The uncle, whose thoughts were wandering, did not answer, but presently he exclaimed: "Do you know what I was thinking? I was thinking that now there ought to be another Maria."
Luisa, who was sitting beside him, sprang up shuddering, and went to the little window opposite, standing with her back to Uncle Piero, who did not understand in the least, and, concluding she was embarrassed, went to sleep in his corner. The steamer touched at Intra. Now there was only Pallanza before Isola. They were skirting the coast; through the little oval window Luisa could see the banks, the houses, the trees slipping by. How fast the boat was gliding, how fast!
Pallanza. The steamer stopped five minutes.
Luisa went on deck and inquired when they would reach Isola Bella. They would not stop either at Suna or Baveno, so it was a question of only a few minutes now. And when would the steamer from Arona arrive? The steamer from Arona appeared to be late. She went below once more to awaken Uncle Piero, who presently came on deck with her. The last part of the journey was accomplished in silence. The uncle watched Pallanza, which they were leaving behind, while Luisa had fixed her gaze on Isola Bella, which they were rapidly approaching, and she saw nothing else.
The boat reached the landing-stage at Isola Bella at forty minutes past three. There was no sign of the steamer from Arona. A porter told Luisa that it was always late now because the train from Novara was never on time, owing to the movement of troops. No one else went ashore at Isola, no one was on the beach save the attendant at the landing-stage. When the boat had left, he himself conducted the two travellers to the Albergo del Delfino. He said it was a mere chance their finding the hotel open at this season. A large family were spending the winter there. They were English people. Indeed, it seemed the Island of Silence. The lake lay about it, motionless and silent, the shore was deserted, no living being was to be seen in the porches of the poor little houses clustered together about the bay, between one of the round bastions of the gardens and the hotel. The English people had gone out in a boat; the hotel was as silent as the shore and the water. The new arrivals were given two large rooms on the second floor, both of which faced south, and overlooked the melancholy strait between the island and the wooded strip of coast that runs from Stressa to Baveno. The first room was on the western corner of the house, and its window looked out on the little church of S. Vittore, which rises beside the hotel, and upon the small Isola dei Pescatori in the distance. Uncle Piero planted himself at the window contemplating the little island, the little pile of houses rising out of the mirror of the lake and culminating in a campanile; the great mountains of Val di Toce and Val di Gravellone, half hidden in a thin mist through which the sun was shining. Luisa, seeing that the room contained two beds, hastened to the other room, where an alcove also held two beds. "There," said Uncle Piero, coming in, a moment later, "this will do nicely for you two." Luisa asked the proprietor, in an undertone, if they could not have three rooms instead of two. No, it was impossible. "But this is all right," Uncle Piero repeated. "This is a perfect arrangement. You take this room, and I will have the other." Luisa was silent, and the proprietor withdrew. "Don't you see you have an alcove, just as at home?" It never struck the simple old man that the very sight of that alcove was a torment to Luisa. She told him she preferred the other room, which was lighter and more cheerful. "Amen!" said the uncle. "Do as you like. I am quite willing to be alcoved."
This corner of the hotel soon lapsed into silence once more. Luisa posted herself at the window. The boat from Arona must be very near now; the man who had accompanied them to the hotel was walking slowly towards the landing-stage, and in a few minutes she heard the noise of the paddles in the distance. Uncle Piero told Luisa he was tired, and remained in his room.
She went down towards the landing-stage and stopped behind a small house that hid the boat from view, but she could hear it distinctly. Suddenly the prow of the San Gottardo glided slowly in front of her and stopped. Luisa recognised her husband in the midst of a noisy group. Franco saw her, and springing ashore, ran towards her, while she came forward a few steps to meet him. They embraced, he speechless and blind with emotion, laughing and crying, full of gratitude, but uncertain as to her state of mind, as to how he should regulate his conduct; she more composed, extremely pale, and serious. "God bless you! God bless you!" he kept repeating, as they turned towards the hotel. Then Franco overwhelmed her with questions, first about her journey and the passing of the frontier, and then about Uncle Piero. When he mentioned the uncle, Luisa raised her head and said: "Look!" The old man was at the window waving his handkerchief and calling out his welcome in a ringing voice. "Oh!" cried Franco in amazement, and he ran forward.
Uncle Piero was waiting for him on the landing, his face wearing an expression of satisfaction that seemed to spread all over his peaceful breast. "How are you, my boy?" said he, taking both his hands and shaking them heartily, but, nevertheless, holding him at a distance. He did not want kisses, feeling that at such a moment they would mean thanks; but he could not hold out against Franco's impetuosity. "Did you fancy a lady of the house of Maironi could travel without a courier?" said he, when he had extricated himself from the young man's arms. "Moreover, I came to enlist in the Bersaglieri!" And the man who had said he was tired started downstairs, saying he was going to order dinner.
There was no sofa in their room. Franco drew Luisa to a seat on the bed, and sat down beside her, encircling her shoulders with his arm. He could not talk to her, could only keep on repeating: "I thank you! I thank you!" as he lavished eager caresses, eager kisses, and tender names upon her. Luisa did not respond in any way, but trembled violently with bowed head. Presently he checked himself, and, taking her head in his hands like some sacred thing, fell to touching with his lips the white hairs he saw here and there. She knew he was searching out the white hairs, understood those timid kisses, and was moved. She felt her heart of ice melting, and, seized with terror, struggled to defend herself more against her own emotions than against Franco. "You don't know," she said, "how cold my heart is. I did not even want to come, did not want to leave Maria or give you the pain of finding me in this state. But I came on Uncle Piero's account. He was determined to set out alone, and that I could not allow."
When she had pronounced these cruel words she felt Franco's lips withdrawn from her hair, felt his arm forsake her shoulders. Both were silent for a time, then Franco murmured with great gentleness: