"By carriage. If you are still in Lodi at the end of two hours I shall have you arrested."
"My health does not permit me to travel at night in December," the victim urged.
"Very well, then I will have you arrested at once!"
The poor philosopher took up his hat in silence, and went out.
An hour later he started for Milan in a closed calash, his feet embedded in straw, a rug over his legs, a great muffler round his neck, reflecting that this had been a most successful expedition, and swallowing momently to see if his throat were sore. He passed a horrible night, indeed, but the Marchesa herself did not rest on a bed of roses.
[M] _Mascherponi_: A sort of common cheese made in Lodi. [_Translator's note._]
On the last day of the year, while Franco was writing out the very minute directions concerning the care of the flowers and the kitchen-garden, which he intended to leave for his wife's guidance, and the uncle sat reading for the tenth time his favourite book, the _History of the Diocese of Como_, Luisa went out for a walk with Maria. The sun was shining brightly. There was no snow save on Bisgnago and Galbiga. Maria found a violet near the cemetery, and another down in the Calcinera. There it was really warm, and the air was pleasantly scented with laurel. Luisa sat down to think, with her back to the hill, and allowed Maria to amuse herself by climbing up the bank behind her, and sliding down again on the dry grass.
She had not seen the Professor since Christmas Eve, and she longed to speak with him; not to hear the story of the Maironi will over again, but to get him to tell her about his interview with Franco, when he had shown it to him: to ascertain what Franco's first impression had been and what the Professor's opinion was. As the will had been destroyed, all this could only be of psychological importance, but Luisa's curiosity was not the curiosity of the idle observer. Her husband's conduct had deeply wounded her. Thinking of it over and over again, as she had done ever since Christmas Eve, she had arrived at the conclusion that his silence towards her had been an outrage against justice and affection. It was a bitter sorrow to her to feel her esteem for him diminishing, especially bitter now, on the eve of his departure, and at a time when he really deserved praise. She would have liked, at least, to know that when Gilardoni had shown him the documents there had been some inward struggle, that a more just sentiment had been aroused in his soul, if only for a moment. She rose, took Maria by the hand, and started towards Casarico.