'Well, then,' said the count, after a moment's reflection, 'since your longing to revisit your native country is so strong that you cannot live happily anywhere else, I will myself accompany you thither, and we shall adopt my original plan. You shall travel as companion to my aunt, and go with her and her children to Rome and Naples, where I shall see you safely settled in some agreeable family circle before I set off on my more distant voyage.'
Giuliana's childish delight at the hope of seeing the much-loved land of her birth could not, however, overcome her deep, secret sorrow at the alteration which had taken place in Count Otto; and her wounded feelings would not permit her to accept of his offer, for her sake, to relinquish for a time the visit to another continent, on which he had so recently determined. She entreated him, therefore, earnestly not to delay his voyage, but allow her to attend his aunt and her children, without himself accompanying them.
But he had made up his mind to go, and he told her that, without his escort, his aunt would not undertake to travel so far as Italy.
All was soon prepared for the journey. The aunt was informed of the count's plan for Giuliana, to which, fortunately, she was willing to agree. In a few days afterwards she made her appearance in her travelling carriage at the door of the principal hotel at Soröe; the count met her there, and took her and her children to the forest lodge, where they were introduced to their travelling companion, who immediately joined them, and who soon made a favourable impression on them all by her beauty and sweetness of manners.
The aunt had conjectured that there was some love affair between the young count and the pretty daughter of the sub-ranger, in whose neighbourhood he had remained so long, and she fancied that, in order to escape the taunts and gibes of the other members of his family, her nephew intended to marry Giuliana in a foreign country. Rumour had not failed to busy itself in the capital, by assigning a reason for the count's stay at Soröe. Poor Giuliana had been described sometimes as a simple peasant girl, who had allowed herself to be deluded by the gay count, and who believed his fine speeches, mistaking them for more honest ware; sometimes as an artful, half-Italian wood-nymph, who, under the mask of modesty and virtue, had enticed the hoodwinked young count into a snare, from which he could not escape.
His aunt had not troubled herself much about all this gossip; she educated her children herself, and had only accepted Giuliana's companionship because the count had made that the condition of his escort, without which she would not have liked to have ventured on so long a journey.
Now, however, she was very curious to ascertain the exact nature of their connection, and found, to her great surprise, that they themselves avoided that degree of intimacy and freedom in behaviour which travelling together almost rendered necessary; and that, far from seeking each other, they rather seemed to shun every opportunity of being near each other, even though these often occurred by accident. On the other hand, she could not but remark the anxious attention, nay, even devotion, with which the count forestalled every wish of Giuliana; and the quiet, retiring manner in which she sought to take her place as an inferior among the travelling party, although in mind and manners fitted to be their equal. The expression of patient sadness in her countenance, which neither her youthful pleasure at approaching Italy, nor the enlivening effect of the frequent changes of scene during a long journey, seemed to chase away, soon won the heart of the good-natured baroness; and she was pleased to see that Giuliana had also become a favourite with her children. The young girl seemed to be always more at ease and more cheerful in the count's absence than when he was present. Giuliana had taken her mandolin with her in the carriage, and she often amused the children by playing on it, and singing for them. When they stopped at the different inns, and she was alone in her own room in the evening, the baroness sometimes heard her playing and singing there also, but not the lively airs she sang in the carriage. Her songs were all expressive of deep sadness, and if the baroness entered her room unexpectedly, she generally found the sweet songstress with tears in her eyes.
The count's melancholy surprised his aunt still more, as he had always been remarkable for his gaiety and high spirits. He would now sit for hours in the carriage without uttering a syllable, and when they were all enjoying themselves at the evening's repast, after the fatigues of the day, he would often start up and leave them, complaining of a violent headache.
However, when they had crossed the Simplon, and were descending into the paradise of Giuliana's dreams--when they beheld the rich plains where the vines festooned themselves gracefully around the elms--where the lovely lakes were studded with beautifully wooded islets, and the lofty hills reared their blue summits to the skies, all gloomy thoughts seemed to have vanished, and everyone gazed with delight on the enchanting view. Giuliana clapped her hands in her transport of joy, and seizing Otto's hand, she pressed it to her heart, while she exclaimed:
'May God bless and reward you, dear count! I shall never cease to thank you for affording me yonder sight, and this happy moment!'