Luisa also was quick to put down her candle, and as the others were not willing to accept his "Italy," Pedraglio set his down also. But finding the debate promised to be a long one, he resumed it, and ran away, repeating: "Italy, Italy, Italy, Italy!" heedless of the "hushes" and admonitions of the others, who were following on tiptoe. They all stopped once more at the foot of the stairs that Pedraglio and the lawyer must ascend to reach their room, and exchanged good-nights. Luisa entered the neighbouring alcove-room; Franco waited to watch his friends upstairs. "Look here!" he suddenly exclaimed. He had been going to speak to them from the foot of the stairs, but finally decided it was better to go up to them. "And what if we are defeated?" he whispered.
The lawyer simply uttered a contemptuous "Nonsense!" but Pedraglio turning like a hyena, seized Franco by the throat. They struggled gaily there on the landing, and then once more said good-night. Pedraglio rushed upwards, while Franco flung himself downstairs.
His wife was waiting for him, standing in the centre of the room, her eyes fixed on the door. When she saw him enter she moved gravely towards him, and folded him in a close embrace. When, after a few moments had elapsed, he moved as though to draw away, she silently pressed him closer. Then Franco understood. She was embracing him now as she had kissed him before, when they had talked of all going to the war. He pressed her temples between his hands, kissed her again and again on the hair, saying gently: "Dearest, think how great she will be afterwards, this Italy!" "Yes, yes!" said she. She raised her face to his, and offered him her lips. She was not crying, but her eyes were moist. To feel himself gazed upon like this, to be kissed thus, was indeed worth a few years of life, for never, never before had her tenderness towards him contained this humility.
"Then," said she, "we shall no longer live in Valsolda. You will be obliged to assume the duties of a citizen, will you not?"
"Yes, yes, certainly!"
They began to talk eagerly, both he and she, about what they should do after the war, as if to banish the thought of a terrible possibility. Luisa let down her hair, and went to look at Maria in her little bed. The child had probably been roused some time before, and had put a tiny finger in her mouth, which, little by little, as sleep returned, had slipped out. Now she was sleeping with her mouth open, and the little finger resting on her chin. "Come here, Franco," said her mother. Both bent over the bed. Maria's small face held the sweetness of paradise.
Husband and wife lingered over her in silence, and then rose, deeply moved. The interrupted conversation was not resumed.
When they were in bed and the light put out, Luisa murmured, on her husband's lips—
"If that day should come, you will go; but I shall go also."
And she would not allow him to answer.