroically,
+"I have been greatly upset ever since this morning. Puria knows why."
+
+"Dear, dear!" said Puria softly. "Of course it was a terrible tragedy."
+
+Silence. The prefect bowed to the Marchesa, saluted Signor Pasotti with
+an expression that said: "You and I understand each other," and left the
+room.
+
+The curate of Puria, who was possessed of a big body and a level head,
+was studying the Marchesa without appearing to do so. Was she or was
+she not affected by the events at Oria? Her having refrained from
+playing seemed to him a doubtful symptom. She might have done so simply
+out of respect for her own flesh and blood. On closer observation the
+curate noticed that her hands trembled; this was unusual. She forgot to
+ask Pasotti if the wine was good; this also was unusual. Her face with
+its waxen mask, twitched violently from time to time; this was extremely
+unusual. "She is touched!" thought the curate. As she was perfectly
+silent, and as Signora Pasotti and Paolon were also silent, the whole
+group seemed turned to stone. Puria cast about for a means of breaking
+the ice, but could find nothing better than to induce those three heads
+to turn towards the card-table, while he commented upon Pasotti's
+exclamations, upon Paolin's and Signor Giacomo's ejaculations and
+puffings. The Marchesa roused herself somewhat, and expressed her
+satisfaction that the players were enjoying themselves. Barborin neither
+heard nor spoke a word, so the three others ended by talking about her.
+The Marchesa complained that she was so deaf it was impossible to
+converse with her. The other two lavished upon her all the praise she so
+richly deserved, the praise all those who remember her still lavish upon
+her. There she sat, sad and speechless, never suspecting that she was
+the subject of their conversation. The Lord protected her profound and
+simple meekness, by never allowing the praises of the world to enter
+into her ears, but only the scoldings of her worthy consort.
+
+Her great, sorrowful black eyes brightened when Signor Giacomo uttered a
+loud and final puff, and his companions, dropping their cards, threw
+themselves back in their respective chairs to rest a little and reflect
+upon the delights of the game. At last her master approached the sofa,
+and motioned to her to rise. For the first time in her life, perhaps,
+she was glad to get into the boat.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+When her guests had left, the Marchesa rang the bell for the rosary,
+which they had not been able to repeat at the usual hour. The rosary was
+a living thing in Casa Maironi, having its roots in the Marchesa's past
+sins, and its growth was steady, for it was always putting forth fresh
+_Aves_ and _Glorias_, as the old lady became more advanced in years, and
+saw her own disgusting skull looming before her, ever more distinct,
+ever more apparent. Consequently her rosary was extremely long. The
+sweet peccadillos of her protracted youth did not trouble her conscience
+over-much, but there were certain other transgressions which could be
+computed in pounds, shillings, and pence, transgressions never properly
+confessed and therefore never properly forgiven, and these caused her
+great uneasiness; an uneasiness she was continually trying to stifle by
+means of rosaries, but which was forever bursting out afresh. While she
+was praying to the Great Creditor for the remission of her debts, she
+would feel perfect confidence in His power to remit them all, but later
+there would once more loom before her mind's eye the sorrowful faces of
+the lesser creditors, bringing with them doubts concerning the pardon
+received, and thus her avarice and her pride were ever struggling
+against the fear of a perpetual debtor's prison beyond the tomb.
+
+When they had recited the prayers for the conversion of sinners, and
+those for the healing of the sick, and were about to begin the _De
+Profundis_, she announced three new _Ave Marias_, without, however,
+stating for what purpose. The scullery maid, a simple peasant from
+Cressogno, supposed these _Ave Marias_ were intended for the unhappy
+family at Oria, and recited them with extreme fervour. The
+scullery-maid's _Aves_ clashed with and routed those of her mistress,
+which were asking for sleep, and rest for the nerves and conscience. As
+to the _Ave Marias_ of all the others, they were repeated in the common
+hope that they might not remain definitely attached to the rosary, as
+too often happened. In short, no one succeeded in checking the onward
+march of the ghost.
+
+Towards eleven o'clock the Marchesa retired. She drank some
+citron-water, and the maid having begun to talk of Oria and of Don
+Franco, who, it was whispered, had returned, she ordered her to be
+silent. She was certainly affected. She saw continually before her eyes
+the image of Maria as she had once seen her when passing in her gondola
+below the little Gilardoni villa; a slight figure in a white apron, with
+long hair and bare arms, and strangely like a child of her own who had
+died when only three. Did she feel affection or pity? She herself could
+not tell what she felt. Perhaps it was only irritation and terror at not
+being able to rid herself of an annoying image; perhaps it was fear at
+the thought that if a certain great sin had not been committed long ago,
+if Marchese Franco's will had not been burnt, the child would not have
+died.
+
+When she was in bed she had the maid read some prayers to her, then she
+ordered her to put out the light, and finally dismissed her. She closed
+her eyes, trying not to think of anything, and saw beneath her eyelids,
+a shapeless, light spot, which little by little transformed itself into
+a small pillow, then into a letter, then into a large white
+chrysanthemum, and at last into a pale, drooping, dead face, that
+gradually grew smaller and smaller. She fancied she was falling asleep,
+but as a result of this last transformation the thought of the child
+shot through her heart, and although she saw nothing more beneath her
+eyelids, her drowsiness vanished, and she opened her eyes, vexed and
+uneasy. She determined to think out a game of _tarocchi_ in order to
+drive away these troublesome fancies, and induce sleep. She thought of
+the game, and succeeded, by an effort, in seeing in her mind's eye the
+little card-table, the players, the candles, the cards; but when she
+relaxed the tension of effort, in order to give herself up to a passive
+contemplation of these soporific phantoms, something totally different
+appeared beneath her eyelids--a head which was continually changing its
+features, its expression, its position, and which, at last, slowly
+drooped forward, as in sleep or death, so that she could only see the
+hair. This was another shock to her nerves. The Marchesa once more
+opened her eyes, and heard the clock on the stairs begin to strike. She
+counted the strokes; twelve o'clock. It was already midnight, and she
+could not get to sleep! She lay some time with wide open eyes, and now
+images began to appear in the dark as they had before appeared beneath
+her eyelids. At first there was only a formless nucleus, which soon
+began to undergo transformation. She saw the face of a clock which
+presently turned into the horrible eye of a fish, and then became an
+angry, human eye. Suddenly the Marchesa felt quite sure she would not be
+able to go to sleep at all, and once more the drowsiness that had
+already taken firm hold on her, was put to flight. Then she rang the
+bell.
+
+The maid let her ring twice, and then came in, half dressed and sleepy.
+She was ordered to place the candle upon a chair in such a position that
+the flame might not be visible from the bed, to get a volume of
+Barbieri's sermons, and to read in a low voice. The maid was in the
+habit of administering these narcotics. She began to read, but at the
+end of the second page, hearing her mistress's breathing grow deeper,
+she very gradually lowered her voice, until it became only an
+inarticulate murmur, and finally lapsed into silence. She waited a
+moment, listening to the deep and regular breathing, then rose and went
+to look at the dark face turned upwards on the pillows, with wrinkled
+brow and half-open mouth. Then she took up the candle and went out on
+tiptoe.
+
+The Marchesa was asleep and dreaming. She was dreaming that she was
+stretched on a bed of straw in a great dark dungeon, chains upon her
+ankles, and accused of murder. The judge entered with a light, sat down
+beside her, and read her a sermon on the necessity of confession. She
+kept protesting that she was innocent, and repeating: "Don't you know
+she was drowned?" The judge made no answer, but went on reading in a
+mournful and solemn voice, while the Marchesa insisted: "No, no! I did
+not kill her!" In her dream she was no longer phlegmatic, but writhed
+like one in despair. "Remember that the child herself says so," the
+judge replied. He rose to his feet, repeating: "She says so." Then he
+struck the palm of one hand loudly upon the palm of the other, and
+called out: "Enter!" Thus far the Marchesa had been conscious in her
+dream that she was dreaming; at this point she thought she awoke, and
+saw with horror, that some one had indeed entered the room.
+
+A human form, slightly luminous, was seated in the armchair heaped with
+clothes that stood beside her bed, but in such a position that she could
+not distinguish the lower part of the apparition. Its shoulders, arms,
+and clasped hands were of a whitish hue, and indistinct in outline, but
+its head, that rested against the chair-back, was distinctly visible,
+and surrounded by a pale light. The dark, living eyes were staring at
+the Marchesa. Oh, horror! It was indeed the dead child! Oh, horror! Oh,
+horror! The eyes of the apparition spoke, and accused her. The judge was
+right, the child was saying so--without words--with her eyes! "It was
+you who did it, Grandmother, you! I should have been born, should have
+lived under your roof. You would not have it. Your punishment shall be
+death everlasting!"
+
+The eyes alone, the staring, sad, pitiful eyes said all these things at
+once. The Marchesa uttered a long groan, and stretched out her arms
+towards the apparition, trying to say something, and succeeding only in
+gasping out: "Ah--ah--ah--" while the hands, the arms, the shoulders of
+the phantom vanished in a mist, the outlines of its face became blurred,
+and only the gaze remained, staring intently, and then finally becoming
+veiled was absorbed, as it were, into a deep and distant Self, nothing
+remaining of the apparition save a slight phosphorescence which was
+presently lost in the darkness.
+
+The Marchesa awoke with a start. In her agitation she forgot the bell,
+and tried to call out, but could not raise her voice. By an effort of
+her will, which was still strong in spite of her failing bodily
+strength, she thrust her legs out of bed, and stood upright. She
+staggered forward a step or two in the dark, stumbling against the
+easy-chair, and clutched at another chair, dragging it down with her as
+she fell heavily to the ground, where she lay moaning.
+
+The noise of the fall roused the maid, who called out to her mistress,
+but receiving no answer, and hearing the moaning, she lighted her candle
+and hastened into the room, where, in the dim light between the armchair
+and the bed she saw something large and white that was writhing on the
+floor like some huge marine monster, that has been cast upon the shore.
+She screamed and rushed to the bell, rousing the whole house at once,
+and then hastened to help the old woman, who was groaning: "The priest!
+The priest! The prefect! The prefect!"
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[P] Ambrosian: From St. Ambrose, patron of Milan. Therefore, Milanese.
+[_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+FLIGHT
+
+
+At half-past two that same night Franco, Lawyer V., and their friend
+Pedraglio were sitting in the loggia in the dark, and in silence.
+Suddenly Pedraglio started up exclaiming: "What can that fool be about?"
+Going out to the terrace he listened a moment and then returned to the
+room. "No sign of him," said he. "Oh, I say! Are we to sit here like
+idiots and wait for them to come and take us, and all on account of that
+silly ass, who has probably fallen asleep? Maironi, you are fairly well
+acquainted with the road, and we all three have plenty of courage. If it
+should be necessary to pitch into anybody we should be quite equal to
+the occasion. Don't you think so, V.?"
+
+The night before, between seven and eight o'clock, Pedraglio had
+happened to be on the road between Loveno and Menaggio. At the spot that
+goes by the name of "Bertin's Cove" a man had begged of him, had pressed
+a note into his hand, and had then walked rapidly away. The note ran as
+follows: "Why does Carlino Pedraglio not go to Oria at once, to see
+Signor Maironi and the lawyer from Varenna, and take a nice little walk
+with his dear friends over beyond the stake?"
+
+Ever since the arrest of his friend the doctor at Pellio, Pedraglio had
+been expecting some sign from the police, and this note was not the
+first timely and ungrammatical warning which had reached a patriot. The
+note spoke plainly; he must pass the stake that marked the frontier
+without delay. Pedraglio knew nothing of Franco's misfortune and return,
+nor was he aware of the lawyer's presence in Oria. He did not stop to
+speculate, however, but hastened to Loveno, provided himself with money,
+and started off on foot. He would not risk going to Porlezza, but took
+the path that from a spot near Tavordo rises upwards through a lonely
+ravine to the Passo Stretto. As nimble as a chamois, he reached Oria in
+four hours, and found Franco and the lawyer preparing to start, another
+mysterious warning having reached them through the curate of Castello,
+who had been to Porlezza, and had there been charged with the message,
+in the confessional. Ismaele was to guide them across the frontier. The
+passes of Boglia were very carefully guarded, and Ismaele proposed
+passing between Monte della Neve and Castello; then they would drop down
+into the valley, making straight for the Alpe di Castello below the
+Sasso Grande, and from there descend to Cadro, an hour above Lugano.
+
+But Ismaele was to have been there at two o'clock, and at half-past two
+he had not yet appeared.
+
+Luisa was also up. She was in the alcove-room mending a pair of Maria's
+stockings, which she intended to place on the little bed, where she had
+arranged all of the child's little garments with the same care as when
+the little one was alive. She had not wished to see either the lawyer or
+Pedraglio. After her intense excitement at the funeral her grief had
+once more assumed that gloomy aspect which caused Dr. Aliprandi still
+greater anxiety. She was no longer excited; she did not even speak, and
+she had never yet wept. Her manner towards Franco exhibited nothing but
+pity for this man who loved her, and whose affection and presence were,
+in spite of herself, perfectly indifferent to her. Franco, relying upon
+obtaining the position his director had talked so much about, had
+proposed taking the whole family back to Turin with him. Uncle Piero,
+poor old man, was quite ready to make this new sacrifice, but Luisa had
+stated explicitly that rather than leave her little daughter, she would
+end her days in the lake.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Upon hearing the proposal to start without Ismaele, Franco rose and said
+he would go and take leave of his wife. Just at that moment the lawyer
+heard a step in the street below. "Silence!" said he. "Here he is."
+Franco went out to the terrace. Some one was, indeed, coming from the
+direction of Albogasio. Franco waited until the wayfarer had reached the
+church-place, and then called out in a low voice:
+
+"Ismaele?"
+
+"It is I," a voice answered that was not Ismaele's. "It is the prefect.
+I am coming up-stairs."
+
+The prefect at that hour? What could have happened? Franco went to the
+kitchen, lighted a candle, and then hastened downstairs.
+
+Five minutes passed and he had not returned to his friends. But
+meanwhile Ismaele's wife had appeared to say that her husband was
+feeling very ill, and could not stir. She stood in the square, and spoke
+to Pedraglio, who was on the terrace. He hastened to summon Franco, and
+found him on the stairs, coming up with the prefect. "The guide is ill,"
+said he, knowing the priest to be an honest man. "Let us start at once,
+and not waste any more time." Franco replied that he could not start
+immediately, and that they must go on ahead. How was this? Why could he
+not start? No, he could not. He ushered the prefect into the hall,
+called the lawyer, and tried to persuade both Pedraglio and him to start
+at once. Something extraordinary had happened, about which he must
+consult his wife, and he could not say what he might decide to do. His
+friends protested that they would not forsake him. The jovial Pedraglio,
+who was in the habit of spending more money than his father approved
+of, observed that if the worst came to the worst, they would be able to
+live more economically and more virtuously at Josephstadt or Kufstein
+than in Turin, and that this would be a consolation to his "governor."
+"No, no!" exclaimed Franco. "You must go! Prefect, you persuade them!"
+And he went towards the alcove-room.
+
+"Are you ready to start?" said Luisa, in that voice which seemed to come
+from a far-away world. "Good-bye."
+
+He came to her side, and stooped to kiss the little stocking she held.
+"Luisa," he whispered, "the Prefect of Caravina is here." She did not
+express the slightest astonishment. "Grandmother sent for him an hour or
+two ago," Franco continued. "She told him she had seen our Maria,
+shining like an angel."
+
+"Oh, what a lie!" Luisa exclaimed, in a tone full of contempt, but not
+angrily. "As if it were possible she would go to her and not come to
+me!"
+
+"Maria has touched her heart," Franco went on. "She begs us to pardon
+her. She fears she is dying, and entreats me to come to her, to bring
+her a word of peace from you also."
+
+Franco himself did not believe in the apparition, being profoundly
+sceptical of everything that was supernatural outside of religion, but
+he did believe that Maria, in her higher state, had already been able to
+work a miracle, and touch his grandmother's heart, and the thought
+caused him indescribable emotion. Luisa remained like ice. She was not
+even irritated, as Franco had feared she would be, by the proposal to
+send a friendly message. "Your grandmother fears hell," she observed
+with her mortal coldness. "Hell does not exist, and so all this amounts
+to nothing more than a fright. The suffering is not great. Let her bear
+it, and then die as we all must, and so, 'Amen.'" Franco saw it would be
+useless to insist. "Then I will go," said he. She was silent.
+
+"I don't think I shall be able to come back this way," Franco added. "I
+shall have to take to the hills."
+
+Still no answer.
+
+"Luisa!" the young man said softly. Reproach, grief, passion, all these
+were in his appeal. Luisa's hands, that had never once paused in their
+work, now became still. She murmured:
+
+"I no longer feel anything. I am like a stone."
+
+Franco turned faint. He kissed his wife on her hair, said good-bye, and
+then entered the alcove, where, kneeling beside the little bed, he threw
+his arms across it, recalling his treasure's little voice: "One kiss
+more, papa!" A paroxysm of weeping assailed him, but he controlled
+himself, and hurriedly left the room.
+
+In the hall his friends were impatiently awaiting his return. How could
+they start? They did not know the way. The lawyer was, indeed,
+acquainted with the Boglia road, but was that the best way to go if they
+wished to avoid the guards? On hearing that Franco was going to
+Cressogno they were filled with amazement, and Pedraglio gave vent to
+his indignation, saying it was shameful to forsake his friends in this
+fashion, when they were in trouble. When the prefect realised how
+matters stood he took Pedraglio's part, and offered to explain Franco's
+absence to his grandmother, and proposed that Franco should write a line
+or two, which he himself would carry to Cressogno. But Franco was
+convinced that his Maria wished him to take this step, and he would not
+yield. He suddenly remembered that the prefect was as familiar as a hare
+with all the mountain paths. "You go!" said he, addressing the priest.
+"You accompany them!" The prefect was about to reply that perhaps the
+Signora Marchesa might need him, when the lawyer exclaimed: "Hush! Look
+there!"
+
+Directly in front of the house, where the shadow of Monte Bisgnago lay
+obliquely upon the rippling water, a boat had stopped. Franco recognised
+the customs-guards' launch.
+
+"I am willing to wager those hogs are watching for us," Pedraglio
+murmured. "They are afraid we shall escape by boat. Anyway, they are on
+the lookout."
+
+"Hush!" the lawyer repeated, approaching the window that overlooked the
+church-place.
+
+All held their breath in silence.
+
+"Children," said V., turning quickly from the window, "we are done for!"
+Franco went to the window, and saw a solitary figure running towards
+the house. He concluded the lawyer had given a false alarm, but the
+man--it was he who went by the nickname of "the hunted hare," and who
+knew and saw everything--flung two words upwards as he passed beneath
+the window: "The police!" At the same moment they heard the noise of
+many feet. "Come with me! You also, Prefect!" cried Franco, and the
+others following, he made for the little courtyard between the house and
+the hillside, and, passing through a woodshed, reached the short cut
+that leads to Albogasio Superiore. It was so dark that no one noticed a
+customs-guard, standing, carbine in hand, not two steps from the door of
+the wood-shed. Fortunately this guard, a certain Filippini, from Busto,
+was an honest fellow, who ate the bread of Austria unwillingly, and
+simply because he could find no other. "Be quick!" said he in an
+undertone. "Cut across the fields, and then take the Boglia road! The
+path below the Madonnina on the left." Franco thanked the man, and, with
+his companions, started up the steep path that comes out on the narrow
+communal road of Albogasio Superiore. Half-way up they all jumped into a
+field of maize on the right, and stopped to listen. They heard steps on
+the stairs leading upwards from the church-place, and then on the path
+where the guard was posted. Evidently the police wished to make sure
+that all the exits were well guarded. The four crawled swiftly away
+through the maize, and on reaching the spot below a great boulder
+called "Lori's Rock," they stopped to hold a consultation. They might
+take the path that comes out on the Albogasio road at the very door of
+Pasotti's garden, and then climb up from field to field, as far as the
+Boglia road. But the path would be hard to find at this hour, and
+fearing to lose too much time, they determined to make for the stairway
+that leads up from Albogasio Inferiore to Puttini's house, then, leaving
+Casa Puttini on the right, they could reach the Boglia road in no time.
+It was already less dark. In one way this was a disadvantage, but at
+least it would enable them to find their way through that labyrinth of
+small fields and low walls. All were silent. Only Pedraglio would utter
+an oath in Milanese from time to time, as he stumbled over a stone or
+scratched his hands on a hedge. Then the others would hush him. They
+reached the narrow stairway preceded by the prefect, who jumped walls
+and hedges like a squirrel. When they were all together on the stairs
+Franco withdrew from the group. On the Boglia road they would not need
+him; he was going to Cressogno. In vain Pedraglio seized him by the arm,
+in vain the prefect implored him not to expose himself to certain
+arrest, and probable imprisonment. He believed he was obeying Maria's
+voice, and felt that he was acting according to the dictates of
+conscience. He tore himself from Pedraglio, and disappeared up the
+stairs, for he did not wish to go to Cressogno by way of S.
+Mamette--that would be too dangerous.
+
+"Follow me!" said the prefect. "The man is mad, and we have ourselves to
+think of."
+
+As they were about to turn the corner of Puttini's house, they heard
+people approaching who were probably going down the stairs. The door of
+Puttini's house was open. The friends slipped inside. The people passed,
+talking. They were peasants, and one was saying: "Where the deuce can he
+be going at this hour?" Alas, they had met and recognised Franco! If the
+gendarmes and the guards should start out to hunt for the fugitives and
+come across these people, they would discover a trace at once. Towards
+dawn one is always sure of meeting people. This time they had been able
+to avoid being seen, but a second time they might be less fortunate, and
+a meeting might prove as fatal to Pedraglio and the lawyer as this one
+would probably prove to Franco. "If you could only disguise yourselves
+as peasants!" said the priest. A happy thought struck the lawyer, who
+had something both of the poet and the artist, and who was well
+acquainted with Puttini. He would take _Scior Zacomo's_ clothes for
+Pedraglio, who was also short, and the big, fat servant's clothes for
+himself; stuff their own things into a _gerla_,[Q] fasten it upon his
+back, and start for Boglia. The "first political deputy" of Albogasio
+might have a hundred reasons for visiting the forest belonging to the
+commune. No sooner said than done! They proceeded upstairs, and the
+prefect, who was familiar with the house, went straight to call
+Marianna. She did not answer, and her room was empty. The prefect
+guessed at once that the unfaithful servant had gone to S. Mamette for
+some secret business transaction, like that of the oil. That was why
+they had found the door open. They went to the kitchen and lighted two
+candles. The lawyer took one and the prefect pointed out _Scior
+Zacomo's_ room to him. Meanwhile Pedraglio explored the kitchen by
+the light of the other candle, in search of "something wet, something to
+brace him up."
+
+_Scior Zacomo_ slept in a corner room beyond the hall which the lawyer
+crossed on tiptoe, picking his way between piles of chestnuts, walnuts,
+filberts, and pears. He approached the door--it was closed. He
+listened--silence. Very slowly he turned the handle and pushed. The
+beastly door squeaked--he heard a formidable snort, and _Scior Zacomo_
+cried out angrily: "Go away! Let me alone! Go away!" The lawyer entered
+without further parley. "Away with you, you accursed woman! Go away, I
+tell you!" cried _Scior Zacomo_, the point of his white night-cap rising
+out of the pillows. On catching sight of the lawyer he began to groan:
+"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, dear me! For pity's sake, forgive me! I
+thought it was my servant. Most distinguished Advocate, for the love of
+Heaven, tell me what has happened."
+
+"Nothing, nothing, _Scior Zacomo_!" said the lawyer. "Only the
+Commissary of Porlezza is here----"
+
+"Oh, good Lord!" and _Scior Zacomo_ started to stick his legs out of
+bed.
+
+"It is nothing, nothing! Be calm, be calm! Cover yourself up; cover
+yourself up again! We are going up to Boglia on account of that accursed
+bull, you know."
+
+"Oh, Lord! What are you talking about? There is no bull at Boglia at
+this time of the year. Oh! I am all bathed in sweat!"
+
+"Never mind. I tell you we are going to see the place, to see where he
+used to be. But the Commissary has very good reasons for strictly
+forbidding you to accompany us; he forbids you, moreover, to go out
+until we return, and he has even ordered me to remove your clothes."
+
+Then he began rapidly collecting Puttini's garments, commanding him in
+the name of the Commissary to be silent. He took possession of the tall
+hat, seized the bamboo walking-stick, ordered the wretched man to bolt
+the door as soon as he should have left the room, and to open it to no
+one, to speak to no one, until the Commissary's return; all this in the
+name of that dreaded functionary. Then, leaving the poor man more dead
+than alive, he once more joined his companions, who, by dint of much
+searching, had found a filthy dress of Marianna's, a big, red kerchief
+for the head, a _gerla_, and a bottle of _Anesone triduo_.[R] "The
+deuce!" swore the lawyer, on examining the loathsome garments he must
+don. His disguise was indeed most unsatisfactory. The skirt was too
+short, and the kerchief did not hide his face sufficiently. However
+there was no time to look for anything better. But Pedraglio, in the
+tall hat, with the bamboo walking-stick in his hand, was a perfect
+_Scior Zacomo_. The lawyer thrust an old manuscript pamphlet he found in
+the kitchen under his friend's arm, and showed him how to walk and puff.
+Finally he took the keys to the wine-cellar, two enormous keys, gave one
+to Pedraglio and put the other in his own pocket. These would prove
+valuable weapons in case of need; one, he said, would strike in the
+treble key, the other in the bass. And so they went out, the prefect
+first, followed by the false _Scior Zacomo_ puffing like a steam-engine,
+and then the false Marianna and her _gerla_ bringing up the rear. Hardly
+had they reached the street when the real Marianna appeared, returning
+from S. Mamette with an empty flask. Catching sight of her master's tall
+hat looming in the uncertain light, she faced about and made off as fast
+as her legs would carry her.
+
+"Miserable thief!" the prefect exclaimed. "Excellent! Your disguise is
+splendid!" In five minutes they had reached the Boglia road. Then the
+prefect turned homewards, and presently, hearing people coming up from
+Albogasio Superiore talking of gendarmes and guards, he went to meet
+them and inquired what had happened. Oh, nothing very important; only
+the gendarmes and soldiers had been to Casa Ribera to arrest Don Franco
+Maironi, and, it would appear, lawyer V. also, for they were sure he
+must have been there, and they had been asking every one about him.
+However, they had found neither one nor the other of the friends,
+although the customs-guards had been watching the house since midnight.
+Now the police were searching all the houses in Oria, in the belief that
+the two men must have escaped by the roof. While the prefect was
+listening to this news a boy came running towards them from the
+direction of Albogasio Superiore. They stopped him. "The guards!" he
+gasped; "the gendarmes!" He was as white as a sheet; why he was running
+away he himself could not tell, and they found it impossible to gather
+from him where the gendarmes were. A woman appeared on the scene who was
+able to give them more information. Four customs-guards and four
+gendarmes had just now crossed the square in Albogasio Superiore. It was
+rumoured that Don Franco had been seen on the road to Castello, and two
+gendarmes with two guards had started towards the Boglia. The priest
+shuddered. "Of course," some one said, "they will cut him off on the
+Boglia road." The prefect took some comfort in the thought that both
+gendarmes and guards were now searching for Franco only. He was so tall,
+so slender, that neither the false Puttini nor the false Marianna could
+possibly be suspected of being him. Their fate was now beyond his
+control, but for Franco he could still do much. He started for
+Cressogno, confident that Franco would reach that place in safety, if
+the gendarmes did not discover any fresh traces, for they would search
+for him on all the paths leading from Castello to the frontier, but not
+on the road to Cressogno.
+
+Pedraglio and the lawyer accomplished the first part of the journey from
+Albogasio to the stables of Pus, creeping up the precipitous slope like
+cats, with long and cautious steps. The lawyer advanced in silence, but
+the other was continually cursing his garments in an undertone. That
+"beastly hat," that made his forehead slippery with grease, that
+"infernal tail-coat," that smelt strong of the sweat of ages. They
+reached Pus without having met a living being. At Pus an old woman came
+out from between the stables just after they had passed, and exclaimed
+in amazement: "You up here, _Scior Giacomo_? At this hour?" "Puff!"
+murmured the lawyer, and Pedraglio began to blow, "Apff! Apff!" like a
+pair of bellows. "Such paths as these take the breath away, my good
+sir," said the old woman. They met no one else until they reached
+Sostra.
+
+Sostra, a stable about half-way up the mountain, with a barn, a shed,
+and a cistern, lies some distance back from the path. That path is the
+very worst in the whole of Valsolda. It would make even a wild goat hang
+its tongue out. Pedraglio and the lawyer, panting and wet through with
+perspiration, turned into the Sostra for a moment's rest. There all was
+silence and solitude. At that height they already breathed a different
+air. And how much lower the mountain-tops had become! And the lake down
+there in the depths looked like a river! The lawyer cast anxious glances
+upwards towards the first crest of the Boglia, where the great beech
+forest begins. Only half an hour more of climbing! "Come along!" said
+he. But Pedraglio, in whose legs there still lingered the memory of that
+other long walk from Loveno to Oria by way of the Passo Stretto, wanted
+to rest a little longer, and began calmly turning over the leaves of
+Puttini's old manuscript. It was a monkish poem by some unknown
+Cremonese of the seventeenth century. "Come along," his companion
+repeated after a minute or two, and was already preparing to rise when
+he heard some one approaching. He had barely time to whisper, "Look
+out!" and turn his back that his face might not be seen. Pedraglio,
+though he kept his manuscript close to his nose, saw first two
+customs-guards and then two gendarmes appear upon the path. He warned
+his friend of this in a low tone, and without turning his head. The two
+guards halted. One of them saluted: "My respects, Signor Puttini."
+Turning to the gendarmes, he said: "This gentleman is the first
+political deputy of Albogasio." The gendarmes saluted also, and
+Pedraglio raised his hat, and held the manuscript a little higher. The
+guards wished to rest awhile, but one of the gendarmes ordered them to
+move on, and when the rest of the company had started forward, he
+himself approached the Sostra. He was from Ampezzo, and spoke Italian
+very fluently. "You dog! I hope you don't know me!" thought Pedraglio,
+vaguely conscious of his dual personality. "We are in for it, anyway!"
+
+"_Signor Deputato Politico_," said the man, "did you happen to see
+Signor Maironi at Oria this morning?"
+
+"I? No, indeed. Signor Maironi is in bed and asleep at this hour."
+
+"And you yourself----where are you going?"
+
+"I am going up that mountain, up that accursed Boglia, to see about the
+communal bull."
+
+"Idiot!" groaned the lawyer inwardly. "He is making it communal now!"
+But the "communal" was allowed to pass unchallenged. The gendarme, who
+had a face like a bull-dog, stared hard at his interlocutor. "You are a
+political deputy," said he insolently, "and you wear that thing on your
+chin?" Instinctively Pedraglio's hand went to his thin, black, pointed
+beard, the abhorred beard of the liberals. "I will cut it off," said he,
+with mock seriousness. "Most certainly, my dear sir! Are you also going
+up the Boglia!" Very stiffly the gendarme moved away, without answering,
+and all unconscious of the shameful gibbet to which the political deputy
+was consigning him.
+
+The two friends congratulated themselves on their narrow escape, but
+they recognised that the game had become very serious. Now they had the
+guards to reckon with, who knew Puttini well, and they must find a means
+of avoiding them. And what if that bull-dog of a gendarme should blab
+about the beard? "Come on! Come on!" said the lawyer. "Let us follow
+them, and if we see or hear them turn back we must take to our heels and
+make off to the left, towards the frontier." This would have been a
+desperate move, for they were unacquainted with the ground, with which
+the guards were undoubtedly familiar.
+
+But in order to catch up with his companions the bull-dog had to sweat
+and pant so hard that when he reached them he had no desire left to
+speak of beards. Pedraglio and the lawyer climbed slowly upwards, and
+saw the enemy reach the crest of the hill at the Madonnina beech-tree.
+There they halted for some time and then disappeared.
+
+The venerable beech-tree, which had the honour of bearing upon its trunk
+an image of the Madonna, which, on its death, it bequeathed to a small
+chapel, stood like a sentinel before the great forest of Boglia, like a
+soldier posted in this dip of the crest, to keep watch over the
+precipitous hillside, the lake, and the sloping ground of Valsolda. The
+venerable army of colossal beeches stood marshalled in another silent
+hollow between the slope of Colmaregia, the easily climbed Dorsi della
+Nave, the rocky base of the Denti di Vecchia or Canne d'Organo, and that
+other saddle of the Pian Biscagno, between Colmaregia and the Sasso
+Grande, and faced the depths of Val Colla from Lugano to Cadro. An open,
+grass-grown strip of ground stretched along the edge of the crest,
+between the Madonnina beech-tree and the forest. The two fugitives
+stopped to consider their position. Which way should they go? Should
+they look for the little path below the beech-tree, of which the guard
+who had saved them had spoken, or should they enter the forest? No, it
+would be unwise to take to the woods, in the wake of the game they had
+just seen enter them. In the forest they were sure to find the dead
+leaves lying ankle-deep, and it would be impossible to pass through
+without attracting the attention of the blood-hounds that were roaming
+there, and their disguise would not bear close inspection. The path?
+There were more paths than one beneath the beech-tree. Which was the
+right one? Pedraglio swore at the absent Franco for not having
+accompanied them, but the lawyer was studying the Colmaregia, which
+could be climbed without entering the forest. He had twice made the
+ascent of the Colmaregia, that superb, slender, grass-grown peak of the
+Boglia, which the line of the frontier cuts in halves. He knew that from
+there they would be able to descend to the Swiss village of Bre, and he
+resolved to try that route. No one was visible on the crest that rises
+from the Madonnina beech towards the Colmaregia, and the summit was
+enveloped in clouds.
+
+Just below the beech-tree they were overtaken by a wave of mist which
+had rolled up one side of the mountain and was rapidly pouring down the
+other; a cold, thick mist, a mist "as bad as they make them," so V.
+said. They could not see five steps ahead, and thus it happened that
+near the beech-tree Pedraglio ran almost into the arms of a
+customs-guard.
+
+He was one of the four, and had been told off to guard the open space
+between the brow of the hill and the forest. Catching sight of the
+little man in the top-hat, he exclaimed: "On the Boglia, Sig----" The
+lawyer quickly cast aside his _gerla_, and the guard did not finish his
+sentence, but stared a moment, open-mouthed, and then exclaimed: "How is
+this?"
+
+The lawyer did not wait for further explanations.
+
+"This is how it is," said he calmly, and drawing his fists into
+position on his breast, he hit out suddenly, and dealt the guard a
+tremendous blow in the stomach that sent him rolling on the grass, his
+heels in the air. In a flash Pedraglio was upon him, and snatched his
+carbine from him.
+
+"If you yell, you dog, I shall do for you!" said he. But how could he
+possibly yell? With a blow like that in the stomach, it was all he could
+do to breathe for at least fifteen minutes. In fact the man lay like one
+dead, and it was some time before they could even make him groan
+faintly: "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!"
+
+"It's nothing, nothing at all," V. told him with his usual, mocking
+calm. "Shocks like that are good for the health. You will see. Now, my
+friend, you are just going to pick yourself up and stand nice and firm
+on your legs, and accompany us to Colmaregia. You will see how well you
+will be able to walk. I was careful not to use this." And he showed him
+the key.
+
+"Oh, what a blow!" groaned the guard. "Oh, what a terrible blow!"
+
+"It is indeed a rather stiff climb," the lawyer went on, taking the
+carbine from Pedraglio, "but with your permission we will help you up
+from behind with the point of this instrument. Thus climbing will become
+a delight. Then you must bear us company down to Bre. We will carry your
+carbine for you, but you, in return, must carry this little _gerla_. Is
+my meaning quite clear to you? Now, march!"
+
+But the wretched man could not get to his feet and they certainly could
+not leave him there and run the risk of his calling out for help.
+
+"Poor fellow!" said Pedraglio. "You hit him too hard."
+
+V. replied that he had touched him with the gentleness of a woman, and
+passing the carbine to Pedraglio, he seized the guard by the collar of
+his uniform, pulled him to his feet, and made him run his arms through
+the straps of the _gerla_.
+
+"Go ahead, you fraud!" said he. "March, lazy-bones!"
+
+Up, up, ever upwards they climbed through the thick mist. The hillside
+was extremely steep, and it was all they could do to find foothold
+between the clumps of soft grass. They slipped, they laboured with hands
+and feet, but they heeded naught, struggling ever upwards for freedom's
+sake. Up, up, ever upwards, through the thick mist, invisible as
+spirits, first the false Marianna, then the guard puffing and groaning
+under the heavy _gerla_, then the false _Scior Zacomo_ promising him a
+fine view from the top, and from time to time encouraging him with the
+point of the carbine. The carbine worked miracles. In half an hour the
+three had reached the crest, from whence the hill slopes down towards
+Bre, lying only a short distance below the summit. Then, sitting upon
+the grass, they let themselves slide rapidly downwards. Presently it
+began to rain, and the mist grew thinner, and below them, at their
+feet, they could see the red of the woodlands. _Scior Zacomo's_
+venerable top-hat was the first to reach the spot, hurled from above by
+Pedraglio with a joyful "Hurrah for Italy!" as he himself slid onwards,
+arm in arm with the guard. At Bre Pedraglio called the whole town
+together by firing off the carbine in sign of exultation, and then he
+distributed _anesone triduo_ among the men, and administered it in
+smaller doses to the girls. He begged the curate to allow him to hang
+the tail-coat in the church as a votive offering, sat down to eat with
+the guard, got the priest to preach him a sermon on the duty of
+pardoning blows in the stomach, and read a verse of the monkish poem to
+him, which ended thus:
+
+ At this point the good priest did exclaim:
+ My views are no longer the same.
+
+After this he had no difficulty in demonstrating to him that if this
+Padre Lanternone had suddenly changed his opinions, he, the guard, would
+be fully justified in changing his, and he finally persuaded him to
+desert. The guard ended by casting aside his uniform and donning the
+tail-coat, amidst the laughter and applause of all present. The only one
+who did not join in the laughter was the lawyer. "What may not have
+happened to poor Maironi?" said he.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Franco did not cross Castello. Upon reaching the little Rovaja chapel he
+hastened downwards by the path that leads to the fountain at Caslano,
+reached the narrow lane that goes to Casarico and followed it upwards as
+far as the last turning just below Castello, where the church of Puria
+becomes visible beneath its amphitheatre of crags; then he turned into
+the valley on the right, hastening along a path fit for goats only,
+climbed upwards once more below the church of Loggio, and reached Villa
+Maironi without having met any one.
+
+Carlo, the old servant who opened the door for him, nearly fainted with
+emotion as he kissed Franco's hands. At that moment the doctor was in
+the sick room. Franco decided to wait until he should come out, and
+meanwhile took the faithful old man into his confidence, telling that
+the gendarmes were at his heels. Dr. Aliprandi soon came out, and
+Franco, who knew him to be a patriot, confided in him also, for he must
+show himself, and make inquiries about his grandmother. Aliprandi had
+been called in the night, after the prefect had left for Oria. He had
+found the Marchesa in a state of nervous excitement, tormented by a
+terrible fear of death, but exhibiting no symptoms of illness. At
+present she seemed quite calm. Franco had her informed of his arrival,
+and was ushered into the room by the maid, who looked at him with
+obsequious curiosity, and then withdrew.
+
+The half-open shutters of the room where the Marchesa lay, admitted only
+two slanting streaks of grey light, which did not reach the face,
+thrown back upon the pillow. On entering Franco could not see that
+face, but he heard the familiar, sleepy voice saying:
+
+"Is that you, Franco?"
+
+"Yes, grandmother. Good-morning," and he stooped to kiss her. The waxen
+mask was unruffled, but there was a vague and gloomy expression about
+the eyes that seemed at once desire and terror. "I am dying, you know,
+Franco," said the Marchesa. Franco protested, and repeated what the
+doctor had said to him. His grandmother listened, gazing eagerly at him,
+trying to read in his eyes if the doctor had really spoken thus. Then
+she answered:
+
+"It makes no difference. I am quite ready."
+
+From the changed expression on her face and in her voice Franco
+understood perfectly that she was quite ready to live twenty years
+longer. "I am sorry for your bereavement," said she, "and I forgive
+you."
+
+Franco had not expected words of pardon from her. He had believed it was
+for him to bring forgiveness, not to receive it. Comforted and
+reassured, the Marchesa of every day was gradually reappearing beneath
+the Marchesa of an hour. She was willing to purchase peace of mind, but
+she was like the sordid miser who, having yielded to the temptation of
+gratifying some desire, allowed the price of his enjoyment to escape
+painfully from between his tightly-clasped fingers, trying the while to
+keep back as much as possible behind his nails. At another time
+Franco's wrath would have burst forth, he would have rejected that
+forgiveness angrily, but now, with his sweet Maria in his heart, he
+could not feel thus. He had however noticed that his grandmother had
+proffered her forgiveness to him alone. This was too much; he could not
+pass this over.
+
+"My wife, my wife's uncle, and I myself have suffered much beside this
+last bereavement," said he, "and now we have lost our only comfort.
+Uncle Ribera I leave out of the question; you, I myself, all must bow
+before him, but if my wife and I have sinned against you, let us make
+forgiveness mutual."
+
+This was a bitter pill, but the Marchesa swallowed it in silence.
+Although she no longer saw death at her bedside, her heart still
+trembled with the terror inspired by the apparition, and by certain
+words the prefect had spoken on hearing her confession. "I shall make a
+will," she said, "and I wish you to know that the whole Maironi property
+will go to you."
+
+Ah, Marchesa, Marchesa! Poor, icy creature! Did she believe she could
+purchase peace at this price? In this the prefect also had blundered,
+for it was he who had advised her to make this declaration to her
+grandson, kind, honest man that he was, but entirely without tact, and
+incapable of understanding Franco's lofty soul. The idea that she might
+think he had been prompted by sordid motives to come to her, was
+intolerable to Franco. "No, no!" he exclaimed, quivering, and fearing
+his hot temper would get the better of him after all. "No, no! Don't
+leave me anything. It will be quite enough if you will allow the
+interest on my own money to be paid at Oria. Grandmother, you must leave
+the Maironi property to the Ospitale Maggiore. I fear my ancestors did
+very wrong to keep it."
+
+His grandmother had not time to answer, for there came a knock at the
+door. The prefect entered, and offering as an excuse that he would tire
+the invalid, persuaded Franco to say good-bye. "You must make haste,"
+said he, when they were outside. "You have done more than your duty
+here. Too many people are now aware of your presence, and the gendarmes
+may appear at any moment. I have arranged everything with Aliprandi. He
+considers a consultation necessary for the Marchesa, and will take the
+Villa Maironi gondola and go to Lugano for a doctor. The two boatmen
+will be Carlo and yourself. There are those oil-cloth cloaks with hoods.
+Put on one of those and remain in the stern. Now we must shave off that
+pointed beard of yours, and then with the hood drawn over your head, no
+one will possibly be able to recognise you. You will be perfectly safe.
+Perhaps you may not even be obliged to put in at the customs-house. At
+any rate, they will not recognise you. If there is any talking to be
+done, Carlo can do it."
+
+The idea was good. The Marchesa's gondola was always looked upon by the
+agents of Austria with the greatest respect; as if it were carrying an
+egg of the double-headed eagle. Even when returning from Lugano it was
+made to stop at the customs-house simply _pro forma_.
+
+It was past eight o'clock when the gondola left the boathouse. From the
+lofty summits the mist had descended upon the lake, and it was raining.
+Sad, sad day! Sad, sad journey! Neither Franco, the servant, nor
+Aliprandi spoke a word. They passed S. Mamette and Casarico, and then,
+amidst the mist beyond the olives of Maine, the white walls of Maria's
+resting-place appeared. Franco's eyes filled with tears. "No, dear," he
+thought; "no, love; no, my life, you are not there; and I thank my God,
+who tells me not to believe this horrid thing!" A few strokes more and
+there was the little house of happy days, of bitter hours, of
+misfortune; there was the window of the room where Luisa was giving
+herself up to black grief, the loggia where, henceforth, poor old Uncle
+Piero would spend his days alone, that just man who was going down to
+the grave in silence, in tribulation, in weariness. Franco longed to
+know what had happened after his departure; if the police had worried
+Uncle Piero and Luisa. In vain he strained his eyes: no living being was
+to be seen either on the terrace, in the little garden, or at the
+windows of the loggia. All was silent, all was calm. He stopped rowing,
+searching for some sign of life. Dr. Aliprandi opened the door of the
+_felze_[S] and begged him to resume his rowing, begged him not betray
+himself. At that moment Leu came to the parapet of the little garden,
+with a jug in her hand; she glanced at the gondola and then entered the
+loggia. Uncle Piero must be in the loggia, and they were taking him the
+customary glass of milk, so probably nothing had happened. Franco once
+more began to row, and Dr. Aliprandi closed the door. They glided past
+the little garden, past the other houses of Oria, and the gondola turned
+towards the landing-stage of the customs-house.
+
+Bianconi, sitting under an umbrella and fishing for tench, spied the
+gondola, and, dropping his pole, came forward to pay his respects to the
+Marchesa. But he found Dr. Aliprandi instead, who so upset him by his
+alarming account of the lady that he felt called upon to summon his
+Peppina and impart the news to her; and Peppina, poor woman, was obliged
+to act a little comedy of affliction under her Carlascia's umbrella.
+Both husband and wife exhorted Aliprandi to make haste, to return
+quickly. The big mastiff gave him permission to cross directly from
+Gandria to Cressogno on the way back. Then the doctor turned to Franco,
+and gave the order to proceed. Franco had listened to the conversation
+standing motionless, his hands clasping his oar, and hoping to hear
+something about his friends or his family. But no word was breathed
+concerning either police, arrests, or flights, and Casa Ribera might
+have been in China. The gondola backed slowly away from the
+landing-stage, turned its prow towards Gandria, gliding ever further and
+further away until it had slipped across the frontier, and vanished in
+the mist.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+On reaching the Lugano shore, Dr. Aliprandi opened the door, and called
+Franco into the little cabin. Their acquaintance was only slight, but
+they embraced like brothers. "When the cannonading begins I shall be
+there also," Aliprandi said.
+
+They must say good-bye here, and Franco must go ashore first and alone,
+for Lugano was full of spies and the doctor must also be cautious.
+Besides, Aliprandi was in no hurry. He was more anxious to find a
+boatman than a physician. Franco drew his hood over his eyes, stepped
+ashore and went directly to the Albergo della Corona.
+
+Some hours later, when the gondola had started homewards, he went out in
+search of some one from Valsolda who might give him news, and directed
+his steps towards the Fontana pharmacy. Under the arcades he met his two
+friends, who had just left the pharmacy. They fell upon his neck, and
+wept with emotion. They also had been in search of news, and at the
+pharmacy they had heard that Franco had been arrested. What joy to find
+him here, and to feel they were standing on free soil!
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Q] _Gerla_: a basket the peasants both in Switzerland and in North
+Italy carry fastened upon their backs. [_Translator's note._]
+
+[R] _Anesone triduo_: a sort of very coarse and very strong anisette.
+[_Translator's note._]
+
+[S] _Felze_: the cover which is placed upon gondolas in winter or in bad
+weather. It forms a tiny cabin. [_Translator's note._]
+
+
+
+
+Part III
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE SAGE SPEAKS
+
+
+No less than three springs had come and gone since the autumn of 1855
+without bringing to the banks of the Ticino that mustering of armies and
+of banners that the Italians had expected. In February, 1859, all were
+convinced that a fourth spring could not pass thus. Great events, duly
+pre-announced by a splendid comet, were approaching. The old world was
+quivering and creaking inwardly, as does a frozen river on the eve of a
+thaw. That deadly cold and awful silence which had lasted ten years, was
+about to disappear, to be swept away amidst the clamour of strife and
+destruction, by new currents, warm and brilliant. Carlascia was playing
+the braggart, and would talk to his guards (who made no comments) of an
+impending military expedition to Turin. Signor Puttini had never
+entirely recovered from the shock he had received on that memorable
+morning; and the lawyer's treachery, the tragic end of the top-hat, the
+comic end of the tail-coat, had deeply affected him, and he had lost
+all respect for patriots. Dr. Aliprandi was already in Piedmont. A
+veteran subaltern of the army of Napoleon, who lived in Puria, was
+secretly furbishing up his old uniform, with the intention of presenting
+himself before the French Emperor when he should enter Italy. Whenever
+Intrioni, the curate of Castello, met Don Giuseppe Costabarbieri, he
+would remind him of a certain rhyme of 1796 which he, Don Giuseppe, had
+gone about repeating in 1848, but which he had soon hidden away again.
+
+ The mighty Ulans
+ Came here from Hungary,
+ But the Frenchman's arms
+ Made them all promptly flee!
+
+Don Giuseppe, greatly alarmed, would cry: "Hush! Hush!"
+
+Meanwhile the violets continued to grow as peacefully on the slopes of
+Valsolda as if nothing were happening. On the evening of the twentieth
+of February, Luisa carried a bunch to the cemetery. She was still in
+mourning. Pallid and emaciated, her eyes had become larger, and there
+were many silver threads in her hair. She seemed to have grown twenty
+years older since her bereavement. Upon leaving the cemetery she turned
+towards Albogasio, and joined some women from Oria, who were going to
+recite the Rosary in the parish church. She no longer seemed the same
+dark phantom that had laid the violets on Maria's grave. She talked
+calmly, almost gaily, first with one, then with another of the women;
+inquired after a sick animal, praised and caressed a little girl who was
+going to the Rosary with her grandmother, and told her to sit very still
+in church, as her Maria had always done. She said this and mentioned
+Maria very quietly, but the women shuddered and were filled with
+astonishment, for Luisa herself never went to church now. She asked one
+of the girls if the young men were going to act a play as usual, and if
+her brother was to take part. Upon receiving an answer in the
+affirmative she offered to help with the costumes. She left the others
+on the church-place of the Annunciata, and as she went down the
+Calcinera alone her face once more resumed its spectral appearance.
+
+She was on her way to Casarico to see the Gilardonis, who had been
+married three years. The professor's happiness and his adoration of
+Ester would deserve to be told in verse! Uncle Piero said of him that he
+had grown feeble-minded. Ester feared he might become ridiculous, and
+would not allow him to assume certain ecstatic poses before her when
+there was anyone present. The only person in whose presence she did not
+insist upon the observance of this rule was Luisa. But Gilardoni always
+showed the greatest deference for Luisa; to him she was still a
+superhuman being; to his respect for the woman herself had been added
+his respect for her grief, and in her presence his behaviour was always
+most circumspect. Luisa had been going to Casa Gilardoni almost every
+evening for about two years now, and if anything could have troubled the
+couple's happiness it would have been these visits.
+
+Indeed, their motive was a strange one, and one repugnant to Ester, but
+Ester's affection for her friend, and her pity for her bereavement, were
+so great, while her heart was so full of remorse for not having looked
+after Maria more carefully on that terrible day, that she did not dare
+to resolutely oppose her wishes, or dissuade her husband from gratifying
+them. She expressed her disapproval to Luisa, and begged her at least to
+maintain secrecy concerning the nightly doings in the professor's study,
+but she went no further. The professor, on the contrary, would have
+enjoyed these seances had it not been for his wife's disapproval. It was
+already dark when Luisa rang the bell at the little door of Casa
+Gilardoni. Ester herself opened it. Luisa did not return her greeting,
+which she felt was full of embarrassment. She simply looked at her, but
+when they reached the little parlour on the ground-floor where Ester was
+in the habit of spending her evenings, she embraced her so passionately
+that Ester burst into tears. "Have patience with me!" Luisa said. "It is
+all that is left me!" Ester tried to comfort her, telling her that
+happier times were coming for her; that she and Franco would soon be
+reunited. In a few months Lombardy would be free, and Franco would come
+home. And then--and then--so many things might happen! Perhaps Maria
+might return! Luisa started violently and caught her friend's hands.
+"No!" she cried. "Do not say such things! Never! Never! I am all hers! I
+belong to Maria alone!" Ester could not answer, for at that point the
+smiling professor came bustling into the room.
+
+He saw that his wife's eyes were wet with tears and that Luisa was
+greatly excited. He greeted her very quietly and sat down in silence
+beside Ester, in the belief that they had been discussing the usual
+subject, which was so painful to his wife. She would have liked to send
+him away and resume her conversation with Luisa, but did not venture to
+do so. Luisa was shuddering at that spectre of future danger which would
+sometimes stand vaguely outlined before her mind's eye, but which she
+had always banished with horror, never pausing to examine it, and which
+now, evoked by her friend's words, rose before her, naked and distinct.
+After a long and painful silence Ester sighed, and said in a low voice:
+
+"You may go if you like. Go, both of you."
+
+Luisa, moved by an impulse of gratitude, fell on her knees before her
+friend and buried her face in her lap. "You know," she said, "I no
+longer believe in God. At first I thought there must be a cruel God, but
+now I do not believe in the existence of any God. But if a loving God,
+such as He in whom you believe, did really, surely exist, He would not
+condemn a poor mother who has lost her only child, and who is
+struggling to persuade herself that a part of that child still lives!"
+
+Ester made no reply. Almost every night for two years Luisa and her
+husband had evoked the spirit of the dead child. Professor Gilardoni, in
+whom there was a strange mingling of the free-thinker and the mystic,
+had read with great interest the marvellous tales that were told
+concerning the Fox sisters--Americans--and the experiments of Eliphas
+Levi, and had closely followed the spiritualistic movement which had
+spread rapidly in Europe, in the form of a mania that upset both heads
+and tables. He had spoken to Luisa about this movement, and Luisa,
+possessed and blinded by the idea that she might ascertain if her child
+did still exist, in which case she might in some way be able to
+communicate with her, seeing nothing else in all the marvellous facts
+and strange theories save this one luminous point, had besought him to
+make some experiments with Ester and herself. Ester believed in nothing
+supernatural outside the doctrines of Christianity, and did not,
+therefore, take the matter seriously. She willingly consented to place
+her hands on a small table, in the company of her friend and her
+husband, who, on the contrary, exhibited great zeal, and had faith in
+their chances of success. The first experiments were disappointing.
+Ester, who found them tedious, would have liked to discontinue the
+attempts, but one evening, after twenty minutes of waiting, the little
+table tipped to one side, lifted a leg in the air, righted itself, and
+then tipped again, to Ester's great chagrin, but to the great joy of
+Luisa and the professor. The next night five minutes sufficed to make
+the table move. The professor taught them the alphabet, and then tried
+to summon a spirit. The table responded, knocking with its leg upon the
+floor according to the alphabet that had been arranged. The spirit
+evoked gave its name: Van Helmont. Ester was frightened and trembled
+like a leaf; the professor was trembling also, but with excitement. He
+wished to tell Van Helmont that he had his works in his library, but
+Luisa besought him to inquire where Maria was. Van Helmont answered:
+"Near!" Then Ester rose, as pale as a ghost, protesting that she would
+not continue, and neither Luisa's tears nor entreaties could move her.
+It was sinful, sinful! Ester's religious sense was not deep, but she had
+a wholesome fear of hell and the devil. For some time it had been
+impossible to resume the seances--she had a horror of them, and her
+husband did not venture to oppose her wishes. It was Luisa who, by dint
+of prayers and entreaties, at last obtained a compromise. The seances
+were resumed, but Ester took no part in them.
+
+She did not even wish to know what took place. Only, whenever her
+husband seemed worried or preoccupied, she would throw out an uneasy
+allusion to the secret dealings in the study. Then he would be troubled,
+and offer to desist, but Ester had not the courage to face Luisa. For
+she had discovered indirectly that Luisa really believed she held
+communication with the child's spirit. Once she had said: "I shall not
+come to-morrow night because Maria does not wish it." At another time
+she had said: "I am going up to Looch because Maria wants a flower from
+her grandmother's grave." To Ester it seemed incredible that a head so
+clear and strong could be thus deluded. At the same time she realised
+the extreme difficulty of convincing her by gentle means, and all the
+cruelty of using harsh measures with her.
+
+The professor lit a candle and went upstairs to the study, followed by
+Luisa. We are acquainted with this study that was like a ship's cabin,
+its shelves filled with books, its little fireplace, its windows
+overlooking the lake and the armchair in which Maria had gone to sleep
+one Christmas Eve. The room now contained something else. Between the
+fireplace and the window stood a small round table, with one central leg
+only, that branched out into three feet, about a hand's breadth from the
+floor.
+
+"I am very sorry to cause Ester so much pain," said the professor as
+they entered the room. He placed the light on the writing-desk, but
+instead of preparing the little table and the chairs as usual he went to
+look out of the window at the pale light on the water and in the sky,
+amidst the surrounding shadows of night. Luisa stood motionless, and
+suddenly he faced about as if some magnetism had revealed her anguish to
+him. He saw appalling anguish on her face, and understood that she
+believed he had made up his mind to stop the seances, whereas he had
+only been tempted to do so, and, greatly moved, he seized her hands,
+telling her that Ester was good, that she loved her so much, that
+neither he nor she would ever willingly cause her suffering. Luisa did
+not answer, but the professor had all he could do to prevent her kissing
+his hand. While he was arranging the little table and the two chairs in
+the centre of the floor, she sank into the armchair, in a state of great
+depression.
+
+"There!" said the professor.
+
+Drawing a letter from her pocket Luisa handed it to him.
+
+"I need Maria and you so much to-night," said she. "Read that. It is
+from Franco. You can begin with the fourth page." The professor did not
+hear these last words, but going to the light, began to read aloud:
+
+ "Turin, _February 18, 1859_.
+ "My OWN LUISA,--
+
+ "Do you know you have not written to me for a fortnight!"
+
+ "You can skip that," said Luisa, but at once corrected herself.
+ "No, perhaps you had better read it." The professor continued.
+
+ "This is my third letter to you since yours of the sixth.
+ Perhaps I was too violent in my first letter, and wounded you.
+ What a temper is this of mine, that makes me speak, and
+ sometimes even write such harsh words when my blood is up! And
+ what blood is this of mine that at two-and-thirty is as quick
+ to boil as at two-and-twenty! Forgive me, Luisa, and permit me
+ to return to the subject, and take back those words that may
+ have offended you.
+
+ "At present there is no more talk here either of tables or of
+ spirits, but only of diplomacy and war; in former years,
+ however, spiritualism was very widely discussed, and several
+ persons I both respect and esteem believed in it. I knew
+ positively that many among them were simply deluded but I never
+ doubted their good faith when they told me of conversations
+ they had had with spirits. It would indeed seem that our
+ imagination, when inflamed, can make us see and hear things
+ that do not really exist. But I am willing to admit that in
+ your case you are not deceived by your imagination; that your
+ little table does really move and express itself exactly as you
+ say. I was wrong to doubt this--I confess it--in the first
+ place because you are so sure of not being mistaken, and
+ secondly, because I am well aware of Professor Gilardoni's
+ honesty. But to me this is a question of sentiment. I know that
+ my sweet Maria lives with God, and I cherish the hope that some
+ time I, with other souls dear to me, may go where she is. If
+ she should appear before me unbidden, if, without having
+ summoned her, I should hear the sound of her voice, clear and
+ distinct, perhaps I should not be able to bear such joy. But I
+ could never summon her, never force her to come to me. The
+ thought is repugnant to me; it is contrary to that sense of
+ veneration I feel for a Being who is so much nearer God than I
+ am. Dear Luisa, I also speak to our treasure every day, speak
+ to her of myself and of you as well; I am convinced that she
+ sees us, that she loves us, that she can still do much for us
+ even in this life. How I wish that your intercourse with her
+ might be of the same nature! If, in answering your letter in
+ which you allude to a communication from her I expressed myself
+ too harshly, forgive me, not only in consideration of my hasty
+ temper, but still more in consideration of my sentiments, which
+ are indeed a part of my nature.
+
+ "Forgive me also in consideration of the atmosphere of intense
+ excitement in which I am living here. My throat is perfectly
+ well. Since war has been talked of, I have cast aside both
+ camphor and sedative waters, but my nerves are in a state of
+ such extraordinary tension that it seems as if, were they
+ touched, sparks must fly from them. All this is partly due to
+ the amount of work to be accomplished at the Home Office, where
+ it is no longer a question of regular hours, but where even the
+ humblest secretary, if he be conscientious, must strain every
+ muscle. When I first obtained this position through the
+ kindness of Count Cavour, I felt I was not really earning the
+ bread the government gave me. This is no longer the case, but I
+ am about to withdraw from this field of strenuous labour; and
+ this brings me to another topic, to something I have long had
+ in my heart, and which I now impart to you with feelings of
+ indescribable emotion.
+
+ "In a week my friends and I are going to enlist in the army as
+ volunteers, for the duration of the coming campaign. We are
+ entering the ninth infantry regiment, stationed in Turin. Here
+ at the Home Office they would like to keep me some time longer,
+ but I intend to become familiar with my duties in the regiment
+ before the campaign opens, and I have therefore simply promised
+ not to leave the Office until the day before we enlist.
+
+ "Luisa, we have not seen each other for three years and almost
+ five months! It is true you are under police surveillance, and
+ that you may not go to Lugano, but I have several times
+ proposed means to you of meeting me, at least at the frontier,
+ or on the mountains, and you have never even answered. I
+ believed I knew why. It was because you could not tear yourself
+ away even for a short time, from a certain sacred spot. This
+ seemed too much, and I confess I had many bitter feelings. Then
+ I reproached myself, I felt I was selfish, and I forgave you.
+ Now, Luisa, circumstances have changed. I have no forebodings
+ of evil; indeed, it seems impossible that I should be destined
+ to end my days on a battlefield, nevertheless this is not
+ impossible. I am going to take part in a war that promises to
+ be one of the greatest, one of the longest and most desperate,
+ for if Austria is risking her Italian provinces, we, and
+ perhaps Emperor Napoleon as well, are risking everything. It is
+ said we shall spend next winter beneath the walls of Verona.
+ Luisa, I cannot run the risk of dying without seeing you once
+ more. I shall have only twenty-four hours, I cannot come to the
+ frontier or to Lugano, and I should not be satisfied to spend
+ ten minutes with you. Ask Ismaele to get you to Lugano in some
+ way on the morning of the twenty-fifth of this month. Leave
+ Lugano in time to reach Magadino at one o'clock, for you cannot
+ go by way of Luino. At Magadino you must take the boat that
+ leaves at about half-past one. At four or thereabouts you will
+ reach Isola Bella, where I shall arrive at about the same hour
+ from Arona. At this time of year Isola Bella is a desert. We
+ can spend the evening together, and in the morning you will
+ leave for Oria, I for Turin.
+
+ "I am writing to Uncle Piero to ask his forgiveness for
+ depriving him of your company for one day.
+
+ "I do not apprehend any danger. The Austrians are thinking only
+ of their arms, and their police are letting thousands of young
+ men escape them, young men who come here to take up arms. The
+ Austrians would be terrible the day after a victory, but, God
+ willing! that day shall never dawn for them.
+
+ "Luisa, can it be possible I shall not find you at Isola Bella,
+ that you may think you are pleasing Maria by not coming? But
+ don't you know that if some one had said to my Maria, to my
+ poor little darling--run and say good-bye to your papa, who is
+ perhaps going away to die--how fast----"
+
+The reader's voice trembled, broke, and was lost in a sob. Luisa hid her
+face in her hands. He placed the letter on her knees, saying with
+difficulty: "Donna Luisa, can you hesitate?"
+
+"I am wicked," Luisa murmured. "I am mad!"
+
+"But do you not love him?"
+
+"Sometimes I think I love him very much, at other times not at all."
+
+"My God!" the professor exclaimed. "But now? Are you not moved by the
+thought that you may never see him again?"
+
+Luisa was silent, she seemed to be crying. Suddenly she started to her
+feet, pressing her hands to her temples, and fixed her eyes on the
+professor's face, eyes in which there were no tears, but in which there
+shone a sinister and angry light. "You don't know," she cried, "what
+there is here in my head! What a mass of contradictions, how many
+opposite thoughts that are struggling together, and always changing
+places with each other! When I received the letter I cried bitterly, and
+said to myself. 'Yes, my poor Franco, this time I will go!'--And then
+there came a voice that spoke here in my forehead, and said: 'No, you
+must not go because--because--because----'"
+
+She ceased speaking, and the professor, terrified by the flashes of
+madness he saw in those eyes that were fixed on his, did not dare to ask
+for an explanation. The eyes, which still stared into his, gradually
+softened and became veiled with tears. Luisa took his hands, and said
+gently, timidly: "Let us ask Maria."
+
+They sat down at the table and placed their hands upon it. The professor
+sat with his back to the light, which fell full upon Luisa's face. The
+little table was in the shadow. After eleven minutes of profound
+silence, the professor murmured:
+
+"It is beginning to move."
+
+In fact the table was gradually leaning over to one side. Presently it
+righted itself, and knocked once, lightly. Luisa's face brightened.
+
+"Who are you?" said the professor. "Answer with the usual alphabet."
+
+There came seventeen, then fourteen, then eighteen knocks, and then one
+alone. "Rosa," said the professor softly. Rosa was a little sister of
+his wife's who had died in infancy, and the table had knocked out this
+name on several previous occasions. "Go away," said Gilardoni. "Send
+Maria to us."
+
+The table soon began to move again, and knocked out the words:
+
+"It is I, Maria!"
+
+"Maria, Maria, my own Maria!" whispered Luisa, her face assuming an
+expression of intense joy.
+
+"Do you know the contents of the letter your father has written to your
+mother?" Gilardoni inquired.
+
+The table answered:
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What is your mother to do?"
+
+Luisa was trembling from head to foot in anxious suspense. The table did
+not move.
+
+"Answer," said the professor.
+
+This time the table moved, but knocked out only an incomprehensible
+confusion of letters.
+
+"We do not understand. Repeat."
+
+The little table did not move again. "Repeat, I tell you!" said the
+professor, rather sharply.
+
+"No, no!" begged Luisa. "Don't insist. Maria does not wish to answer."
+But the professor was bound to insist. "It is not admissible that a
+spirit should not answer. You know very well we have often before been
+unable to understand what they said."
+
+Luisa rose, greatly agitated, saying that rather than force Maria she
+should prefer to cut the seance short. The professor remained seated,
+lost in thought. "Hush!" said he at last.
+
+The table moved and once more began to knock.
+
+"Yes!" exclaimed Gilardoni, his face radiant. "I inquired mentally if
+you should go, and the table has answered 'yes.' Now you yourself must
+ask aloud."
+
+Five or six minutes passed before the table began to move. In answer to
+Luisa's question: "Shall I go?" there came first thirteen, then fourteen
+knocks. The answer was "no."
+
+The professor turned pale, and Luisa questioned him with her eyes. He
+was silent for some time, and then said with a sigh:
+
+"Perhaps it was not Maria. Perhaps it was a lying spirit."
+
+"And how can we find out?" Luisa inquired anxiously.
+
+"We cannot find out. It is impossible."
+
+"Then how about the other communications? Is there never any certainty?"
+
+"Never."
+
+She lapsed into terrified silence. Then presently she murmured: "It was
+bound to end thus. This also was to be taken from me."
+
+She rested her forehead upon the table. The candle light fell upon her
+hair, upon her arms and hands. She was motionless, nothing moved in the
+room save the little flickering flame of the candle. Another little
+flame, the last light of hope and of comfort, was dying out in this poor
+head which had gone down before the onslaught of a bitter and invincible
+doubt. What could Gilardoni do or say? He saw that Ester's wish would
+soon be gratified, but not by his means. Three or four minutes later
+they heard Ester's voice, and steps on the floor below. Luisa rose
+slowly.
+
+"Let us go," said she.
+
+"Perhaps we should pray," Gilardoni observed without rising. "Perhaps we
+should ask the spirits if they confess Christ."
+
+"No, no, no!" Luisa exclaimed in an undertone, at the same time
+protesting with a hostile gesture. The professor silently took up the
+candle.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+On her way back to Oria Luisa went up to the gate of the cemetery.
+Resting her forehead against it she sent a stifled good-bye towards
+Maria's grave, then she went down the hill again. On reaching the
+church-place she crossed over to the parapet and gazed down upon the
+lake sleeping in the shadow. She stood there some time, letting her
+thoughts roam at will. Placing her elbows on the parapet, she leaned
+forward and rested her face upon her hands, still gazing at the water,
+the water that had taken Maria. Her thoughts were beginning to take a
+definite shape, not within her, but down there in the water. She
+contemplated this shape. To die, to end it all! She was familiar with
+the thought, she had seen it once before when gazing into the water
+thus, long ago, before the experiments with the professor began. After
+that it had disappeared. But now it had returned again. It was a sweet
+and merciful thought, full of rest, of self-surrender, and of peace. It
+was good to gaze upon it now that her faith in the spirits was gone
+also. To die, to end it all! On that former occasion the image of her
+old uncle had been strong in helping to dispel the fascination. Now it
+was not so strong. Since Maria's death Uncle Piero had lapsed into a
+state of almost complete silence which Luisa believed to be the
+beginning of the apathy of old age. She did not understand that in the
+old man's soul profound disapproval was mingled with grief, nor did she
+understand how great was his aversion to these daily and repeated visits
+to the cemetery, the flowers, the mysterious journeys to Casarico, and
+above all, how he regretted her complete abandonment of the church. If
+she had not been so engrossed in her dead child she might have
+understood her uncle better, at least on this last point, the church,
+for now the silent old man himself went to Mass oftener than before, his
+heart returning to the religion of his father and mother, which,
+heretofore, he had practised coldly, from habit, and out of respect for
+family traditions. It seemed to Luisa that he had grown very dull, and
+that if only his personal needs were attended to, he would be quite
+content. Cia was there to attend to his comforts, and the means that had
+sufficed for three would be more than sufficient for two. Luisa thought
+she saw the water rise a hand's breadth. And Franco? Franco would be in
+despair, would mourn for a few years, and then he would be happier than
+ever. Franco knew the secret of speedy consolation. The water seemed to
+rise another hand's breadth.
+
+At the same moment in which she had approached the parapet, Franco,
+passing the church of S. Francesco di Paolo in Via di Po, had seen
+lights and heard the organ. He went in. Hardly had he said a short
+prayer when the one dominant thought took possession of him once more;
+the sound of the organ became the noise of trumpets and drums, the clash
+of arms; and while a hymn of peace was rising from the altar, he, in
+imagination, was furiously charging the enemy. Suddenly he saw before
+his mind's eye the image of Luisa, pale, and dressed in mourning. He
+began to think of her, to pray for her with intense fervour.
+
+Then, standing there on the church-place of Oria, she turned cold and
+was filled with dread, while the tempting thought gradually vanished.
+She tried to recall it, but could not. The water subsided. An inward
+voice said to her: "What if the professor be mistaken? What if it be not
+true that the table answered first yes and then no? what if it be not
+true about the lying spirits?" She drew back from the parapet, and with
+slow steps, went up to her house.
+
+She found her uncle in the kitchen sitting in the chimney-corner, the
+tongs in his hand, and his glass of milk beside him. Cia and Leu were
+sewing.
+
+"Well," said Uncle Piero, "I have been to the Custom-House. The
+Receiver is in bed with the jaundice, but I spoke with the
+_Sedentario_."
+
+"What about, uncle?"
+
+"About Lugano. About your journey to Lugano on the twenty-fifth. He has
+promised to close an eye and let you pass."
+
+Luisa was silent, and stood thoughtfully watching the fire. Presently
+she gave Leu some orders for the next day, and then begged her uncle to
+come into the parlour with her.
+
+"What for?" said he, with his habitual simplicity, "You can't have any
+great secrets to tell. Let us stay here where the fire is."
+
+Cia lit a candle. "We will go out," said she.
+
+The uncle made his usual grimace, expressive of compassion for the
+weaknesses of others, but remained silent. Draining his glass of milk,
+he passed it to Luisa. She took the glass, and said softly: "I have not
+decided yet."
+
+"What?" the uncle exclaimed sharply. "What is it you have not decided?"
+
+"Whether I shall go to Isola Bella."
+
+"Now what the deuce----?"
+
+Uncle Piero was utterly incapable of grasping such a thing as this.
+
+"And why should you not go?"
+
+She answered calmly, and as if stating a perfectly obvious fact:
+
+"I am afraid I shall not be able to leave Maria."
+
+"Oh, come now!" Uncle Piero exclaimed. "Sit down over there," and he
+pointed to a bench in the chimney-corner opposite him. Then he said, in
+that serious, honest voice of his, which seemed to come from his heart:
+
+"My dear Luisa, you have lost your bearings!"
+
+And raising his arms, he uttered a long "Ah!" and then let them fall
+upon his knees once more.
+
+"Lost your bearings completely!" he repeated. He sat silent for a time,
+his head bent, while behind his pursed lips there was the rumbling of
+words in course of formation, which presently burst forth.
+
+"I would never have believed it! It does not seem possible! But when,"
+and here he raised his head and looked Luisa straight in the face, "but
+when we once begin to lose our bearings it is all up with us. And you,
+my dear, began to lose yours a long time ago."
+
+Luisa shuddered.
+
+"Yes indeed!" Uncle Piero cried in a loud voice. "You began losing yours
+a long time ago. And now this is what I wish to say to you. Listen. My
+mother lost children, your mother lost children, I have seen many
+mothers lose children, but not one of them acted as you act. What can
+you expect? We are all mortal, and must adapt ourselves to our
+circumstances. Other mothers become resigned, but you do not. And this
+running two, three, and even four times a day to the cemetery! And the
+flowers, and I know not what all besides! Oh, dear me! And all that
+foolishness at Casarico with that other poor imbecile, which you think
+is such a secret, while every one is talking of it, even Cia. Oh, dear
+me!"
+
+"No, uncle," said Luisa, sadly but calmly. "Don't talk of these things.
+You cannot understand them."
+
+"Exactly!" the uncle retorted with all the irony of which he was
+capable. "I cannot understand! But there is something else. You no
+longer go to church. I have never mentioned this to you because I have
+always made it a rule to let people do as they like, but when I see you
+losing your good sense, losing your common-sense even, the least I can
+do is to remind you that this is all you do by turning your back on the
+Almighty. And now this idea of not going to see your husband, under
+similar circumstances! It is past belief. Well, well," he said after a
+short pause, "I will go myself."
+
+"You?" Luisa exclaimed.
+
+"Why not? Yes, I. I had intended to accompany you, but if you will not
+go I must take the journey alone. I will go and tell your husband that
+you have lost your head, and that I hope I may soon be called to join
+poor Maria."
+
+No one had ever heard such bitter words from Uncle Piero's lips. Perhaps
+it was for that reason, perhaps it was the authority of the man, perhaps
+it was Maria's name pronounced in that way, but at any rate Luisa was
+conquered.
+
+"I will go," she said, "but you must stay here."
+
+"Most certainly not!" cried Uncle Piero, greatly pleased. "It is forty
+years since I saw the islands. I must avail myself of this opportunity.
+And who knows but what I may enlist in the cavalry?"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"Well?" said Cia, when the uncle had gone to bed. "Does my master really
+intend to go? For the love of Heaven, don't let him, my dear!" And she
+told Luisa that two hours before he had rolled his eyes in a strange
+manner, letting his head sink upon his breast, and when she had called
+to him he had not answered. Presently he had recovered, and had been
+provoked at her anxious questions, protesting that he had not been ill,
+that he had simply felt rather sleepy. Luisa listened to her, standing
+with her candle in her hand, her eyes glassy, and her attention divided
+between the words she was hearing and another very different thought, a
+thought very far removed from Uncle Piero, from the house, from
+Valsolda.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE SUMMONS TO ARMS
+
+
+On the morning of the twenty-fifth of February, the day fixed for their
+journey, Uncle Piero rose at half-past seven, and went to the window. A
+heavy, white fog hung over the lake, hiding the mountains so that they
+appeared only as short black streaks, one on the right, the other on the
+left, between the lake and the fog. "Alas!" the uncle sighed. He had not
+finished dressing when Luisa came in, and using the unpleasant weather
+as a pretext, once more begged him to remain at home, and let her go
+alone. Cia was greatly distressed, and had entreated her to urge him not
+to go, for she knew he had had an attack of giddiness on the twentieth,
+and that on the twenty-second he had gone to confession without
+mentioning it to any one. Seeing that he was growing impatient, Luisa
+decided it would be wiser to desist, and let him have his own way. Poor
+Uncle Piero, he had always enjoyed the best of health, and now he was
+extremely apprehensive, and the slightest disturbance alarmed him. But
+he did not feel that Luisa should be allowed to set out alone in her
+present state of mind, and so he was going to sacrifice himself for
+her. He finished dressing and returning to the window called out
+triumphantly to Luisa, who was in the little garden below.
+
+"Look up!" said he. "Look up at the Boglia!"
+
+High up above Oria through the smoking fog, the pale gold of the sun
+shining on the mountain could be seen, and still higher up all was clear
+and transparent.
+
+"Fair weather!"
+
+Luisa did not reply, and the old man came down to the loggia in a
+cheerful frame of mind, and went out to the terrace to enjoy the
+magnificent struggle between fog and sun.
+
+The stretch of water towards the east between the Ca Rotta, the last
+house of S. Mamette on the left, and the gulf of the Doi on the right,
+was one immense white sea. The Ca Rotta could just be distinguished,
+coming out of the fog like some spectre. At the gulf of the Doi, the
+narrow black streak of the mountains began, making a gap between the
+leaden lake and the fog, which, little by little, was assuming a bluish
+hue. Vague lights broke in the sky towards Osteno; at the end of the
+eastern sea a new brightness trembled, streaks and spots, dark with the
+breeze, were forming; the eye of the sun appeared and disappeared among
+the whirling clouds above Osteno, until at last, growing rapidly larger,
+it shone forth triumphant. The fog fled in all directions in sheets and
+puffs, of which many sped past Oria, large and swift, while others cast
+themselves upon the shore; but the largest rolled away into the far
+east, where, behind and above a heavy white curtain, the mountains of
+the lake of Como rose, glorious in the blue.
+
+Uncle Piero called Luisa to witness the spectacle, the last splendid
+scene of the drama, the triumph of the sun, the flight of the mists, the
+glory of the hills. He admired nature in a simple manner, without the
+refinement of the artistic sense, but with youthful ardour, and with the
+ring of sincerity in his voice; his admiration was that of an old man
+who has lived a life of purity, who has not exhausted the freshness of
+his spirit, who still retains a certain simplicity of imagination.
+"Look, Luisa!" he exclaimed, "we must indeed cry out, 'Glory be to the
+Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!'" Luisa did not answer, but went
+quickly indoors, that she might not see that white enclosure beyond the
+kitchen-garden that was drawing her so strongly, with its tacit cry of
+reproach and grief. She had gone there that morning at six o'clock, and
+had remained an hour, seated on the wet grass.
+
+The uncle remained on the terrace lost in contemplation until the moment
+of departure arrived. Had he been a vain poet he might have imagined
+that Valsolda was offering him this farewell spectacle to speed him on
+his way; that she wished to show herself more beautiful than he had,
+perhaps, ever seen her before. However, these poetic fancies did not
+come to him, and, besides, his journey was to be so short. But the image
+of Maria came to him instead; he saw her running round him, he took her
+upon his knee, and repeated the old rhyme to her:
+
+ Proud shade of the river
+ Of Missipipi----
+
+"Enough!" he sighed. "It was a terrible thing!" and in answer to a
+summons from Cia he went slowly towards the little garden where Luisa
+was awaiting him, ready to go down to the boat. "Here I am," said he.
+"And you, Cia, be careful not to let the house tumble into the lake
+while we are away!"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+During the journey on Lake Maggiore on board the _San Bernardino_, Luisa
+remained in the second-class cabin most of the time. She went on deck
+once to try and persuade Uncle Piero to go below also, but, although the
+wind was cold, Uncle Piero, wrapped in his heavy grey travelling cloak,
+would not stir from the deck, where he sat calmly watching the hills and
+villages, and chatting with a priest from Locarno, with a little old
+woman from Belgirate, and with other second-class passengers. Luisa was
+obliged to leave him there, while she herself went below again,
+preferring to be alone with her own thoughts. As they approached Isola
+Bella a sense of inward excitement and a vague foreboding of many
+things took possession of her. How would the meeting with Franco take
+place? How would he treat her? Would he repeat Uncle Piero's sermon to
+her? His letters were indeed always compassionate and tender, but who
+does not know that we write in one way and speak in another? How and
+where would they spend the evening? And then that other question, that
+question it so terrified her to think about----? All these anxious
+thoughts were rising higher and higher, threatening to become dominant,
+to place themselves in bold opposition to that image of the cemetery of
+Oria, which from time to time would return with impetuous violence, as
+if to snatch back its own. At the station of Cannero, Luisa heard the
+noise of many steps and of loud talking above her head, and went
+upstairs to look after her uncle. A party of soldiers, recalled to
+service, had come out to the steamer in two large barges. Other small
+boats bore women, children, and old men, who were crying and waving
+good-bye. The soldiers, most of whom were _Bersaglieri_, fine jolly
+young fellows, answered the greeting with shouts of "Hurrah for Italy!"
+and made promises of presents from Milan. One old woman, all
+dishevelled, but tearless, had three sons among those soldiers, and was
+calling out to them to remember our Lord and the Madonna. "Yes, yes,"
+grumbled an old sergeant who was escorting them, "Remember our Lord, and
+the Madonna, and the Bishop, and don't forget the _prevosto_, the
+parish priest!" The soldiers, who were well acquainted with the
+_prevosto_, or military prison, laughed loudly at the joke, as the
+steamer started forward. There were cries, and waving of handkerchiefs,
+and then the men burst into song, a song shouted by fifty strong voices.
+
+ Addio, mia bella, addio,
+ L'armata se ne va.
+
+The soldiers were all clustered together at the prow, among piles of
+bags and barrels, some sitting, some lying down, others standing, and
+all singing at the top of their voices to the dull accompaniment of the
+paddles as the steamer glided straight towards that background of sky,
+against which rose the pointed hills of Ispra, dividing the immense
+expanse of water from the Ticino beyond. The young men would soon be
+crossing the Ticino, probably to the cry of "Savoy for ever!" and amidst
+the fury of cannonading. Death was awaiting many of them down there
+under that clear sky, but all sang gaily, and only the dull noise of the
+paddles seemed to be aware of their fate. The free hills of Piedmont,
+past which the boat was gliding, although they stood in the shadow,
+seemed to shine with pride and satisfaction at having given their sons
+to the captive hills of Lombardy, which wore an air of tragedy, although
+illumined by the sun. Luisa felt her blood begin to tingle, felt her
+once ardent patriotism begin to stir. And those mothers who had seen
+their sons depart thus? She foresaw whither her thoughts were tending,
+and hastened to assure herself that she also would gladly have given a
+son to Italy, that the grief of those mothers could not in any way be
+compared to hers. But what a difference there was between reading a
+letter in Valsolda, telling of the war, and feeling the very breath,
+hearing the very noise of war all about her, feeling it in the air
+itself! In the quiet of Valsolda, war was a shadow without substance;
+here the shadow became incarnate. Here Luisa's personal grief, that
+immense grief which filled the lifeless air surrounding her in Oria,
+seemed to shrink before the emotion of many, and her consciousness of
+this gave her an indefinable sense of discomfort and trouble. Was it the
+dread of losing a part of her own grief, a part, as it were, of herself?
+Was it the desire to escape from a comparison from which she shrank? At
+the same time the idea that Franco was going to this war, the idea that
+had affected her so slightly in Valsolda, was now assuming a new aspect
+of reality in her mind, was making her heart quiver, and it also was
+wrestling with the image of the cemetery of Oria. For the first time
+this image of the past was no longer the one, all-powerful master of her
+soul, and although her soul was indignant and regretful, new images,
+images of the present and of the future, were assailing it.
+
+Uncle Piero began to feel cold and came down to the cabin.
+
+"In little more than an hour we shall be at Isola Bella," said he.
+
+"Are you tired?"
+
+"Not in the least. I feel wonderfully well."
+
+"But nevertheless, you will go to bed early to-night?"
+
+The uncle, whose thoughts were wandering, did not answer, but presently
+he exclaimed: "Do you know what I was thinking? I was thinking that now
+there ought to be another Maria."
+
+Luisa, who was sitting beside him, sprang up shuddering, and went to the
+little window opposite, standing with her back to Uncle Piero, who did
+not understand in the least, and, concluding she was embarrassed, went
+to sleep in his corner. The steamer touched at Intra. Now there was only
+Pallanza before Isola. They were skirting the coast; through the little
+oval window Luisa could see the banks, the houses, the trees slipping
+by. How fast the boat was gliding, how fast!
+
+Pallanza. The steamer stopped five minutes.
+
+Luisa went on deck and inquired when they would reach Isola Bella. They
+would not stop either at Suna or Baveno, so it was a question of only a
+few minutes now. And when would the steamer from Arona arrive? The
+steamer from Arona appeared to be late. She went below once more to
+awaken Uncle Piero, who presently came on deck with her. The last part
+of the journey was accomplished in silence. The uncle watched Pallanza,
+which they were leaving behind, while Luisa had fixed her gaze on Isola
+Bella, which they were rapidly approaching, and she saw nothing else.
+
+The boat reached the landing-stage at Isola Bella at forty minutes past
+three. There was no sign of the steamer from Arona. A porter told Luisa
+that it was always late now because the train from Novara was never on
+time, owing to the movement of troops. No one else went ashore at Isola,
+no one was on the beach save the attendant at the landing-stage. When
+the boat had left, he himself conducted the two travellers to the
+_Albergo del Delfino_. He said it was a mere chance their finding the
+hotel open at this season. A large family were spending the winter
+there. They were English people. Indeed, it seemed the Island of
+Silence. The lake lay about it, motionless and silent, the shore was
+deserted, no living being was to be seen in the porches of the poor
+little houses clustered together about the bay, between one of the round
+bastions of the gardens and the hotel. The English people had gone out
+in a boat; the hotel was as silent as the shore and the water. The new
+arrivals were given two large rooms on the second floor, both of which
+faced south, and overlooked the melancholy strait between the island and
+the wooded strip of coast that runs from Stressa to Baveno. The first
+room was on the western corner of the house, and its window looked out
+on the little church of S. Vittore, which rises beside the hotel, and
+upon the small Isola dei Pescatori in the distance. Uncle Piero planted
+himself at the window contemplating the little island, the little pile
+of houses rising out of the mirror of the lake and culminating in a
+campanile; the great mountains of Val di Toce and Val di Gravellone,
+half hidden in a thin mist through which the sun was shining. Luisa,
+seeing that the room contained two beds, hastened to the other room,
+where an alcove also held two beds. "There," said Uncle Piero, coming
+in, a moment later, "this will do nicely for you two." Luisa asked the
+proprietor, in an undertone, if they could not have three rooms instead
+of two. No, it was impossible. "But this is all right," Uncle Piero
+repeated. "This is a perfect arrangement. You take this room, and I will
+have the other." Luisa was silent, and the proprietor withdrew. "Don't
+you see you have an alcove, just as at home?" It never struck the simple
+old man that the very sight of that alcove was a torment to Luisa. She
+told him she preferred the other room, which was lighter and more
+cheerful. "Amen!" said the uncle. "Do as you like. I am quite willing to
+be alcoved."
+
+This corner of the hotel soon lapsed into silence once more. Luisa
+posted herself at the window. The boat from Arona must be very near now;
+the man who had accompanied them to the hotel was walking slowly towards
+the landing-stage, and in a few minutes she heard the noise of the
+paddles in the distance. Uncle Piero told Luisa he was tired, and
+remained in his room.
+
+She went down towards the landing-stage and stopped behind a small house
+that hid the boat from view, but she could hear it distinctly. Suddenly
+the prow of the _San Gottardo_ glided slowly in front of her and
+stopped. Luisa recognised her husband in the midst of a noisy group.
+Franco saw her, and springing ashore, ran towards her, while she came
+forward a few steps to meet him. They embraced, he speechless and blind
+with emotion, laughing and crying, full of gratitude, but uncertain as
+to her state of mind, as to how he should regulate his conduct; she more
+composed, extremely pale, and serious. "God bless you! God bless you!"
+he kept repeating, as they turned towards the hotel. Then Franco
+overwhelmed her with questions, first about her journey and the passing
+of the frontier, and then about Uncle Piero. When he mentioned the
+uncle, Luisa raised her head and said: "Look!" The old man was at the
+window waving his handkerchief and calling out his welcome in a ringing
+voice. "Oh!" cried Franco in amazement, and he ran forward.
+
+Uncle Piero was waiting for him on the landing, his face wearing an
+expression of satisfaction that seemed to spread all over his peaceful
+breast. "How are you, my boy?" said he, taking both his hands and
+shaking them heartily, but, nevertheless, holding him at a distance. He
+did not want kisses, feeling that at such a moment they would mean
+thanks; but he could not hold out against Franco's impetuosity. "Did you
+fancy a lady of the house of Maironi could travel without a courier?"
+said he, when he had extricated himself from the young man's arms.
+"Moreover, I came to enlist in the _Bersaglieri_!" And the man who had
+said he was tired started downstairs, saying he was going to order
+dinner.
+
+There was no sofa in their room. Franco drew Luisa to a seat on the bed,
+and sat down beside her, encircling her shoulders with his arm. He could
+not talk to her, could only keep on repeating: "I thank you! I thank
+you!" as he lavished eager caresses, eager kisses, and tender names upon
+her. Luisa did not respond in any way, but trembled violently with bowed
+head. Presently he checked himself, and, taking her head in his hands
+like some sacred thing, fell to touching with his lips the white hairs
+he saw here and there. She knew he was searching out the white hairs,
+understood those timid kisses, and was moved. She felt her heart of ice
+melting, and, seized with terror, struggled to defend herself more
+against her own emotions than against Franco. "You don't know," she
+said, "how cold my heart is. I did not even want to come, did not want
+to leave Maria or give you the pain of finding me in this state. But I
+came on Uncle Piero's account. He was determined to set out alone, and
+that I could not allow."
+
+When she had pronounced these cruel words she felt Franco's lips
+withdrawn from her hair, felt his arm forsake her shoulders. Both were
+silent for a time, then Franco murmured with great gentleness:
+
+"Only thirteen hours more. Then perhaps I shall never trouble you
+again." At that moment Uncle Piero entered and announced that dinner was
+ready. Luisa took her husband's hand and pressed it in silence; it was
+not a lover-like pressure, but it told him she shared his emotion.
+
+At dinner neither Franco nor Luisa could eat. But the uncle had a good
+appetite, and talked a great deal. He did not approve of Franco's
+enlisting. "What sort of a soldier do you expect to become?" said he.
+"What will you do without your camphor, your sedative water, and all the
+rest?"
+
+Franco replied that he had cast aside all remedies, that he felt as if
+he were of steel, and that he should become the most robust soldier of
+the whole ninth regiment. "Maybe," the uncle grumbled, "maybe. And you,
+Luisa, what do you say about it?" Luisa believed it would be as her
+husband had said. "Then that is enough!" the uncle cried. "And so,
+hurrah!" He had a great opinion of the strength of Austria, and did not
+view matters in the same rosy light as did Franco. According to Franco
+there was not the slightest doubt that the Italians would be victorious.
+He had seen one of Niel's adjutants, who had come to Turin on a secret
+mission, and had heard him say to some staff officers: "_Nous allons
+supprimer l'Autriche!_" Of course they fully expected to leave at least
+fifty thousand Italians and Frenchmen between the Ticino and the Isonzo.
+
+"Excuse me, Signori," said the waiter who was serving them, "but did the
+gentlemen speak of enlisting in the ninth regiment?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The Queen's Brigade! A splendid brigade! I served in the tenth. We
+covered ourselves with glory in 1848, as you may remember. Goito, Santo
+Lucia, Governolo, and Volta. Now it will be your turn."
+
+"We will do our best."
+
+Luisa shuddered slightly. The English people, who were dining at a table
+near them, heard this dialogue and looked at Franco. For some minutes no
+one in the room spoke; there passed before them the vision of a column
+of infantry charging with fixed bayonets, amidst a shower of grapeshot.
+
+After dinner the uncle remained at the hotel for his usual nap, and
+Franco went out with Luisa. They turned to the right towards the Palace.
+It was rather dark and a few infrequent drops of rain were falling. The
+steps leading from the shore to the courtyard of the villa were
+slippery, and Franco offered his arm to his wife, who took it in
+silence. They stopped between the deserted courtyard and the stairs that
+lead to the landing-stage, to count the hours which the clock on the
+Palace was ringing out. Six o'clock. Two hours had passed, and there now
+remained only eleven before the separation, before the unknown! They
+walked on slowly and silently, following the straight path between the
+lake and the side of the Palace, as far as the corner which commands a
+view of the Isola dei Pescatori, where some lights were already visible.
+Two women came towards them, chattering, and walking arm in arm. Franco
+allowed them to pass, and then asked his wife if she remembered the
+Ranco.
+
+Two years before their marriage they had made an excursion with a party
+of friends to Drano and the Ranco, high pasture-lands of the Valsolda,
+on the way to the Passo Stretto. They had had a lively dispute, and had
+sulked and suffered for an hour. "Yes," Luisa replied, "I remember." At
+the same moment both realised how different was the present hour, and
+how painful it was to have to admit the difference. They did not speak
+again until they reached the corner. Bells rang out on the Isola dei
+Pescatori. Franco dropped his wife's arm, and leaned upon the parapet.
+The misty lake was silent; nothing was to be seen save the lights on the
+other island. The lake, the mist, those lights, those bells, which might
+have belonged to a ship lost at sea, the silence of all things, even the
+infrequent, tiny rain-drops, everything was so sad!
+
+"And do you remember afterwards?" Franco murmured, without turning his
+head. Luisa was also leaning against the parapet. She was silent for a
+moment, and then answered in an undertone:
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+And in her "dear," there was a slight and hidden beginning of warmth, of
+affectionate emotion. Franco felt it, and thrilled with joy, but
+controlled himself.
+
+"I am thinking," he went on, "of the letter I wrote you as soon as I got
+home, and of the three words you said to me next day, at Muzzaglio, when
+the others were dancing under the chestnut-trees, and you passed close
+to me on your way to get your shawl, which you had left on the grass. Do
+you remember?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He took her hand and raised it to his lips.
+
+"And do you also remember that I slipped before we reached the bridge,
+and that you said: 'My dear sir, it is your place to support me!'"
+
+Luisa did not answer, but pressed his hands.
+
+"I have been good for nothing," he added sadly. "I have not known how to
+support you."
+
+"You have done all you could."
+
+Luisa's voice, as she spoke these words, was indeed faint, but very
+different from when she had said: "My heart is so cold."
+
+Once more her husband drew her arm through his, and they returned to the
+landing-stage. The dear arm was less passive than before, and betrayed
+agitation and a struggle. Franco stopped, and said softly:
+
+"And if I am called to join Maria? What shall I say to her from you?"
+
+She began to tremble, and resting her head on his shoulder, whispered:
+"No, stay here!" Franco did not hear the words, and repeated: "What?"
+There was no answer, and very slowly he bent his head towards her, saw
+her lips seeking his, and pressed his own upon them. His heart was
+beating fast, faster than when he had kissed Luisa for the first time as
+her lover. He raised his head, but could not speak. At last he succeeded
+in saying these words: "I will tell her you have promised----" "No,"
+murmured Luisa, in great distress. "I cannot do that. You must not ask
+it of me! It is no longer possible!"
+
+"What is not possible?"
+
+"Oh, you understand quite well! I also understood what you meant!"
+
+She started forward as if to flee from the subject, but still clinging
+to Franco's arm, and he held her back.
+
+"Luisa," said he gravely, almost severely, "will you let me go away like
+this? Do you realise what it means to me to go away like this?"
+
+Then she slowly withdrew her arm from his, and turned towards the
+parapet on the right, leaning upon it, and gazing into the water as she
+had done that night at Oria. Franco stood quietly beside her; waited a
+few moments, and then begged her to answer his question.
+
+"It would be better for me to end it all in the lake," she said
+bitterly. Her husband passed his arm round her waist, pulled her away
+from the parapet, and then letting her go, threw up his arm with a
+gesture of protest. "You!" said he indignantly. "You talk thus? You who
+used to prate of looking upon life as a battle? And is this the way you
+fight? Once I believed you were the stronger of us two. Now I know it is
+I who am the stronger. Much the stronger! Can you not even imagine what
+I have suffered during all these years? Can you not----" For a moment
+his voice failed him, but he quickly controlled himself and went on.
+"Can you not even understand what you are to me, and what I would give
+to be able to spare you the slightest pain? While you, it would seem, do
+not care how cruelly you rend my soul!" She flung herself into his arms.
+In the silence that ensued, broken only by her spasmodic and suppressed
+sobbing, Franco heard steps approaching, and with difficulty freed
+himself from her embrace and induced her to turn with him towards the
+hotel. "You naughty girl!" he whispered. "And it is you who don't want
+me to be glad to die, when I can die so gloriously for my country!"
+Luisa pressed his arm without speaking. They met two young lovers, who
+looked curiously at them in passing. The girl smiled. When they reached
+the short flight of steps that leads down to the little square in front
+of S. Vittore, they heard voices of women and girls. Luisa paused a
+moment on the first step, and said softly the three words she had spoken
+at Muzzaglio.
+
+"I love you!"
+
+Franco did not answer, but pressed her arm. Very slowly they went down
+the stairs, and entered the Albergo del Delfino.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Some young men who were drinking, smoking, and laughing, rose as Franco
+and Luisa entered, and came towards them. "Signora," said the first to
+present himself to Luisa, "your husband has probably announced to you
+the visit of the Seven Wise Men." A great hubbub immediately ensued,
+because Franco had forgotten to tell Luisa that his friends had
+accompanied him from Turin, but, not wishing to intrude, had gone on to
+Pallanza promising to come and pay their respects to the Signora in the
+evening. They had come over from Pallanza in a row-boat, and had
+intended returning immediately, but Franco ordered a couple of bottles
+of wine and, soon, in spite of Luisa's presence, their hilarity became
+such that the proprietor begged them, for love of his English family, to
+make less noise.
+
+After arranging with Franco to meet him in the morning on board the
+first steamer, the Wise Men took themselves off. Franco accompanied
+them to the boat and Luisa went to look after Uncle Piero. He had left
+word for them with the proprietor that, feeling very sleepy, he had gone
+to bed. In fact Luisa could hear him snoring noisily. She put the candle
+down, and waited for Franco.
+
+He came up almost immediately, and was surprised to hear that the uncle
+was already asleep. He had wished to say good-bye to him before going to
+bed, as his boat was leaving so early in the morning--at half-past five.
+The door between the two rooms was closed, but nevertheless Luisa begged
+her husband to step and speak softly. She told him what Cia had confided
+to her. The uncle needed rest. She hoped he would remain in bed until
+nine or ten o'clock, and she intended to start at one, and spend the
+night at Magadino, in order not to tire him too much. She laid great
+stress upon her apprehensions concerning Uncle Piero's health, and
+talked incessantly, nervously, anxious to avoid other topics, seeking
+thus to escape too tender caresses. At the same time she was continually
+moving about the room, repeatedly taking up and putting down the same
+objects, and this partly from nervousness, partly with the intention
+that her husband should go to bed before her. He, for his part, was
+intent upon a side-bag, which he was finding difficulty in opening. At
+last he succeeded, and, calling his wife to him, gave her a roll
+containing fifty twenty-franc pieces. "I know," said he, "that I shall
+not be able to send you anything for some months. This money is not
+mine, I have borrowed it." Then he drew a sealed letter from his pocket.
+"And this," he added, "is my will. I have little to leave, but of course
+I must dispose of that little. I have made only one legacy. My father's
+scarf-pin, which you have, is to go to Uncle Piero. I have also set down
+the name of the person who loaned me the thousand francs. Besides the
+will the letter contains a few words for you alone. That is all." He
+spoke with grave sweetness, and without agitation. Her hands trembled as
+she took the letter. "Thank you," she said, and began to unbraid her
+hair, but she immediately twisted it up again, hardly conscious of what
+she was doing, in her struggle with the phantom of the dead child, and
+with another vision of war and death. She said brokenly that, as she
+must be up so early to accompany Franco to the boat, she thought she
+would lie down with her clothes on, and not loosen her hair. Franco made
+no comment, but having said a short prayer, began to undress. From his
+neck he unclasped a little chain from which hung a small gold cross.
+This had belonged to his mother. "I wish you to keep this," said he,
+offering it to Luisa. "It will be safer. It might, perhaps, fall into
+the hands of the Croatians." She was horrified, she shuddered, hesitated
+a moment, then threw her arms about his neck, and pressed him to her in
+a passionate embrace.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The waiter knocked at their door at about half-past four. At five Franco
+took the candle and went into Uncle Piero's room. He was already awake.
+Franco said good-bye to him, and then proposed to Luisa that they also
+take leave of each other in the privacy of their own room. In her face
+and voice there was an expression of grave and painful stupor. She
+displayed no agitation, and did not weep, but embraced and kissed her
+husband as one in a dream, and, still in a dazed state, followed him
+downstairs. Did a flash from the thought that was filling her soul pass
+into his? If so, it happened in the little hotel parlour, while he was
+taking his coffee, his wife seated opposite him. He seemed suddenly to
+discover something in that glance, in that expression, for he paused to
+study her, cup in hand, while ineffable tenderness, anxiety and emotion
+overspread his face. She evidently had no wish to speak, but he longed
+to do so. A hidden word quivered in all the muscles of his face, and
+shone in his eyes, but his mouth did not venture to utter it.
+
+Hand in hand they went down to the landing-stage, and leaned against the
+wall where Luisa had leaned the day before. When they heard the noise of
+the paddles, they embraced for the last time and said good-bye without
+tears, troubled rather by the hidden thought harboured by both than
+afflicted by the separation. The steamer came in noisily, the ropes were
+flung ashore and made fast. A bell rang. One kiss more! "God bless you!"
+said Franco, and hurried on board.
+
+She lingered as long as she could hear the noise of the paddles, as the
+steamer glided towards Stressa. Then she returned to the hotel, sank
+upon the bed, and sat there as one turned to stone, engrossed in the
+idea, in the instinctive certainty, that maternity awaited her a second
+time.
+
+Although this was precisely what she had so greatly feared it cannot be
+said that now she was grieved. All other sentiments were subdued by the
+wonder of listening to a strong, inward voice, that was so clear and
+still so inexplicable. She was dazed. Since Maria's death she had firmly
+believed that the Book of Destiny could contain nothing new for her,
+that certain secret fibres of her heart were dead. And now a mysterious
+voice was speaking within that heart, saying: Know that one page in the
+book of your destiny is finished, and the leaf has been turned. For you
+there is still a future of intense living. The drama that you believed
+had come to an end at the second act, is to continue, and if I Myself
+announce it to you, it must indeed prove wonderful!
+
+For three hours, until Uncle Piero called her, she sat there, absorbed
+in this voice.
+
+The uncle rose at half-past nine; he was feeling very well. The weather
+was still damp, almost rainy, but he would not hear of remaining in the
+house until it was time to start for Magadino, as Luisa wished him to
+do. He knew, for he had inquired of the proprietor, that the gardens
+could be visited after nine o'clock, so at ten he drank his milk and
+then started out to visit them with Luisa. When they passed S. Vittore
+he wished to go in and see the paintings. Mass was being sung, and at
+that moment the officiating priest turned towards them and said
+_Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus_. Uncle Piero crossed himself devoutly,
+and lingered to hear the last gospel. He did not attempt to examine the
+paintings, for there was little light in the church, but said with his
+accustomed cheerfulness: "Now that I have received that blessing I feel
+quite happy!"
+
+It was not possible to hurry in his company. He stopped at every step,
+examining everything that seemed artistic, everything that was in a
+position to be examined. He studied the front of the church, the triple
+stairway of the landing-stage of Villa Borromeo, all three sides of the
+courtyard, and the great palm in the centre, which he was much
+scandalised to learn Luisa had not even noticed when she had passed it
+the night before with Franco. When the custodian ushered them into the
+palace, it took the uncle at least ten minutes to climb and admire the
+great stairway. As they reached the top a ray of sun glinted forth, and
+the custodian proposed that they should take advantage of this and visit
+the gardens. He turned to the left and led the visitors through a suite
+of empty rooms to the iron gate, where he rang the bell. A gardener
+appeared, a civil lad, to whom Uncle Piero took a great fancy, for he
+explained everything willingly, and the uncle's questions were not few.
+The camphor-tree near the entrance cost him five minutes. Luisa was
+distressed, for she feared the uncle would tire himself too much, and
+she herself was weary of looking at so many trees, of hearing so many
+names, both Latin and Italian, and of having to watch the uncle, while
+her thoughts called for silence and solitude. The gardener proposed
+going up to the Castello di Nettuno. Uncle Piero would have liked to
+inspect more closely the unicorn of the Borromei, which stood rampant up
+there, but there were many stairs to climb, the air was heavy, and he
+hesitated. Luisa took advantage of that moment of hesitation to ask the
+gardener where she might find a seat. "Just below here," said he. "On
+the left, where the _Strobus_ are." Uncle Piero finally consented to go
+down and visit the clump of _Strobus_.
+
+He was tired, but he continued to look at everything, to ask questions
+about everything. As they walked towards the _Strobus_ they heard in the
+distance, over towards Isola Madre, the rolling of the drums of the
+National Guard of Pallanza, which was drilling on the shore. "Now it is
+all play," said the young man. "Not exactly play, but.... Next month we
+shall go to work in earnest. We have a lesson to give to a huge beast.
+There it is, over there, the monster!" The monster was the Austrian war
+steamer _Radetzky_, called by the inhabitants of the Piedmontese shore,
+_el Radescon_. "The ship is just entering the bay of Laveno," said the
+young fellow, "coming from Luino. Come this way if you wish to see her
+plainly."
+
+Uncle Piero knew his eyes were not strong enough to see the steamer, so
+he sat down on the first bench he found under the _Strobus_, which stood
+just in front of a group of bamboos, and was flanked by two groups of
+large azaleas. Behind the bamboos, between the great twisted trunks of
+the _Strobus_, he could see the mirror of white water trembling as far
+as the black line of the hills of Ispra. The sky, dark towards the
+north, was clear in that quarter. Luisa and the gardener went to the
+gate which bears the coat of arms, and which faces the green Isola
+Madre, Pallanza, and the upper lake. Luisa looked out over the immense
+expanse of leaden water, crowned by misty giants from the Sasso di Ferro
+group above Laveno to the mountains of Maccagno, and to the distant
+snows of the Splugen. The smoke of the _Radetzky_ was more plainly
+visible than its body, and the drums of Pallanza were still rolling.
+Uncle Piero called the gardener and Luisa went to lean against the
+parapet beside the gate, and near the yew-tree that rises from the
+terrace below. The tree shut out the view on the east. She was glad to
+be alone at last, to rest her eyes and her thoughts on the grey of the
+great mountains and of the great waters. Presently the gardener came
+back to point out to her the yellow acacias and the white heather that
+were blossoming on the lower terrace. "The _bruyeres blanches_ bring
+luck," said he. Seeing that Luisa was lost in thought, and did not heed
+him, he started towards the hot-house containing the begonias. "An old
+_Strobus_," said he, speaking in a loud voice that the visitors might
+hear him, but without looking around, "An old _Strobus_ that has been
+struck by lightning. If you wish to visit the private gardens----"
+
+Luisa turned from the parapet and went to fetch the uncle, and give him
+her arm if necessary. The gardener, who was waiting at the entrance of
+the little grove of laurels, saw her start towards the old gentleman,
+who was still sitting on the bench, saw her quicken her pace and then
+rush to his side with a cry.
+
+Like the innocent and aged tree Uncle Piero also had been struck down.
+His body was resting against the back of the bench, his head had fallen
+forward, and his chin touched his breast. His eyes were open, fixed and
+expressionless. It had indeed been a farewell spectacle his beloved
+Valsolda had offered him the day before. Uncle Piero, the dear,
+venerable, old man, wise, upright, and fatherly, the benefactor of his
+own people, Uncle Piero was gone, gone forever. He had come to enlist,
+but God had called him to a higher service; the bugle had sounded, and
+he had answered the call. The drums of Pallanza still rolled, rolled for
+the end of the old world, and rolled for the advent of the new. In
+Luisa's womb there lay a vital germ which was preparing to fight the
+battles of a new era, preparing to taste other joys, other griefs than
+those which the man of the old world was leaving thus peacefully,
+blessed unconsciously, at the last moment, by that strange priest of
+Isola Bella, who had, perhaps, never uttered the holy words to one more
+worthy.
+
+
+
+
+ _A Selection from the
+ Catalogue of_
+
+ G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
+
+ Complete Catalogues sent
+ on application
+
+
+
+
+"Signor Fogazzaro is at the present moment undoubtedly the greatest of
+Italian novelists. His nobility of feeling, his wide sympathy, his
+kindliness and breezy humor entitle him to a high place among writers of
+fiction."--
+
+ From Villari's "Italian Life."
+
+
+ The Trilogy of Rome
+
+ BY
+
+ ANTONIO FOGAZZARO
+
+
+ The Patriot
+
+ PICCOLO MONDO ANTICO _Crown 8vo. $1.50_
+
+A picture of "the little ancient world" of Vasolda in the troubled
+period of 1848-49, when the "spirit of patriotism mourned its fiercest."
+The book is a wonderful portrayal of the social life of the period.
+
+
+ The Sinner
+
+ PICCOLO MONDO MODERNO _Crown 8vo. $1.50_
+
+An impassioned love story involving faithful pictures of the life of the
+Italian world of fashion and introducing the character that becomes the
+central figure of _The Saint_.
+
+
+ The Saint
+
+ IL SANTO _Crown 8vo. $1.50_
+
+"An exceptional, remarkable, profoundly interesting work. It is eloquent
+with intense earnestness, with a deep-rooted sense of a duty to perform,
+a fervent message to deliver. You lay it aside with an abiding sense of
+having read something eminently worth while, something very genuine and
+sincere."--_The Bookman._
+
+
+ "_A Remarkable Book_"
+
+ SAN CELESTINO
+
+ BY JOHN AYSCOUGH
+
+ Author of "MAROTZ," "DROMINA," etc.
+
+In form, it is almost exactly like a novel with frequent conversations,
+and going, in minor matters at least, far beyond the record of history.
+The narrative opens with Petruccio as a child in the home of his
+parents, who belong to the minor nobility of the Abruzzi. It follows his
+career at Salerno, where he attended the University as a lonely figure
+making few friends. Afterwards he became a hermit and the story tells
+how disciples gathered round him, beginning with two worldly young men
+who had known him at Salerno. The Order of the Celestines thus founded
+grew in numbers and importance through fifty quiet years, when the cal
+swiftly and dramatically--the poor simple old man dragged weeping from
+his hermit's cave and borne to the triumph from which he shrank in
+horror,--the miserable weeks in Rome, touching examples of his
+simplicity and guilelessness. Then the peace which came with the
+renunciation, and his last days passed quite happily as a captive in a
+prison cell.
+
+ _Crown 8vo. $1.50_
+
+
+"One of the most striking novels of the year."--_British Weekly._
+
+ MAROTZ
+
+ By John Ayscough
+
+A story of the present day, containing vivid word pictures of Southern
+Italian and Sicilian life, written by a distinguished Catholic. The
+passionate peoples of the South, tempered by the sweet influences of
+religion, despite science and modernity, are depicted with great
+fidelity. It is safe to say that no truer account of Convent life has
+ever been printed.
+
+ "A literary masterpiece."--_The Observer._
+
+ _Crown octavo. $1.50_
+
+
+_Alluring Novels for Summer Reading_
+
+ HENRY OF NAVARRE By May Wynne
+ A Romance of August, 1572
+
+ _Frontispiece_ by H. M. Brock.
+
+_Listed as one of the six best selling novels in England._
+
+"Vividly and vigorously recounted, the dialogue is brisk and ingenious,
+the plot well contrived, and action swift and skilfully managed."--_N.
+Y. Sun._ Crown 8vo. $1.50
+
+
+ JUDITH of the CUMBERLANDS By Alice MacGowan
+
+ Author of "The Last Word," "Return," "Huldah," etc. _With Six
+ Full-Page Illustrations in Color_ by George Wright.
+
+"A book that combines historical value with so good a story is a book to
+be praised."--_N. Y. Times._
+
+ "An admirable tale."--_The Outlook._ Crown 8vo. $1.50
+
+
+ PRINCESS NADINE By Christian Reid
+
+ Author of "The Chase of an Heiress," "The Man of the Family,"
+ etc. _With Frontispiece in Colors_ by John Edwin Jackson.
+
+"A dramatic and splendid piece of fiction, the love element is
+delicately treated, while it sparkles with wit and is captivating in
+style."--_Buffalo Courier._ Crown 8vo. $1.50
+
+
+ FRATERNITY By John Galsworthy
+
+"It has warmth and color, and that spiritual exaltation of insight into
+the heart of humanity which is one of the attributes of genius. In
+conception and in execution _Fraternity_ must be justly termed _a great
+novel_."--_N. Y. Times._ Crown 8vo. Fixed price, $1.35 net (by mail,
+$1.50)
+
+
+ PLAYS By John Galsworthy
+ THE SILVER BOX--JOY--STRIFE
+
+"By the power of his conceptions John Galsworthy must be recognized as a
+distinctive and important figure among the younger English novelists.
+Still in his thirties, he is nevertheless a master."--_Chicago Evening
+Post._
+
+ Crown 8vo. Fixed price, $1.35 net
+
+
+ DROMINA By John Ayscough
+
+"Spacious in scope, splendid in vigor and coloring, and rich in human
+feeling and sentiment ... the whole romance thrills and glows with a
+real and splendid effect of life, and I commend it heartily."--_Dundee
+Advertiser._
+
+ Crown 8vo. $1.50
+
+
+ MAROTZ By John Ayscough
+
+ "One of the most striking novels of the year."--_British
+ Weekly._ Crown 8vo. $1.50
+
+
+ The
+ Trilogy of Rome
+
+ By
+ ANTONIO FOGAZZARO
+ "_The Greatest of Italian Novelists_"
+
+ (Authorized American Editions)
+
+ 1. The Patriot
+ (Piccolo Mondo Antico)
+
+ 2. The Sinner
+ (Piccolo Mondo Moderno)
+
+ 3. The Saint
+ (Il Santo)
+
+ The first of these romances is an impassioned
+ story of lovers struggling to break the barriers
+ of aristocratic prejudice that oppose their marriage.
+ It is also a story of patriotism--of the freeing of
+ Italy from the Austrian yoke.
+
+ In _The Sinner_, the second book of this Trilogy,
+ we read the dramatic story of Piero Maironi, the
+ son of the hero of _The Patriot_, and of his love for
+ the beautiful Jeanne Dessalle,--a story that presents
+ a vivid picture of the Italian world of rank
+ and fashion, and involves, too, a study of political
+ and ecclesiastical life.
+
+ In _The Saint_, the concluding novel in the series,
+ the hero of _The Sinner_ and the lover of Jeanne
+ Dessalle appears as a penitent full of religious
+ zeal that finds a double outlet--in asceticism
+ and works of mercy and in an attempt to reform
+ the Church of Rome from within.
+
+
+ G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
+
+ New York London
+
+
+
+
+
+ * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note:
+
+ The table of contents corresponds to a different edition.
+
+ The footnotes have been moved to the end of the respective chapters.
+
+ Obvious punctuation errors have been corrected.
+
+ Archaic and inconsistent hyphenation was retained as printed.
+
+ Page 3 "once" replaces "one" (the voice groaned one more)
+
+ Page 40 "plena" replaces "piena" (Ave Maria, gratia piena)
+
+ Page 444 removed repeated word "the the" (Meanwhile Pedraglio
+ explored the the kitchen...)
+
+ Page 445 "he" replaces "be" (Then be began rapidly collecting ...)
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PATRIOT***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 33778.txt or 33778.zip *******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/3/7/7/33778
+
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://www.gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
+paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works. See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+ the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+ you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is
+ owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+ has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+ Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments
+ must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+ prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+ returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+ sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+ address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+ the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+ you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+ does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+ License. You must require such a user to return or
+ destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+ and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+ Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+ money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+ electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+ of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+ distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+ Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+ Chief Executive and Director
+ gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+ http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
diff --git a/33778.zip b/33778.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..81ce373
--- /dev/null
+++ b/33778.zip
Binary files differ
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cdc2a8f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #33778 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33778)
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-08-16 19:35:15 +0000