o his wife, who took it in
silence. They stopped between the deserted courtyard and the stairs that
lead to the landing-stage, to count the hours which the clock on the
Palace was ringing out. Six o'clock. Two hours had passed, and there now
remained only eleven before the separation, before the unknown! They
walked on slowly and silently, following the straight path between the
lake and the side of the Palace, as far as the corner which commands a
view of the Isola dei Pescatori, where some lights were already visible.
Two women came towards them, chattering, and walking arm in arm. Franco
allowed them to pass, and then asked his wife if she remembered the
Ranco.

Two years before their marriage they had made an excursion with a party
of friends to Drano and the Ranco, high pasture-lands of the Valsolda,
on the way to the Passo Stretto. They had had a lively dispute, and had
sulked and suffered for an hour. "Yes," Luisa replied, "I remember." At
the same moment both realised how different was the present hour, and
how painful it was to have to admit the difference. They did not speak
again until they reached the corner. Bells rang out on the Isola dei
Pescatori. Franco dropped his wife's arm, and leaned upon the parapet.
The misty lake was silent; nothing was to be seen save the lights on the
other island. The lake, the mist, those lights, those bells, which might
have belonged to a ship lost at sea, the silence of all things, even the
infrequent, tiny rain-drops, everything was so sad!

"And do you remember afterwards?" Franco murmured, without turning his
head. Luisa was also leaning against the parapet. She was silent for a
moment, and then answered in an undertone:

"Yes, dear."

And in her "dear," there was a slight and hidden beginning of warmth, of
affectionate emotion. Franco felt it, and thrilled with joy, but
controlled himself.

"I am thinking," he went on, "of the letter I wrote you as soon as I got
home, and of the three words you said to me next day, at Muzzaglio, when
the others were dancing under the chestnut-trees, and you passed close
to me on your way to get your shawl, which you had left on the grass. Do
you remember?"

"Yes."

He took her hand and raised it to his lips.

"And do you also remember that I slipped before we reached the bridge,
and that you said: 'My dear sir, it is your place to support me!'"

Luisa did not answer, but pressed his hands.

"I have been good for nothing," h