At ten o'clock, after we had idled in the salon with our coffee and certosa—a liqueur made by the old monks of the Certosa, outside Florence, and not obtainable beyond the confines of Tuscany—Velia's brougham came round, and reluctantly I took leave of her.
Our reunion had certainly been full of charm, for in those hours I had allowed myself to forget my present position, and had, in thought, drifted back to the placid days of long ago that had been passed within the high grey walls of the ancient convent.
"Good-bye, Carmela," Velia said, holding my hand in hers warmly after I had entered the carriage. "Remember your promise to return here before you sail. I shall expect you."
I repeated my promise gaily, and then giving her a final "Addio, e buona notte," I was driven out of the great gates and into the night.
The road from Ardenza to Leghorn, a magnificent drive by day, is not very safe at night. The trees lining it form a refuge for any thieves or footpads, and because of this it is patrolled continually by a pair of mounted carbineers.
At length we came to the great iron gates of the city, which stretch across the wide highway, flanked on either side by huge porticos, in which are stationed the officers of the dazio, as the octroi in Italy is called.
Every article entering an Italian city is inspected with a view to the imposition of taxes, hence every conveyance, from the country cart of the contadino laden with vegetables for the market, to the private brougham, is stopped at the barrier, and the occupant is asked to declare what he or she has with him.
In front of the barrier the brougham was brought to a halt, and one of the dazio guards, in his peaked cap and long overcoat with silver facings, opened the door, inquiring whether I had anything liable to be taxed.
"Niente," I responded, and was preparing to resettle myself for the journey, when the man, looking rather hard at me in the semi-darkness, said:
"The signorina is named Rosselli, I believe?"