All this pondering of his wife's opinions and his own, and above all the Professor's advice: "Commend yourself to our Lord," were not fruitless. He began to see that on some points Luisa was not mistaken. When she had reproached him for not leading a life in conformity with his faith, he had been more offended by this than by anything else. Now a generous impulse carried him to the other extreme; he judged himself severely, exaggerated his faults of idleness, of anger, even of greed, and held himself responsible for Luisa's intellectual aberrations. He felt a desire to tell her this, to humble himself before her, to separate his own cause from the cause of God. When he obtained his position on the Opinione, and regulated his own expenses in such a manner as to be able to make an allowance to his family, his wife wrote that this allowance was entirely too large in proportion to his earnings, and that the thought of him, living in Turin on sixty lire a month, gave her own food a bitter taste. He answered—and this was not strictly true—that in the first place, he never went hungry, but that he would, indeed, be glad to fast, because he felt an intense desire to change his way of life, to expiate his past idleness, including the hours he had wasted on his flowers and music, to expiate all past softness, all past weaknesses, including the weakness for dainty dishes and fine wines. He added that he had asked God's forgiveness for this past life, and that he felt he must ask her forgiveness also. In fact the Paduan, with whom Franco had become very intimate, and to whom he read this passage in his letter as a sort of confirmation of previous confessions, exclaimed: "That bit sounds for all the world like the oration of Manasseh, king of Judæa!"
Luisa wrote most affectionately, but with less effusion. Franco's silence on the painful subject displeased her, and she felt it would be unwise on her part to allude to it in the face of a silence so obstinate.
His good intentions concerning labour and self-sacrifice moved her deeply; when she read that confession of great wickedness, followed by the prayer for pardon to God and to herself, she smiled and kissed the letter, feeling that this was an act of submission, and a humble acceptance of the censure which had at first only irritated him. Poor Franco! These were the impulses of his noble, generous nature! But would they last? She answered at once, and if her emotion was apparent in her answer, so also was her smile, which displeased Franco. At the end he found these words: "When I read your many self-accusations I thought, with remorse, of the accusations I brought against you, one sad night, and I felt that you also had been thinking of them as you wrote, although neither in this letter nor in any other are they alluded to. I deeply regret those accusations, my own Franco, but how I wish we could speak together as true friends, concerning those other questions of which I think so much here in my solitude!"
Luisa's wish remained ungratified. In answering Franco did not even touch on this point; indeed his next letter was somewhat cool, so Luisa did not again revert to the subject. Only once, when speaking of Maria, did she write: "If you could only see how Maria recites her 'Our Father' every night and morning, and how well she behaves at Mass, on Sundays, you would be satisfied."
He replied: "As to what you tell me concerning Maria's religious exercises, I am satisfied, and I thank you!"
Both Luisa and Franco wrote almost every day, and sent their letters once a week. Ismaele went to the post at Lugano every Tuesday, taking the wife's letters and bringing back the husband's. In June Maria had the measles, and in August Uncle Piero lost the sight of his left eye, almost without warning, and for some time was greatly distressed. During these two periods the letters from Oria were more frequent, but in September the weekly correspondence was resumed. From the bundle of letters I take the last that passed between Franco and Luisa, on the eve of those events which overwhelmed them at the end of September.
Luisa to Franco.
"September 14, 1856.
"I do not think Pasotti will ever come to our house again. I am sorry on poor Barborin's account, for I fear she will not be able to come either, but I do not regret what I did.
"He has known perfectly well for some time that you are in Turin. He even talked of it with the Receiver, so Maria Pon told me. She was in the Romit chapel, and heard them talking on their way down from Albogasio Superiore. When he came here he would always pretend not to know, and would enquire for you with his usual assumption of interest and friendship. To-day he found me alone in the little garden and asked how much longer you would be absent and whether you were in Milan at present. I answered frankly that his question surprised me. He turned pale. 'Why?' said he. 'Because you have been going about saying that Franco is in an entirely different place.' He became confused and protested angrily. 'You may protest as much as you like!' I said. 'It is quite useless. You know that. At all events Franco is very well off where he is. You may say as much to whomever you please.' 'You wish to insult me!' he exclaimed. I did not stop to think long, but retorted: 'That is quite possible!' Then he rushed away without saluting me, and looking as black as the ace of spades—that simile suits my present mood! I am sure he will go to Cressogno this evening.