s 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'