a rising valley
that grows narrower at every step, and finally seems to end abruptly,
as indeed it does, in a dense forest far up the pass. And just below
the woods lies the town of Fillettino, where the road ends; for there
is a road which leads to Tivoli, but does not communicate with
Olevano, whence I had come.

Of course I had made an occasional inquiry by the way, when I could do
so without making people too curious. When anyone asked me where I was
going, I would say I was bound for Fucino, to buy beans for seed at
the wonderful model farm that Torlonia has made by draining the old
lake. And then I would ask about the road; and sometimes I was told
there was a strange foreigner at Fillettino, who made everybody wonder
about him by his peculiar mode of life. Therefore, when I at last saw
the town, I was quite sure that the count was there, and I got off my
little donkey, and let him drink in the stream, while I myself drank a
little higher up. The road was dusty, and my donkey and I were
thirsty.

I thought of all I would do, as I sat on the stone by the water
and the beast cropped the wretched grass, and soon I came to the
conclusion that I did not know in the least what I should do. I had
unexpectedly found what I wanted, very soon, and I was thankful enough
to have been so lucky. But I had not the first conception of what
course I was to pursue when once I had made sure of the count.
Besides, it was barely possible that it was not he, after all, but
another foreigner, with another daughter. The thought frightened me,
but I drove it away. If it were really old Lira who had chosen this
retreat in which to imprison his daughter and himself, I asked myself
whether I could do anything save send word to Nino as soon as
possible.

I felt like a sort of Don Quixote, suddenly chilled into the prosaic
requirements of common sense. Perhaps if Hedwig had been my Dulcinea,
instead of Nino's, the crazy fit would have lasted, and I would have
attempted to scale the castle wall and carry off the prize by force.
There is no telling what a sober old professor of philosophy may not
do when he is crazy. But meanwhile I was sane. Graf von Lira had a
right to live anywhere he pleased with his daughter, and the fact that
I had discovered the spot where he pleased to live did not constitute
an introduction. Or finally, if I got access to the old count, what
had I to say to him? Ought I to make a formal request for Nino? I
looked