ugged 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, wi