er husband to step and speak softly. She told him what Cia had confided
to her. The uncle needed rest. She hoped he would remain in bed until
nine or ten o'clock, and she intended to start at one, and spend the
night at Magadino, in order not to tire him too much. She laid great
stress upon her apprehensions concerning Uncle Piero's health, and
talked incessantly, nervously, anxious to avoid other topics, seeking
thus to escape too tender caresses. At the same time she was continually
moving about the room, repeatedly taking up and putting down the same
objects, and this partly from nervousness, partly with the intention
that her husband should go to bed before her. He, for his part, was
intent upon a side-bag, which he was finding difficulty in opening. At
last he succeeded, and, calling his wife to him, gave her a roll
containing fifty twenty-franc pieces. "I know," said he, "that I shall
not be able to send you anything for some months. This money is not
mine, I have borrowed it." Then he drew a sealed letter from his pocket.
"And this," he added, "is my will. I have little to leave, but of course
I must dispose of that little. I have made only one legacy. My father's
scarf-pin, which you have, is to go to Uncle Piero. I have also set down
the name of the person who loaned me the thousand francs. Besides the
will the letter contains a few words for you alone. That is all." He
spoke with grave sweetness, and without agitation. Her hands trembled as
she took the letter. "Thank you," she said, and began to unbraid her
hair, but she immediately twisted it up again, hardly conscious of what
she was doing, in her struggle with the phantom of the dead child, and
with another vision of war and death. She said brokenly that, as she
must be up so early to accompany Franco to the boat, she thought she
would lie down with her clothes on, and not loosen her hair. Franco made
no comment, but having said a short prayer, began to undress. From his
neck he unclasped a little chain from which hung a small gold cross.
This had belonged to his mother. "I wish you to keep this," said he,
offering it to Luisa. "It will be safer. It might, perhaps, fall into
the hands of the Croatians." She was horrified, she shuddered, hesitated
a moment, then threw her arms about his neck, and pressed him to her in
a passionate embrace.

* * * * *

The waiter knocked at their door at about half-past four. At five Franco
to