inthepocketofGino’sbestsuit—theEnglishcheck—whichheneverwore.Thestairscreakedandthekey-holescreamedbutPerfettawasgrowingdeaf.Thewallswerebeautiful,butastheyfacedwesttheywereinshadow.Toseethelightuponthemshemustwalkroundthetownalittle,tilltheywerecaughtbythebeamsoftherisingmoon.Shelookedanxiouslyatthehouse,andstarted.
Itwaseasywalking,foralittlepathranalloutsidetheramparts.Thefewpeopleshemetwishedheracivilgood-night,takingher,inherhatlesscondition,forapeasant.Thewallstrendedroundtowardsthemoonandpresentlyshecameintoitslight,andsawalltheroughtowersturnintopillarsofsilverandblack,andtherampartsintocliffsofpearl.Shehadnogreatsenseofbeauty,butshewassentimental,andshebegantocryforhere,whereagreatcypressinterruptedthemonotonyofthegirdleofolives,shehadsatwithGinooneafternooninMarch,herheaduponhisshoulder,whileCarolinewaslookingattheviewandsketching.RoundthecornerwastheSienagate,fromwhichtheroadtoEnglandstarted,andshecouldheartherumbleofthediligencewhichwasgoingdowntocatchthenighttraintoEmpoli.Thenextmomentitwasuponher,forthehighroadcametowardsheralittlebeforeitbeganitslongzigzagdownthehill.
Thedriverslackened,andcalledtohertogetin.Hedidnotknowwhoshewas.Hehopedshemightbecomingtothestation.
“Nonvengo!”shecried.
Hewishedhergood-night,andturnedhishorsesdownthecorner.Asthediligencecameroundshesawthatitwasempty.
“Vengo...”
Hervoicewastremulous,anddidnotcarry.Thehorsesswungoff.
“Vengo!Vengo!”
Hehadbeguntosing,andheardnothing.Sherandowntheroadscreamingtohimtostop—thatshewascomingwhilethedistancegrewgreaterandthenoiseofthediligenceincreased.Theman’sbackwasblackandsquareagainstthemoon,andifhewouldbutturnforaninstantshewouldbesaved.Shetriedtocutoffthecornerofthezigzag,stumblingoverthegreatclodsofearth,largeandhardasrocks,whichlaybetweentheeternalolives.Shewastoolatefor,justbeforesheregainedtheroad,thethingsweptpasther,thunderous,ploughingupc