Some women from the village were to watch with Ester, and Ismaele would be there until five o'clock, when he must start for Lugano. Uncle Piero had gone to bed.
Aliprandi and the Professor stopped on the square by the church to look at the lighted window of the alcove-room, and to listen. Silence. "Accursed lake!" the physician exclaimed, taking his companion's arm and once more starting forward. He was certainly thinking of the sweet little creature the lake had killed when he uttered the words, but in his heart there was also a great fear that other troubles might be approaching, that the treacherous waters had not yet done their worst; and he was overwhelmed with pity for the poor father, who, as yet, knew nothing.
CHAPTER XI
SHADOWS AND DAWN
On receiving the telegram Franco at once hastened to the office of the Opinione, in Via della Rocca. Perceiving his agitation, Dina said: "Ah! then you already know?" Franco's blood ran cold, but on hearing about the telegram Dina exhibited great surprise. No, no, of that he knew nothing. Information had reached him from the Prime Minister that the Austrian police had been searching houses and making arrests in Vall' Intelvi, and that among the papers of a certain doctor there was one in which the name of Don Franco Maironi was mentioned, with particulars of a compromising nature. Dina added that at a moment of such great anguish for a father, he would refrain from going into an explanation of Count Cavour's interest in him; suffice it to say that he himself had mentioned Franco to the Count, who had expressed his regret that a Lombard gentleman, bearing such a distinguished name, should be obliged to live in such straitened and obscure circumstances in Turin. Dina believed it was his intention to offer him a position in the Foreign Office. Now, of course, Franco must go. But the little girl would recover and he must return as soon as possible. Meanwhile he would stop at Lugano, would he not? He must, at least, await news there, and unless it became absolutely necessary, he must not venture into Lombardy. After this affair at Vall' Intelvi it would be extremely imprudent. As Franco remained silent, the director once more broached the subject before bidding him good-bye. "Be prudent! Don't let them take you!" But Franco would not answer.
Ever since the receipt of the telegram Franco had walked the streets of Turin like one in a dream, deaf to the noise of his own footsteps, unconscious of what he saw, of what he heard, going mechanically wherever it was necessary for him to go at this juncture, wherever a certain servile and lower faculty of the soul might lead him, that faculty composed of reason and of instinct, which is capable of guiding us through a labyrinth of city streets, while the mind, concentrated upon some problem, some passion, takes no heed of our movements. He sold his watch and chain to a watchmaker of Doragrossa for one hundred and thirty-five lire, purchased a doll for Maria, stopped at Café Alfieri and Café Florio to leave word for his friends, and was at the station by eleven o'clock, although the train for Novara which he was to take did not start until half-past eleven. At a quarter-past the Paduan and the young man from Udine appeared. They endeavoured to encourage him with all sorts of rosy suppositions and unconvincing arguments, but he answered never a word and only longed intensely for the moment of departure, longed to be alone, to be hastening towards Oria, for he was determined to go to Oria, no matter how great the danger might be. He entered a third-class carriage, and when the locomotive whistled and the train began to move, he heaved a great sigh of relief, and gave himself up entirely to thoughts of Maria. But there were too many people about him, they were too many, too rough, and too noisy. At Chivasso, feeling he could no longer bear their chattering and laughter, he changed into an empty second-class carriage, where he began to talk aloud, his eyes fixed on the opposite seat.
Good God! why had they not added another word to the telegram? Just one word more! At least the name of the illness.
A terrible name flashed across his brain: Croup! He gasped with horror, and threw out his arms against this phantom, his muscles suddenly stiffening, then, letting his arms sink once more, he heaved a sigh so deep that it seemed to expel the very soul, even life itself, from his breast. It must indeed be a sudden illness, or Luisa would have written. Another name flashed across his mind. Brain-fever! He himself had been at the point of death with brain-fever when a child. Oh God! oh God! It must be that! God Himself had sent this thought to him. He was shaken by tearless sobbing. Maria, his treasure, his love, his joy! Yes, indeed it must be that. He could see her gasping, flushed, watched over by her mother and the doctor. In a moment he pictured to himself long hours spent by her bedside, long hours of anguish, then he pictured the birth of hope, heard the first whisper of that sweet voice:
"Papa! my papa!"