V. replied that he had touched him with the gentleness of a woman, and passing the carbine to Pedraglio, he seized the guard by the collar of his uniform, pulled him to his feet, and made him run his arms through the straps of the gerla.
"Go ahead, you fraud!" said he. "March, lazy-bones!"
Up, up, ever upwards they climbed through the thick mist. The hillside was extremely steep, and it was all they could do to find foothold between the clumps of soft grass. They slipped, they laboured with hands and feet, but they heeded naught, struggling ever upwards for freedom's sake. Up, up, ever upwards, through the thick mist, invisible as spirits, first the false Marianna, then the guard puffing and groaning under the heavy gerla, then the false Scior Zacomo promising him a fine view from the top, and from time to time encouraging him with the point of the carbine. The carbine worked miracles. In half an hour the three had reached the crest, from whence the hill slopes down towards Brè, lying only a short distance below the summit. Then, sitting upon the grass, they let themselves slide rapidly downwards. Presently it began to rain, and the mist grew thinner, and below them, at their feet, they could see the red of the woodlands. Scior Zacomo's venerable top-hat was the first to reach the spot, hurled from above by Pedraglio with a joyful "Hurrah for Italy!" as he himself slid onwards, arm in arm with the guard. At Brè Pedraglio called the whole town together by firing off the carbine in sign of exultation, and then he distributed anesone triduo among the men, and administered it in smaller doses to the girls. He begged the curate to allow him to hang the tail-coat in the church as a votive offering, sat down to eat with the guard, got the priest to preach him a sermon on the duty of pardoning blows in the stomach, and read a verse of the monkish poem to him, which ended thus:
At this point the good priest did exclaim:
My views are no longer the same.
After this he had no difficulty in demonstrating to him that if this Padre Lanternone had suddenly changed his opinions, he, the guard, would be fully justified in changing his, and he finally persuaded him to desert. The guard ended by casting aside his uniform and donning the tail-coat, amidst the laughter and applause of all present. The only one who did not join in the laughter was the lawyer. "What may not have happened to poor Maironi?" said he.
Franco did not cross Castello. Upon reaching the little Rovajà chapel he hastened downwards by the path that leads to the fountain at Caslano, reached the narrow lane that goes to Casarico and followed it upwards as far as the last turning just below Castello, where the church of Puria becomes visible beneath its amphitheatre of crags; then he turned into the valley on the right, hastening along a path fit for goats only, climbed upwards once more below the church of Loggio, and reached Villa Maironi without having met any one.
Carlo, the old servant who opened the door for him, nearly fainted with emotion as he kissed Franco's hands. At that moment the doctor was in the sick room. Franco decided to wait until he should come out, and meanwhile took the faithful old man into his confidence, telling that the gendarmes were at his heels. Dr. Aliprandi soon came out, and Franco, who knew him to be a patriot, confided in him also, for he must show himself, and make inquiries about his grandmother. Aliprandi had been called in the night, after the prefect had left for Oria. He had found the Marchesa in a state of nervous excitement, tormented by a terrible fear of death, but exhibiting no symptoms of illness. At present she seemed quite calm. Franco had her informed of his arrival, and was ushered into the room by the maid, who looked at him with obsequious curiosity, and then withdrew.
The half-open shutters of the room where the Marchesa lay, admitted only two slanting streaks of grey light, which did not reach the face, thrown back upon the pillow. On entering Franco could not see that face, but he heard the familiar, sleepy voice saying:
"Is that you, Franco?"