idea that the fellow had got off. Corona was merely
surprised.

"Yes. Heaven knows how--he has escaped. I am here to cut him off if he
tries to get to the Serra di Sant' Antonio."

Giovanni laughed.

"He will scarcely try to come this way--under the very walls of my
house," he said.

"He may do anything. He is a slippery fellow." Gouache proceeded to tell
all he knew of the circumstances.

"That is very strange," said Corona, thoughtfully. Then after a pause,
she added, "We are going to visit our road, Monsieur Gouache. Will you
not come with us? My husband will give you a horse."

Gouache was charmed. He preferred talking to Giovanni and looking at
Corona's face to returning to his six Zouaves, or patrolling the hills in
search of Del Ferice. In a few minutes the three were mounted, and riding
slowly along the level stretch towards the works. As they entered the new
road Giovanni and Corona unconsciously fell into conversation, as usual,
about what they were doing, and forgot their visitor. Gouache dropped
behind, watching the pair and admiring them with true artistic
appreciation. He had a Parisian's love of luxury and perfect appointments
as well as an artist's love of beauty, and his eyes rested with
unmitigated pleasure on the riders and their horses, losing no detail of
their dress, their simple English accoutrements, their firm seats and
graceful carriage. But at a turn of the grade the two riders suddenly
slipped from his field of vision, and his attention was attracted to the
marvellous beauty of the landscape, as looking down the valley towards
Astrardente he saw range on range of purple hills rising in a deep
perspective, crowned with jagged rocks or sharply defined brown villages,
ruddy in the lowering sun. He stopped his horse and sat motionless,
drinking in the loveliness before him. So it is that accidents in nature
make accidents in the lives of men.

But Giovanni and Corona rode slowly down the gentle incline, hardly
noticing that Gouache had stopped behind, and talking of the work. As
they again turned a curve of the grade Corona, who was on the inside,
looked up and caught sight of Gouache's motionless figure at the opposite
extremity of the gradient they had just descended. Giovanni looked
straight before him, and was aware of a pale-faced Capuchin friar who
with downcast eyes was toiling up the road, seemingly exhausted; a
particularly weather-stained and dilapidated friar even for those wi