He tried, but he had neither Luisa's imagination nor her skill, and soon came to a stand-still. "Oh, papa!" said Maria, in a compassionate tone, "you don't know how to tell stories."
This was humiliating. "Listen, listen!" he answered, and began reciting a ballad by Carrer, always going back to the beginning after the first four lines, which were all he knew of it, his expression becoming ever more mysterious, his voice ever fainter, until it was only an inarticulate murmur, and thus at last Signorina Missipipì, lulled by the rhythm of the lines, passed with them into the world of dreams. When he heard her sleeping peacefully it seemed to him he was so cruel to leave her, he felt himself such a traitor, that he wavered in his resolve. He at once controlled himself, however.
The sweet dialogue with the child had greatly soothed him and raised his spirits. He began to be conscious of an imperative duty towards his wife which would henceforth be incumbent upon him. He must show himself a man, both in will and in deed, and this at the cost of any sacrifice. He must defend his faith against her by his works, by leaving home, by labour and suffering; and then—and then—if Almighty God should see fit to allow the cannon to roar for Italy, he must push ever to the front; and let the Austrian ball come, if it but teach her to weep and pray at last!
He remembered that he had not said his evening prayers. Poor Franco, he had never been able to say them in bed without dropping off to sleep before they were half finished. Feeling comparatively calm, and reflecting that it might perhaps be some time before Luisa came to bed, he feared he should go to sleep, and what would she say if she found him sleeping? He rose very softly and said his prayers; then he lighted the candle and sat down at the writing-desk, intending to read, but presently he fell asleep in his chair.
He was aroused by the beat of Veronica's wooden shoes on the stairs. Luisa was not yet come. Soon, however, she entered the room, and expressed no surprise at seeing Franco already up.
"It is four o'clock," she said. "If you intend to start, you have only half an hour's time." He must leave home at half-past four, to be sure of reaching Menaggio in time for the first boat coming from Colico. Instead of going to Como and thence to Milan as had been officially announced, Franco was to leave the steamer at Argegno and go up to S. Fedele, coming down into Switzerland by Val Mara or by Orimento and Monte Generoso.
Franco signed to his wife to be quiet, that she might not disturb Maria. Then with another silent gesture he called her to him.
"I am going," he said. "Last night I was harsh with you. I beg you to forgive me. I should have answered you differently, even though I was in the right. You know my temperament. Forgive me! At least, do not let us part in anger."
"For my part I feel none," Luisa answered gently, as one who finds it easy to condescend, because he feels himself superior.