d 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