Giuseppe Mansana had gone to Borghi's quarters without finding him,
and had searched for him in vain at the _cafe_ frequented by the
officers of the garrison, and later in the day, among the crowds of
holiday-makers. During these wanderings he encountered many officers of
his acquaintance, some of them accompanied by civilian friends, and it
struck him that they relapsed into silence when they saw him, and spoke
to one another in whispers as he passed them. Yet he felt that,
whatever might be thought of the enterprise on which he was now
embarked, he was in honour bound to carry it through successfully.
Late in the evening, worn out in mind and body, but alert and watchful,
he sat down in front of the _cafe_ which faced the Brandinis'
apartments. There was a light in Amanda's window. She was putting
together the few necessaries she proposed to take with her, for, in
order to give their journey the appearance of a short, casual trip, she
had decided to leave their weightier luggage to be sent after them. But
to Mansana it appeared more than likely that this lighted casement was
intended to be a signal to some one. And presently it seemed as if his
suspicions were correct. Wearied with the strain and fatigue of the
day, Amanda stepped out upon the verandah, for a breath of fresh air.
Her movements were very perceptible as she stood with her figure thrown
into relief against the light within, and Mansana could see that she
bent down to peer into the darkened square below her. Was she then
expecting somebody who would come into the square from the side street?
It seemed so, and presently steps were heard approaching from that
direction. The newcomer was a man who kept close under the shadow of
the houses, as he made his way to the foot of Amanda's balcony. As he
passed under a street lamp, the light just enabled Mansana to catch a
hurried glimpse of an officer's kepi, and a young, clean-shaven face,
and he also noticed that Amanda bent still lower over the trellis of
the verandah. A young girl in love--especially when her love is clouded
by danger--is apt to imagine that she sees her lover's figure
everywhere. The officer slackened his pace as his eyes fell upon her,
and under the balcony itself he halted and looked up. Amanda retired
hastily from the verandah, closing the windows behind her as she
entered the room, and the officer passed on. Was this their mode of
arranging a rendezvous? With rapid strides Mansana crossed the square,
but the stranger had already reached the street that led out of it, and
when Mansana turned the corner in pursuit, he was no longer in sight.
In which house had he taken refuge? Mansana could hardly knock up the
whole street to inquire, and was perforce obliged to abandon the
pursuit.
It was, in fact, a mere accident. A young officer who happened to be
lodging in the neighbouring street, paused for a moment under a
balcony, on which he saw a young lady standing alone. Yet it was this
trivial accident which virtually determined Mansana's destiny.
He went to bed, not to sleep, but to pass the night tossing restlessly
in wakeful anguish, and registering an oath, again and again, that
before the next day had passed she should be his or he would cease to
live. But the next morning she did not appear at the trysting-place on
the hillside. An hour he waited, but there was no sign of his friends,
and he made his way to the house in which they lived. Before the door
of their apartment he found an old woman carrying a tray with their
breakfast, and to the door itself was fixed a sheet of paper. As
Mansana lifted the knocker, the old woman said to him, "There seems to
be no one within. Will you read the paper which hangs there?" Mansana
did so:
"Gone away; will write. B."
That was all. Heedless of the old woman, who called after him to ask
what the paper said, he flung it from him and strode hastily away.
* * *
When the Princess Leaney arrived at Ancona on the following day, and
found no Mansana there to greet her at the railway station, she was
seized by a sudden indefinable apprehension. Hurrying to the
telegraph-office she sent him an anxiously worded despatch, which
testified to her alarm. She went home, and waited for the answer, her
fears gaining ground as the minutes went by. At length a messenger
arrived with the money that had been paid for the reply to the
telegram, and the information that the message could not be delivered,
as Captain Mansana had quitted the town.
At this her fears completely overwhelmed her. The self-reproach, under
which she had lived for days, assumed mountainous proportions, and its
shadow seemed to blot out all other thoughts. She must find him
wherever he was, talk to him, care for him, yes, and nurse him, if, as
she gravely feared, there was need for that. The same evening, with one
servant only in attendance, she was on the platform of the railway
station.
At dawn of the next day she was pacing backwards and forwards at the
junction where the train from the West was to be met. She paid no
attention to her few fellow-travellers, in whom, however, her
self-absorption added to the interest and curiosity she aroused as she
swept by them in her restless walk to and fro, with her long white fur
cloak thrown back over her shoulders, and her loose hair and floating
veil tangled together below her fur cap. In her large, wide-opened
eyes, and in the whole face, there was the tense expression of
overwrought emotion and exhaustion. In her walk she several times
passed a tall lady, very simply dressed, who was looking intently into
the luggage van, round which a busy little group had collected. Once,
just as Theresa passed the group, an officer came up and spoke a few
words to the lady, and in answer to a question addressed to him by one
of the railway officials, replied with the word "Mansana."
The princess started.
"Mansana?" she cried. "What----"
"Princess Leaney?" exclaimed the officer, in accents of astonishment,
as he saluted her.
"Is it you, Major Sardi?" she answered, and added hastily: "But
Mansana? What of him? You mentioned his name."
"Yes. This is his mother."
The Major presented the younger lady to the elder. As the mother drew
her veil aside, the calm, noble face that was revealed filled Theresa
with an instant sense of confidence and strength. She threw herself
into the lady's arms as if she had found there a haven of refuge from
all her storms of anxiety and distress, and burst into a convulsive fit
of weeping.
The Signora Mansana said nothing, but she soothed the agitated girl
with a few gentle and caressing touches of her hand, and stood waiting
quietly till her passion had spent itself and she had regained her
self-possession. Presently Theresa was sufficiently composed to ask
where Mansana was.
"That," answered the elder lady calmly, "we none of us know."
"But we hope to find out before long," added the Major.
White as a sheet, Theresa sprang up, and looked from one to another.
"Tell me," she cried; "what is it that has happened?"
Thoughtful and composed, the older woman, who had been through so much
of storm and stress, said quietly:
"We have the same journey before us, I imagine. Let us get a carriage
to ourselves, and then we can talk matters over, and consider what is
best to be done."
The suggestion was gratefully accepted and acted upon.