e 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 f