you, it must indeed prove wonderful!

For three hours, until Uncle Piero called her, she sat there, absorbed
in this voice.

The uncle rose at half-past nine; he was feeling very well. The weather
was still damp, almost rainy, but he would not hear of remaining in the
house until it was time to start for Magadino, as Luisa wished him to
do. He knew, for he had inquired of the proprietor, that the gardens
could be visited after nine o'clock, so at ten he drank his milk and
then started out to visit them with Luisa. When they passed S. Vittore
he wished to go in and see the paintings. Mass was being sung, and at
that moment the officiating priest turned towards them and said
_Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus_. Uncle Piero crossed himself devoutly,
and lingered to hear the last gospel. He did not attempt to examine the
paintings, for there was little light in the church, but said with his
accustomed cheerfulness: "Now that I have received that blessing I feel
quite happy!"

It was not possible to hurry in his company. He stopped at every step,
examining everything that seemed artistic, everything that was in a
position to be examined. He studied the front of the church, the triple
stairway of the landing-stage of Villa Borromeo, all three sides of the
courtyard, and the great palm in the centre, which he was much
scandalised to learn Luisa had not even noticed when she had passed it
the night before with Franco. When the custodian ushered them into the
palace, it took the uncle at least ten minutes to climb and admire the
great stairway. As they reached the top a ray of sun glinted forth, and
the custodian proposed that they should take advantage of this and visit
the gardens. He turned to the left and led the visitors through a suite
of empty rooms to the iron gate, where he rang the bell. A gardener
appeared, a civil lad, to whom Uncle Piero took a great fancy, for he
explained everything willingly, and the uncle's questions were not few.
The camphor-tree near the entrance cost him five minutes. Luisa was
distressed, for she feared the uncle would tire himself too much, and
she herself was weary of looking at so many trees, of hearing so many
names, both Latin and Italian, and of having to watch the uncle, while
her thoughts called for silence and solitude. The gardener proposed
going up to the Castello di Nettuno. Uncle Piero would have liked to
inspect more closely the unicorn of the Borromei, which stood rampant up
t