Amanda uttered one of her little screams, her father was struck dumb with a sudden alarm, and Luigi contrived to disappear into the crowd.
The next moment Amanda had laid her arm through Mansana's, and he felt a warm little gloved hand on his, and saw two delicious, half-closed eyes, full of witchery, apprehension, and appeal, looking up into his face. They had just made their way out of the thickest of the throng so that conversation was possible, and he heard a voice, fit to call the angels into heaven, say: "Papa and I were in great danger. It was fortunate we had some one to help us," and he felt the gentle pressure of her hand.
Mansana had seen those same eyes dwelling on Luigi's, and there pulsed through his brain a thought destined to come back to him often enough afterwards, though for the moment it passed away as soon as it was formed. "What a silly, senseless business," he thought, "is all this in which I am entangled."
But the little prattler at his side ran on: "Poor Luigi found us in the crowd. Papa asked him to help us, and he did it without a word. Why, we have never even thanked him." Then directly after: "It is charming that you have not gone yet. You must come home with us, so that we can have a comfortable chat. We had such a pleasant one the last time."
Her round, young bosom fluttered under its silken prison, a glimpse of her dainty wrist showed white above her glove, the points of her tiny feet stole out provokingly beneath her petticoat, the rosy little mouth quivered with its burden of prattle and smiles, and the two half shaded eyes met his with shy confidence. Mansana walked home with them.
He did not mention Luigi's name, though it was fixed like the barb of an arrow in his heart, and fastened the closer the more exquisite she seemed. The strife between love and anguish robbed him of speech. But Amanda's sweet lips only moved the faster, while she made him sit down and brought out fruit, which she peeled herself and offered to him. She seemed so glad that their morning meetings need not yet come to an end; she even suggested an excursion a little farther up the mountains on which they might adventure the next day, when she would bring breakfast with her. But still he could only utter a few monosyllables. He could not cloud this innocent idyll with the shadow of his suffering; and yet he was so torn by the struggle within him that he felt he could bear it no longer, and hastily took his departure.
Scarcely had the echo of his footsteps on the staircase died away, scarcely had the last greeting been waved to him from the balcony, than his smiling, invincible little charmer hastily shut the verandah windows and threw herself, sobbing, on her father's knees. The old man was not in the least surprised. His mind ran on the same thought as hers. Mansana's parting glance, and indeed his whole bearing and manner, had filled the room with such an electric atmosphere of storm that he would hardly have been astonished if an actual explosion had occurred in the overcharged air. And when the girl whispered through her tears, "Father, we must get away," he could only reply, "Yes, yes, my child, indeed we must."
Their departure must be secret, and therefore it was necessary that it should take place that very night.
CHAPTER XII
Giuseppe Mansana had gone to Borghi's quarters without finding him, and had searched for him in vain at the café frequented by the officers of the garrison, and later in the day, among the crowds of holiday-makers. During these wanderings he encountered many officers of his acquaintance, some of them accompanied by civilian friends, and it struck him that they relapsed into silence when they saw him, and spoke to one another in whispers as he passed them. Yet he felt that, whatever might be thought of the enterprise on which he was now embarked, he was in honour bound to carry it through successfully.