CHAPTER IX

FOR BREAD, FOR ITALY, FOR GOD

Eight months later, in September, 1855, Franco was occupying a miserable attic in Via Barbaroux, Turin. In February he had obtained the post of translator for the _Opinione_, with a monthly salary of eighty-five lire. Later he began to write the parliamentary reports, and his salary was raised to a hundred lire. Dina, the manager of the paper, was fond of him, and procured him extra work outside the office, thus adding twenty-five or thirty lire to his earnings. Franco lived on sixty lire a month. The rest went to Lugano to be carried thence to Oria by the faithful hands of Ismaele. To live a month on sixty lire took more courage than Franco himself had believed he possessed. The hours at the office, the translating--a laborious task for one full of scruples and literary timidity--weighed more heavily upon him than the privations; moreover he felt even sixty lire was too large a sum, and reproached himself for not being able to do with less.

He had attached himself to six other refugees, some of whom were Lombards, others Venetians. They ate together, walked together, conversed together. With the exception of Franco and a young man from Udine, all the others were between thirty and forty years of age. All were extremely poor, and not one of them had ever consented to accept a penny from the Piedmontese Government as a subsidy. The young man from Udine came of a rich family, of Austrian tendencies, and received not a penny from home. He was a good flutist, gave four or five lessons a week, and played in the small orchestras of second-rate theatres. A notary from Padua was copyist in Boggio's office. A lawyer from Caprino, Bergamasco, who had seen service at Rome in 1849, was book-keeper at a large establishment in Via Nuovo, where umbrellas and walking-sticks were sold, and for this reason his friends had dubbed him "the knave of clubs." A fourth, a Milanese, had been through the campaign of 1848 as one of Carlo Alberto's scouts. His present occupation was to quarrel continually with "the knave of clubs," for reasons of provincial rivalry, to teach fencing in a couple of boarding schools, and in winter to play the piano behind a mysterious curtain in halls where polkas were danced at a penny each. The others lived on insufficient allowances from their families. All except Franco were unmarried, and all were gay. They called themselves, and were called by others, the "seven wise men," and in their wisdom they dominated Turin from the elevated positions of seven attics, scattered all over the city from Borgo San Dalmazzo to Piazza Milano.

Franco's was the most wretched of these attics, the rent being only seven lire a month. No member of this band had any services whatsoever performed for them, save the notary from Padua, for whom the doorkeeper's sister carried water to his attic, and had he not been the calm philosopher he was, the merciless teasings of his friends would have made him regret Marga's devotion. They all cleaned their own boots. The most skilful with his hands was Franco, and it was his lot to sew on his friends' buttons when they did not wish to humble themselves by applying to the lawyer and his Marga, who, nevertheless, often had her hands full, "poor, overworked woman that I am!" The young man from Udine had a sweetheart, a little _tota_[N] from the first booth in Piazza Castello on the corner of Po, but he was jealous, and would not allow her to sew on buttons for any one. The friends took their revenge by calling her "the puppet," because she sold puppets and dolls. However, thanks to "the puppet," he was the only member of the band whose clothes were always in order, and whose cravat was always tied in a graceful knot. They took their meals at a restaurant in Vanchiglia, which they had christened "Stomach-ache Tavern," and where they had lunch and dinner for thirty lire a month.

Their only extravagance was the _bicierin_, a mixture of coffee, milk, and chocolate, costing only fifteen centimes. They drank this in the morning, the Venetians at the Cafe Alfieri, the others at Cafe Florio. All except Franco, however. He went without the _bicierin_ and the _torcett_, a cake costing a penny that went with it, in order that he might lay by enough for a little trip to Lugano, and a trifling present for Maria. In the winter they walked under the porticoes of Po, the "wise ones" in the vicinity of the University, while the more light-minded frequented the porticoes on the San Francesco side. After their walk they would go to a coffee-house, where the one whose turn it was would sip a cup of coffee, while the others read the newspapers and looted the sugar basin. Once a week, to satisfy the "knave of clubs," they would betake themselves to a den in Via Bertola, where the purest and most exquisite Giambava wine was to be had.

The flutist from Udine of course went to the theatres, and by his means some of the others went _gratis_ from time to time, but always to the play, and usually either to the Rossini or Gerbino theatres. For Franco to be obliged to pass the posters at the Regio and the other opera houses was a far greater trial than to be obliged to clean his own boots and lunch off two square inches of omelet that was so thin it would have served admirably to observe the spots on the sun through. He had had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of a certain C., a Venetian, who was secretary at the department of Public Works, and who presented him to the family of a most distinguished major in the sanitary corps, also Venetian, and who owned a piano and was in the habit of receiving a few friends of an evening, on which occasions he would regale them with a cup of most excellent coffee of a quality almost unique in the Turin of those days. When, for one reason or another, the "seven wise men" did not spend the evening together, Franco would go to this gentleman's house in Piazza Milano, to make music, to converse on art with the daughters, or to discuss politics with his hostess, a fierce Venetian patriot, a woman of great talents, and possessed of a strenuous soul, who had not only borne heroically all the hardships and the bitterness of exile, but had sustained the courage of her husband, whose first steps had been most painful and difficult; for those precious, honest old numskulls of the inflexible Piedmontese administration had actually obliged this already famous professor of the University of Padua to submit to an examination, before they would admit him into the army as surgeon.[O]

The correspondence between Turin and Oria did not indeed reflect the true state of mind of Franco and Luisa; it ran on smoothly and affectionately enough, but with great caution and reserve on either side. Luisa had expected that Franco would answer her note, and resume the great discussion. As he never mentioned either the note or what had passed between them that last night, she risked an allusion. It was allowed to pass unheeded. As a matter of fact Franco had several times started to write with the intention of confuting his wife's opinions. Before beginning he always felt himself strong, and was convinced that with a little thought he could easily discover crushing arguments, and, indeed, arguments he believed to be such would rush to his pen, but when they were set down in writing, he would at once be forced to recognise their inadequacy. Though surprised and grieved he would make another attempt, but always with the same result. Nevertheless his wife was certainly in error; this he never for a moment doubted, and there must be a way of demonstrating it to her. He must study. But what, and how? He consulted a priest to whom he had been to confession soon after his arrival in Turin. This priest, a little misshapen old man, who was fiery and very learned, invited him to his house in Piazza Paisana, and began to help him enthusiastically, suggesting a number of books, some for his own perusal, and others to be sent to his wife. He was a learned Orientalist, and an enthusiastic Thomist, and had taken a great fancy to Franco, of whose genius and culture he had formed an opinion which was perhaps exaggeratedly favourable. At one time he was on the point of proposing to him the study of Hebrew, and indeed insisted upon his reading St. Thomas. He went so far as to sketch for Franco the outlines of a letter to his wife, with a list of the arguments he must expound. Franco had at once fallen in love with the enthusiastic little old man, who, moreover, had the pure expression of a saint. He began to study St. Thomas with great ardour, but did not persevere long. He felt he was embarking upon a sea without beginning and without end, across which he was unable to steer a straight course. The scholastic scheme of treatment, that sameness in the form of argument for and against, that icy Latin, dense with profound thought, and colourless on the surface, had successfully routed all his good intentions at the end of three days. Of the arguments contained in the sketch for the letter he understood only a small part. He got the priest to explain them to him, understood somewhat better, and prepared to open a campaign with them, but found himself as much encumbered by them as was David by the armour of Saul. They weighed upon him, he could not handle them, he felt they were not his own and never would be. No, he could not present himself before his wife with Professor G.'s priestly hat and tunic, a theological lance in his hand, and entrenched behind a shield of metaphysics. He recognised that he was not born to philosophise in any way; he was destitute of the very power of strictly logical reasoning, for indeed his glowing heart, rich in tenderness and indignation, would too often interfere, speaking for or against, according to its own passions. One evening at Casa C. he was playing the _andante_ of Beethoven's twenty-eighth sonata, when, with quivering nerves and flashing eyes, he said in a low tone: "Ah! This, this, this!" He was reflecting that no theologian, no doctor, could communicate the religious sentiment as Beethoven does. As he played on he put his whole soul into the music, and longed for Luisa's presence that he might play this divine _andante_ to her, that he might unite himself to her, praying thus in an ineffable spasm of the spirit. But he did not reflect that Luisa who, moreover, was far less sensitive to music than he was, would probably have attributed another meaning to the _andante_, that of the painful conflict between our affections and our convictions.

He went to G., returned the works of St. Thomas and confessed his utter incapacity in such humble and feeling language, that after a few moments of frowning and uneasy silence, the old priest forgave him. "There, there, there!" said he, resignedly taking back the first volume of the _Somma_. "Commend yourself to our Lord, and let us hope He Himself will act." Thus ended Franco's theological studies.

All this pondering of his wife's opinions and his own, and above all the Professor's advice: "Commend yourself to our Lord," were not fruitless. He began to see that on some points Luisa was not mistaken. When she had reproached him for not leading a life in conformity with his faith, he had been more offended by this than by anything else. Now a generous impulse carried him to the other extreme; he judged himself severely, exaggerated his faults of idleness, of anger, even of greed, and held himself responsible for Luisa's intellectual aberrations. He felt a desire to tell her this, to humble himself before her, to separate his own cause from the cause of God. When he obtained his position on the _Opinione_, and regulated his own expenses in such a manner as to be able to make an allowance to his family, his wife wrote that this allowance was entirely too large in proportion to his earnings, and that the thought of him, living in Turin on sixty lire a month, gave her own food a bitter taste. He answered--and this was not strictly true--that in the first place, he never went hungry, but that he would, indeed, be glad to fast, because he felt an intense desire to change his way of life, to expiate his past idleness, including the hours he had wasted on his flowers and music, to expiate all past softness, all past weaknesses, including the weakness for dainty dishes and fine wines. He added that he had asked God's forgiveness for this past life, and that he felt he must ask her forgiveness also. In fact the Paduan, with whom Franco had become very intimate, and to whom he read this passage in his letter as a sort of confirmation of previous confessions, exclaimed: "That bit sounds for all the world like the oration of Manasseh, king of Judaea!"

Luisa wrote most affectionately, but with less effusion. Franco's silence on the painful subject displeased her, and she felt it would be unwise on her part to allude to it in the face of a silence so obstinate.

His good intentions concerning labour and self-sacrifice moved her deeply; when she read that confession of great wickedness, followed by the prayer for pardon to God and to herself, she smiled and kissed the letter, feeling that this was an act of submission, and a humble acceptance of the censure which had at first only irritated him. Poor Franco! These were the impulses of his noble, generous nature! But would they last? She answered at once, and if her emotion was apparent in her answer, so also was her smile, which displeased Franco. At the end he found these words: "When I read your many self-accusations I thought, with remorse, of the accusations I brought against you, one sad night, and I felt that you also had been thinking of them as you wrote, although neither in this letter nor in any other are they alluded to. I deeply regret those accusations, my own Franco, but how I wish we could speak together as true friends, concerning those other questions of which I think so much here in my solitude!"

Luisa's wish remained ungratified. In answering Franco did not even touch on this point; indeed his next letter was somewhat cool, so Luisa did not again revert to the subject. Only once, when speaking of Maria, did she write: "If you could only see how Maria recites her 'Our Father' every night and morning, and how well she behaves at Mass, on Sundays, you would be satisfied."

He replied: "As to what you tell me concerning Maria's religious exercises, I am satisfied, and I thank you!"

Both Luisa and Franco wrote almost every day, and sent their letters once a week. Ismaele went to the post at Lugano every Tuesday, taking the wife's letters and bringing back the husband's. In June Maria had the measles, and in August Uncle Piero lost the sight of his left eye, almost without warning, and for some time was greatly distressed. During these two periods the letters from Oria were more frequent, but in September the weekly correspondence was resumed. From the bundle of letters I take the last that passed between Franco and Luisa, on the eve of those events which overwhelmed them at the end of September.

LUISA TO FRANCO.

"_September 14, 1856._

"I do not think Pasotti will ever come to our house again. I am sorry on poor Barborin's account, for I fear she will not be able to come either, but I do not regret what I did.

"He has known perfectly well for some time that you are in Turin. He even talked of it with the Receiver, so Maria Pon told me. She was in the Romit chapel, and heard them talking on their way down from Albogasio Superiore. When he came here he would always pretend not to know, and would enquire for you with his usual assumption of interest and friendship. To-day he found me alone in the little garden and asked how much longer you would be absent and whether you were in Milan at present. I answered frankly that his question surprised me. He turned pale. 'Why?' said he. 'Because you have been going about saying that Franco is in an entirely different place.' He became confused and protested angrily. 'You may protest as much as you like!' I said. 'It is quite useless. You know that. At all events Franco is very well off where he is. You may say as much to whomever you please.' 'You wish to insult me!' he exclaimed. I did not stop to think long, but retorted: 'That is quite possible!' Then he rushed away without saluting me, and looking as black as the ace of spades--that simile suits my present mood! I am sure he will go to Cressogno this evening.

"Custant has sent us a present of a magnificent tench which he caught this morning, much to the chagrin of Bianconi, who fishes all day long, and never catches anything. He is furious with the impudent tench because they snap their fingers--so to speak--at His Imperial and Royal Majesty of Austria and his Carlascia. 'Poor fellow!' says Signora Peppina. 'He is eating his heart out!'

"However, he will get over it, he will get over it.

"_September 15._

"I related the Pasotti episode to Uncle Piero and he was very much annoyed. 'Much good this will do you!' he said. Poor Uncle! One might almost suspect him of being a utilitarian, whereas he is really a philosopher. After all the strongest argument he ever opposes to all my burning indignation against the many ugly things in this world is: 'Worrying won't mend it!'

"To-day the parish Mass was said at Albogasio Superiore. In coming out of church with Maria I caught a despairing glance from poor Barborin, who evidently had orders to avoid me. However, Ester walked down with us and coming into the house told me privately something I have been expecting to hear. She began by begging me not to laugh, while all the time she was laughing herself. I succeeded in gathering that the Professor, by dint of great perseverance, has overcome her resistance, although Ester still declares she does not know her own mind.

"'It is his nose!' she said this morning, laughing and hiding her gay little face. Indeed that scandalous nose seems to me to be prospering; it is redder than ever, and grows ever larger!

"_September 18._

"I have not written for three days, fearing I should not be mistress of my pen, nor be able to confine my thoughts within words which must not exceed certain bounds. Now I feel equal to the task, and so I will set about it. But I must warn you, Franco, that I am not sure of being able to control my feelings all the way through.

"Well, then, your grandmother's agent came to me on the evening of the fifteenth. As the half-yearly payment of your income is due on the sixteenth, I concluded he had come to bring the five hundred _svanziche_, and so I told him at once that I would go and prepare the receipt for him. Then the most gracious Signor Bellini informed me that my receipt would not be sufficient. 'How can that be?' I said. 'It was sufficient on the sixteenth of March.' 'I don't know,' he replied. 'I have my orders.' 'But Franco is not here.' 'I know that.' 'Then what did you come here for?' 'I came to tell you that if Don Franco wishes to draw his money he must present himself at the Signora Marchesa's agency in Brescia.' 'And what if he cannot go to Brescia?' Here Signor Bellini made a gesture that meant, 'That is your affair.' I replied that it was all right, had coffee brought for him, and told him I was anxious to purchase the book-shelves in your old study at Cressogno from the Signora Marchesa. Bellini turned yellow, and sneaked away like our old dog Pato at Casa Rigey when he had been stealing.

"Most certainly the worthy Pasotti has had a finger in this dirty business.

"The Prefect of Caravina was here yesterday and told us that Pasotti went to Cressogno on the evening of the fourteenth. He was very late, and reached your grandmother's house while they were saying the rosary, so he had to mumble the prayers with the others, which greatly amused the prefect, for it is his opinion that Pasotti goes to Mass simply because he is an Imperial and Royal pensioner, but that his only prayer is 'the rats' Pater,' whatever that may be. He added that after the others had gone out Pasotti remained in confabulation with your grandmother, and that Bellini was also present. Bellini had arrived that very day from Brescia. He probably brought the money for you.

"We have enough left to live upon until the money comes from you in October. That is all I wish to say.

"Maria sends you the cyclamen you will find enclosed. I must also tell you the following incident. You can fancy she notices the state of mind I am in. She often hears me discussing the subject with Uncle Piero. The uncle is always the uncle! In his whole life he has set down as rascals only such contractors as offered him bribes, and another uncle his exact opposite, who, after making use of his nephew for many years, died without leaving him so much as a dried fig. He would never recognise any other rascals, nor will he do so even now. Well, when I am talking with him, Maria always wants to listen. I send her away, but I sometimes fail to notice that she has returned very softly. This morning she began saying her prayers. Oh, Franco! your daughter is indeed very religious in your own way! The last prayer she repeats is a _requiem_ for poor Grandmamma Teresa. 'Mamma,' said she when she had finished, 'I want to recite a _requiem_ for the grandmother in Cressogno also.' Never mind my answer. My words were bitter; perhaps I did wrong; I am even ready to confess I did wrong. Maria looked at me, and said: 'Is the grandmother at Cressogno really wicked?' 'Yes.' 'But why does Uncle Piero say she is not really wicked?' 'Because Uncle Piero is so very good.' 'Then you are not so very good?' My dear little innocent! I devoured her with kisses, I could not help it! As soon as she was free to speak she began again: 'You will not go to Paradise, you know, if you are not so very good.' Paradise is her one idea. Poor Franco, not to have her with you, you who would be so satisfied with her! You are indeed making a great sacrifice! If it will give you any pleasure I will tell you that the only possibility for me to love God is through this child, for in her God becomes visible and intelligible to me.

"Good-bye, Franco. I embrace you.

"LUISA.

"P. S. I must tell you that I have dismissed Veronica for the first of October. This I did in the first place for reasons of economy, and secondly because I have discovered that she is flirting with a customs-guard. Oh! I almost forgot something else! Half an hour ago Ester came to tell me she has decided to say 'yes,' but she wishes to wait a day longer before seeing the Professor. She has evidently succeeded in swallowing the nose, but has not yet digested it."

FRANCO TO LUISA.

"TURIN, _September 14, 1855_.

"The 'knave of clubs' is threatened with dismissal by his employer on account of the truly miserable state of his clothes. The 'knave' is indeed given to extravagance, and has not yet learned--_duris in rebus_--to handle a clothes brush, but however that may be, the other 'wise men' have decided not to lunch for a week in order that he may re-clothe himself. Now observe the baseness of the human heart! The 'knave,' overflowing with expressions of gratitude, calmly prepared to go to his own lunch! This, however, we would not stand. So to-day, instead of repairing to Stomach-ache Tavern, we spent half an hour on the banks of the Po, near the Valentino, watching the water flow past. The wise man from Udine had brought his flute with him, because music should not be wanting at an ideal lunch, at which the most Irimalchionian ideas of food and beverages are handed round. He also had with him a letter from his family, containing magnificent proposals for his return to the fold. They even offer him a riding-horse. He says he has written them that they will soon see him come dashing up on one of King Victor Emmanuel's horses. Then the Paduan, who is a wag, said to him with a great assumption of seriousness, "Ah, my hero! So you are beginning to blow your own trumpet as well as play the flute!" The flutist was wild, but presently he calmed down, and played us a nice little tune. The strange part of it all is that none of us felt hungry. However, when the meeting was adjourned, we decided that the 'knave's' clothing should be simplified, and that he could get along without the _justicoat_, known in modern parlance as the waistcoat.

"Ah! We would all gladly do without dinner as well as lunch if we could only cross the Ticino with the King in April, 1856! We talked of this on our way back to the city after the ideal lunch. The Paduan observed that the water is too cold in April and that we had better wait until the end of June. We began to talk about how great Italy will be without the Germans. I assure you we were all enthusiastic, in spite of the emptiness of our stomachs. All except the Paduan of course, but of him I must tell you that if he is reduced almost to the verge of starvation, it is because he will not tolerate the Austrians, and that although he is knocking at the door of forty, he will fight better than some of these young fellows who are now devouring an Austrian for lunch, and two for dinner! He says we shall once more become a cat and dog kingdom. 'Mark this, for example,' he added. 'When the Germans shall have departed, each of us will return to his own home, and woe to you if you come and worry me in Padua!' I can almost fancy I am listening to Uncle Piero, when, at Oria, we used to discuss the greatness and the splendid future of Italy. 'Yes, yes, yes!' he would say, 'Yes, yes, yes! The lake will turn into milk and honey, and the Galbiga will become a Parmesan cheese!'

"We shall see! We shall see!

"_September 21._

"Your letter has awakened in me a tumult of feelings which cannot be described in writing.

"Of course my grandmother's action and the indirect malevolence of Pasotti grieve me deeply, but your too violent indignation is far more painful to me. When some one holding my power-of-attorney presents himself at Brescia, payment cannot be refused. It is true that you, a woman, are not expected to know these things. I can also forgive your anger, for in the beginning I myself was not unmoved. Then I asked myself: Why are you indignant? Why are you surprised? Were you not already acquainted with that evil spirit, and have you not already suffered greater insult from it?

"I am most deeply grieved that you did not succeed in hiding your feelings from Maria; I am deeply moved to learn that you repented of this; and deeply thankful that you love the Lord in the child, and that you have confessed as much to me. Indeed I feel I should not be so overjoyed at this, for the heavens and the earth are always inviting us to love God; He is visible in every ray of light, and His voice may be heard in every truth. But, at least, you are beginning to hear this voice! I have never touched upon this subject in my letters because I feel I am not capable of speaking worthily and efficaciously of it to you. And now I shall let God Himself speak to you through the child, and once more resume my silence. But remember, I am waiting in suspense; I am hoping and praying.

"How can I express to you what I feel for Maria? Who could describe this emotion, this immense tenderness, this consuming desire to clasp her for a moment, only for one moment, to my heart? Do you believe I shall be able to wait until November? No, no, no! I will write, I will copy, I will do the work of others, but I must come to Lugano sooner! Cover her with kisses for me, and meanwhile, tell her that Papa carries his Maria in his heart always, and that he sends her his blessing. Ask her what she wishes me to bring her and let me know, without thinking too much about my poverty.

"With my whole soul I embrace you, my Luisa.

"FRANCO."

LUISA TO FRANCO. "_September 24, 1855._

"At last! Ever since you left I have been longing for you to touch upon this question. How did I explain myself that night, in my painful emotion? How did you understand me, in your equally painful emotion? For months and months I have felt the necessity of speaking of this to you, and I have never done so because I lacked courage.

"You will remember you accused me of pride that night. I implore you to believe that I am not proud. I cannot even understand such an accusation.

"Your letter gives me the idea that you think I have returned to a belief in God. But did I ever tell you that I do not believe in God? I cannot have told you so, for the whole history of my opinions is engraved upon my mind, and the fright, the distressing thought that I might perhaps no longer be able to believe in God, came to me after you left. I know the day, the very hour. At S. Mamette I had heard them talking of a great dinner your grandmother had given at Brescia, while I could not even procure the food and wine necessary for the diet the doctor--fearing the loss of the right eye--had prescribed for our beloved Uncle. I struggled against these awful shadows, Franco, and I conquered. It is true the victory is due, in a great measure, to Maria. I mean that if all these black clouds hide the existence of Supreme Justice from me, a ray of light from it reaches me through Maria; and this ray of light makes me believe, makes me hope in the Orb. For it would be too horrible if the universe were not governed by justice!

"That night then, I can only have told you that I understood religion in a different way from you; that prayers and acts of Christian faith did not seem to me essential to the religious idea, but rather love and actions for those who suffer, rather indignation and actions against those who cause suffering!

"And you wish to resume your silence? No, you must not. You feel weak, you say. Do you feel you yourself are weak, or your _Credo_? Let us reason, let us discuss. Confess that one reason why you who believe, love your beliefs, is because they are comfortably restful to the intellect. You stretch yourselves at your ease in them as in a hammock, suspended in the air by innumerable threads spun by men and fastened by men to many hooks. You are comfortable, and if any one examines or lays his hand upon one only of these threads, you are troubled, and afraid it will snap, because very probably its neighbour will snap also, and after that one, another; and so, to your great fright and pain, your fragile bed will come tumbling down from the sky to the earth. I know this fright and this pain, I know that the satisfaction of walking on solid ground must be purchased at this cost, and therefore I am not deterred by a pity that would be false from discussing with you. But I may be mistaken, and perhaps it may be you who will lift me up, up to your resting place of fragile threads and air. Maria is not equal to this task. If Maria makes me believe in God, it does not follow that she can make me believe in the Church as well. And you yourself believe in the Church above all things. Therefore try to convince me, and I also will listen in suspense, and though I do not pray, at least I can hope, because now my longing for a perfect union with you is stronger than ever before. Now, together with my old affection, I feel a new admiration for you, a new gratitude towards you.

"Will you take offence at this outpouring of mine? Remember that you must have found a letter from me in your handbag, eight months ago, and that I have waited eight months for an answer!

"The Professor and Ester now meet at our house as fiances. They, at least, are happy. She goes to church and he does not, and neither of them thinks any more about it than they do about the difference in the colour of their hair. And I believe nine hundred and ninety-nine couples in a thousand do the same."

"I embrace you. Write me a long, long letter.

"LUISA."

This letter did not leave Lugano until September 26th, and Franco received it on the 27th. On the 29th, at eight o'clock in the morning, he received the following telegram, also from Lugano:

"Child dangerously ill. Come at once.

"UNCLE."

FOOTNOTES:

[N] _Tota_ is Piedmontese for young girl, often used in the sense of _grisette_. [_Translator's note._]

[O] It must be remembered that Padua and its university were at that time dominated by the Austrians, and that patriotism drove this "already famous professor" to give up his position and migrate to free Piedmont. [_Translator's note._]