"Signor Maironi," said he, "you have had your lesson. This time you may return to your home, and I advise you to learn to respect the Authorities."
Amazement, joy, and indignation welled up in Franco's heart. He controlled himself, however, biting his lips, and started homewards at a leisurely pace. He had not yet turned the corner of the church when Luisa recognised his step, and called, "Franco!"
He sprang forward, and she saw him. Then her shadow vanished from the window. He rushed into the house, flung himself up the stairs, crying, "Free! Free!" while his wife came flying down, exclaiming wildly, "How! How! How!" They sought each other with eager arms, clung together, pressing close, without further speech.
But afterwards, in the loggia, they talked incessantly for two hours, of all they had heard, seen, and experienced, always coming back to the sabre, the papers, the coins, dwelling upon many trifling details, on the detective's Venetian accent, on the dark-haired gendarme, who seemed a good fellow, and the fair-haired gendarme, who must be a regular cur. From time to time they would cease speaking, enjoying in silence their sense of security, the sweetness of home, but presently they would begin again. Before going to bed they stepped out on the terrace. The night was dark and warm, the lake motionless. The sultriness, the gloom, the vague and monstrous shapes of the mountains, seemed to their imagination heavy with the mortal weight of Austria. The very air itself seemed full of it. Neither Franco nor Luisa was sleepy, but they must go to bed on account of the servant who was watching with Maria. They entered the room on tiptoe. The child was sleeping, her breathing almost normal.
They also tried to sleep, but could not. They could not refrain from talking, especially Franco. He would ask softly: "Are you asleep?" and upon her answering, "No," the coins, the papers, the sabre, or the bully with his Venetian accent would be discussed once more. By this time there was nothing new to be said on these subjects, and, as Maria began to be restless, and to show signs of waking, towards dawn, Luisa answered, "Yes," the next time Franco inquired softly, "Are you asleep?" and after that he kept quiet, as if he really believed it.
The day after the search at Casa Ribera, Oria, Albogasio, and S. Mamette were full of whisperings. "Have you heard?—Oh, dear Lord!—Have you heard?—Oh, holy Madonna!" But the loudest whisperings were of course those that communicated the news to Barborin Pasotti. Her husband shouted into her face: "Maironi! Police! Gendarmes! Arrest!" The poor woman concluded an army had swept her friends away, and began to puff—"oh! oh!"—like an engine. Then she groaned and wept, and questioned Pasotti about the child. Pasotti, who was determined not to allow her to go down to Oria and exhibit her affection for the Maironis under these circumstances, replied with a gesture like the sweep of a broom. Gone! Gone! She also!—But the servant? The servant must surely be there still. The crafty man made another sweeping gesture in the air, and then Barborin grasped the fact that His Imperial and Royal Austrian Majesty had had the servant carried off as well.
But the most malicious whisperings were uttered at a great distance from Valsolda, in a room in the Maironi Palace, at Brescia. Ten days after the search the Chevalier Greisberg di S. Giustina, a cousin of the Maironis, who had been attached to the government of Field-Marshal Radetzky in Verona until 1853, and had then accompanied his master to Milan, alighted at the door of Casa Maironi from the carriage of the Imperial and Royal Delegate of Brescia, whose guest he had been for some days. The Chevalier, a handsome man of about forty, perfumed, and smartly dressed, did not look particularly happy as he stood very erect in the centre of the reception room, examining the ancient stucco-work of the ceiling, and waiting for the Marchesa, who was of the same period. Nevertheless, when the door opposite him, pushed open by a servant's hand, admitted Madam's big person, marble countenance, and black wig, the Chevalier was at once transformed, and kissed the old lady's wrinkled hand with fervour. A Lombard gentlewoman devoted to Austria was a rare animal, and extremely precious to the Imperial and Royal government. Every loyal functionary owed her the most obsequious gallantry. The Marchesa received the homage of her cousin the Chevalier with her usual unruffled dignity, and having invited him to be seated, enquired after his family and thanked him for his call, all in the same guttural and sleepy tone. Finally, slightly out of breath from the fatigue of uttering so many words, she crossed her hands over her stomach, and let it be seen that she was now waiting for what her cousin might have to say.
She expected he would speak about Engineer Ribera and the search. She had on previous occasions expressed to him her displeasure that Franco should be under the influence of his wife and Ribera, and her surprise that the government should retain in its service one who in 1848 had openly played the Liberal, and whose family—especially that artful young woman—professed the most impudent Liberalism. The Chevalier Greisberg had assured her that her wise observations should be given due consideration. Then the Marchesa had instigated the Commissary Zérboli against the poor Engineer-in-Chief, and it had been through Zérboli that she had heard of the search. Therefore, when Greisberg appeared she concluded he had come to speak of that. Now, she was quite willing to make the government serve her own private rancour, but, as a matter of principle, she never recognised a debt of gratitude toward any one. By thus subjecting a doubtful functionary to examination, the Austrian government had been working in its own interests. She had not asked for anything; it was not for her to ask, it was for the Chevalier to speak first. But the Chevalier, cunning, sly, and proud, did not understand his rôle in this way. The old woman wanted a favour, and in order to obtain it she must bow down and kiss the beneficent claws of government.
He remained silent for some time, to collect his thoughts, and in the hope that the other would yield. Seeing that she remained mute and unbending, he himself became suddenly smiling and gracious, told her that he had come from Verona, and proposed that she guess what route he had taken. He had passed through such a sweet town, had seen such a charming villa, so splendid, a real paradise! The Marchesa was not good at guessing; she asked if he had been in Brianza. No, he had not come from Verona to Brescia by way of Brianza. He once more described the villa, and this time so minutely that the Marchesa could not help recognising her own estate of Monzambano. Then the Chevalier proposed that she guess why he had gone to see the villa. She guessed at once, guessed the whole plot of the comedy that was being acted for her benefit, but her dull face said nothing of this. The Delegate had once before sounded her to ascertain if she would be willing to let the villa to His Excellency the Marshal, but she—having been secretly threatened with fire and death by the Liberals of Brescia—had found some polite excuses. She now perceived in Greisberg's words the tacit offer of a bargain, and stood on her guard. She confessed to her cousin that she was unable to guess even this. Indeed she felt she was growing more and more stupid every day. The effect of years and grief! "I have had a great grief very lately," she said. "I am told that the Police have searched my grandson's house at Oria."