the
poetic, he had left a small corner of his kitchen-garden uncultivated.
The tallest of reeds had sprung up there, and in front of these reeds
the Professor had erected a sort of belvedere, a lofty, wooden platform,
very rustic and primitive, where, in pleasant weather, he passed many
happy hours with the mystic books he loved, enjoying the coolness of the
_breva_, and the murmuring of reeds and waves. At a distance the colour
of the platform could not be distinguished from that of the reeds, and
the Professor looked as if he were seated on air, book in hand, like any
magician. In the little salon he kept the small collection of works on
kitchen-gardening, the mystic books, the treatises on necromancy, and
gnosticism. The writings on hallucinations and dreams he kept in a tiny
study adjoining his bedroom, a sort of ship's cabin, into which lake and
sky seemed to pour through the window.

After the death of old Maironi the Professor had once more taken to
visiting the family, but the Marchesa did not please him particularly,
and her son Don Alessandro, Franco's father, pleased him still less. So
he ended by going there only once a year. When the lad Franco entered
the lyceum his grandmother--his father had been dead some time--begged
Gilardoni to give him some lessons during the Autumn. Master and pupil
resembled each other in their easy enthusiasms, in their fits of violent
but fleeting passion, and both were ardent patriots. When the necessity
for lessons no longer existed they continued to meet as friends, though
the Professor was some twenty years older than Franco. Gilardoni admired
his pupil's genius, but Franco, on the other hand, held the
half-Christian, half-rationalist philosophy of his master, and his
mystical tendencies, in small esteem. He laughed at the other's passion
for books and theories on horticulture and landscape gardening, a
passion which was entirely devoid of all common sense. But nevertheless,
he loved him sincerely for his goodness, his candour, his ardent soul.
Franco had been the Professor's confidant at the time of his unfortunate
passion for Signora Rigey, and later, Franco, in his turn, confided in
the Professor. Gilardoni was much affected by the news, and told Franco
that, his heart being still full to overflowing of that unchanging
devotion, he should feel as if he were, in a way, becoming Franco's
father, even though Signora Teresa herself would have none of him.
Franco showed little