er towards Franco exhibited nothing but
pity for this man who loved her, and whose affection and presence were,
in spite of herself, perfectly indifferent to her. Franco, relying upon
obtaining the position his director had talked so much about, had
proposed taking the whole family back to Turin with him. Uncle Piero,
poor old man, was quite ready to make this new sacrifice, but Luisa had
stated explicitly that rather than leave her little daughter, she would
end her days in the lake.

* * * * *

Upon hearing the proposal to start without Ismaele, Franco rose and said
he would go and take leave of his wife. Just at that moment the lawyer
heard a step in the street below. "Silence!" said he. "Here he is."
Franco went out to the terrace. Some one was, indeed, coming from the
direction of Albogasio. Franco waited until the wayfarer had reached the
church-place, and then called out in a low voice:

"Ismaele?"

"It is I," a voice answered that was not Ismaele's. "It is the prefect.
I am coming up-stairs."

The prefect at that hour? What could have happened? Franco went to the
kitchen, lighted a candle, and then hastened downstairs.

Five minutes passed and he had not returned to his friends. But
meanwhile Ismaele's wife had appeared to say that her husband was
feeling very ill, and could not stir. She stood in the square, and spoke
to Pedraglio, who was on the terrace. He hastened to summon Franco, and
found him on the stairs, coming up with the prefect. "The guide is ill,"
said he, knowing the priest to be an honest man. "Let us start at once,
and not waste any more time." Franco replied that he could not start
immediately, and that they must go on ahead. How was this? Why could he
not start? No, he could not. He ushered the prefect into the hall,
called the lawyer, and tried to persuade both Pedraglio and him to start
at once. Something extraordinary had happened, about which he must
consult his wife, and he could not say what he might decide to do. His
friends protested that they would not forsake him. The jovial Pedraglio,
who was in the habit of spending more money than his father approved
of, observed that if the worst came to the worst, they would be able to
live more economically and more virtuously at Josephstadt or Kufstein
than in Turin, and that this would be a consolation to his "governor."
"No, no!" exclaimed Franco. "You must go! Prefect, you persuade them!"
And he went to