“Is the train from Genoa still late?”
“Yes, ten minutes; it will be here in five minutes now.”
Shortly after a whistle was heard, then a low and heavy vibration of the rails, a great column of smoke appeared, then the heavy wheels rolled under the roof of the station.
She ran from one carriage to another, impatient and anxious; he was not there.
Travellers alighted in crowds. He was not there.
Her heart beat fast, she did not know what to do. She turned her back to the train and walked toward the station master without knowing what she ought to say, or even could say to him.
But she had no need of him, for she felt herself clasped closely by two loving arms.
It was he, it was Carlo!
The eight days of agony, the seventy minutes of anxiety, all were forgotten, all submerged in a sea of infinite sweetness.
They said nothing until they were in the carriage, and whilst they drove to their happy home she, kissing him a hundred times, exclaimed: