or Luigi had no hesitation in
ascribing her behaviour to jealousy. 'Does not that note drive through
your bosom, excellent lady? I can fancy the tremble going all down your
legs. You are poisoned with honey. How you hate it! If you only had a
dagger!'

Vittoria sang but for a short space. Simultaneously with the cessation
of her song Ammiani reached the door, but had scarcely taken his
stand there when, catching sight of Luigi, he crossed the street, and
recognizing him, questioned him sternly as to his business opposite the
maestro's house. Luigi pointed to a female figure emerging. 'See! take
her home,' he said. Ammiani released him and crossed back hurriedly,
when, smiting his forehead, Luigi cried in despair, 'Thirty napoleons
and my professional reputation lost!' He blew a whistle; the carriage
dashed down from the head of the street. While Ammiani was following the
swiftly-stepping figure in wonderment (knowing it could not be Vittoria,
yet supposing it must be, without any clear aim of his wits), the
carriage drew up a little in advance of her; three men--men of bulk and
sinew jumped from it; one threw himself upon Ammiani, the others
grasped the affrighted lady, tightening a veil over her face, and the
carriage-door shut sharp upon her. Ammiani's assailant then fell away:
Luigi flung himself on the box and shouted, 'The signorina is behind
you!' And Ammiani beheld Vittoria standing in alarm, too joyful to know
that it was she. In the spasm of joy he kissed her hands. Before they
could intercommunicate intelligibly the carriage was out of their sight,
going at a gallop along the eastern strada of the circumvallation of the
city.

CHAPTER XV

AMMIANI THROUGH THE MIDNIGHT

Ammiani hurried Vittoria out of the street to make safety sure. 'Home,'
she said, ashamed of her excitement, and not daring to speak more words,
lest the heart in her throat should betray itself. He saw what the
fright had done for her. Perhaps also he guessed that she was trying to
conceal her fancied cowardice from him. 'I have kissed her hands,' he
thought, and the memory of it was a song of tenderness in his blood by
the way.

Vittoria's dwelling-place was near the Duomo, in a narrow thoroughfare
leading from the Duomo to the Piazza of La Scala, where a confectioner
of local fame conferred upon the happier members of the population most
piquant bocconi and tartlets, and offered by placard to give an emotion
to the nobility, the l