o 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