ach other for just a few moments. It can
do no harm."

The official shook his head. "It is against orders, Signore, I cannot.
He can see her when she is brought up for examination."

"They will both have lost their senses by that time," I pleaded. "Can't
you think of some way? I have known her from a child. Perhaps an order
from headquarters might be of some use." We were standing, at the time,
in a long corridor ending in a door protected by an iron grating. This
led to the underground cells.

The chief fastened his eyes on me for an instant, turned abruptly,
called to an attendant, gave an order in a low voice and, with the
words to Vittorio--"You are not to speak to her, remember," motioned
the sobbing man toward the grating. Luigi and I followed.

She came slowly out of the shadows, first the drawn face peering ahead,
as if wondering why she had been sent for, then the white crumpled
dress, and then the dark eyes searching the gloom of the corridor.
Vittorio had caught sight of her and was clinging to the grating, his
body shaking, his tears blinding him.

The girl gave a half-smothered cry, darted forward and covered
Vittorio's hands with her own. Some whispered word must have followed,
for the old light broke over her face and she would have cried out for
joy had not Luigi cautioned her. For a moment the two stood with
fingers intertwined, their bowed foreheads kept apart by the cold
grating. Then the boy, straining his face between the bars, as if to
reach her lips, loosened one hand, took something from his pocket and
slipped it over her finger.

It was her wedding ring.

IV

Summer has faded, the gold of autumn has turned to brown, and the raw,
cold winds of winter have whirled the dead leaves over rookeries, quay,
and garden. The boats rock at their tethers and now and then a sea gull
darts through the canal and sweeps on to the lagoon. In the narrow
opening fronting the broad waters lawless waves quarrel and clash,
forcing their way among the frightened ripples of San Giuseppe, ashy
gray under the lowering sky.

All these months a girl has clung to an iron grating or has lain on a
pallet in one corner of her cell. Once in a while she presses her lips
to a ring on her left hand, her face lighting up. Sometimes she breaks
out into a song, continuing until the keeper checks her.

Then spring comes.

And with it the painter from over the sea.

All the way from Milan as far as Verona, and beyon