“Nonsense!” rejoined Derossi; “for me, Garrone will always be Garrone, Precossi will always be Precossi, and the same with all the others, were I to become the emperor of Russia: where they are, there I shall go also.”
“Bless you!” exclaimed the elder Coretti, raising his flask; “that’s the way to talk, by Heavens! Touch your glass here! Hurrah for brave comrades, and hurrah for school, which makes one family of you, of those who have and those who have not!”
We all clinked his flask with the skins and the cups, and drank for the last time.
“Hurrah for the fourth of the 49th!” he cried, as he rose to his feet, and swallowed the last drop; “and if you have to do with squadrons too, see that you stand firm, like us old ones, my lads!”
It was already late. We descended, running and singing, and walking long distances all arm in arm, and we arrived at the Po as twilight fell, and thousands of fireflies were flitting about. And we only parted in the Piazza dello Statuto after having agreed to meet there on the following Sunday, and go to the Vittorio Emanuele to see the distribution of prizes to the graduates of the evening schools.
“WE DESCENDED, RUNNING AND SINGING.”
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What a beautiful day! How happy I should have been on my return home, had I not encountered my poor schoolmistress! I met her coming down the staircase of our house, almost in the dark, and, as soon as she recognized me, she took both my hands, and whispered in my ear, “Good by, Enrico; remember me!” I perceived that she was weeping. I went up and told my mother about it.
“I have just met my schoolmistress.”—“She was just going to bed,” replied my mother, whose eyes were red. And then she added very sadly, gazing intently at me, “Your poor teacher—is very ill.”