Angelo Guidascarpi was aware that an officer without responsibility never sleeps faster than when his brothers-in-arms have to be obedient to the reveillee.  At two in the morning the bugle rang out:  many lighted cigars were flashing among the dark passages of the inn; the whitecoats were disposed in marching order; hot coffee was hastily swallowed; the last stragglers from the stables, the outhouses, the court, and the straw beds under roofs of rock, had gathered to the main body.  The march set forward.  A pair of officers sent a shout up to the drowsy windows, ’Good luck to you, Weisspriess!’ Angelo descended from the concealment of the opposite trees, where he had stationed himself to watch the departure.  The inn was like a sleeper who has turned over.  He made Katchen bring him bread and slices of meat and a flask of wine, which things found a place in his pockets:  and paying for his mistress and himself, he awaited Vittoria’s foot on the stairs.  When Vittoria came she asked no questions, but said to Katchen, ‘You may kiss me’; and Kitchen began crying; she believed that they were lovers daring everything for love.

’You have a clear start of an hour and a half.  Leave the high-road then, and turn left through the forest and ask for Bormio.  If you reach Tyrol, and come to Silz, tell people that you know Katchen Giesslinger, and they will be kind to you.’

So saying, she let them out into the black-eyed starlight.

CHAPTER XXIV

ADVENTURES OF VITTORIA AND ANGELO

Nothing was distinguishable for the flying couple save the high-road winding under rock and forest, and here and there a coursing water in the depths of the ravines, that showed like a vein in black marble.  They walked swiftly, keeping brisk ears for sound of hoof or foot behind them.  Angelo promised her that she should rest after the morning light had come; but she assured him that she could bear fatigue, and her firm cheerfulness lent his heart vigour.  At times they were hooded with the darkness, which came on them as if, as benighted children fancy, their faces were about to meet the shaggy breast of the forest.  Rising up to lighter air, they had sight of distant twinklings:  it might be city, or autumn weed, or fires of the woodmen, or beacon fires:  they glimmered like eyelets to the mystery of the vast unseen land.  Innumerable brooks went talking to the night:  torrents in seasons of rain, childish voices now, with endless involutions of a song of three notes and a sort of unnoted clanging chorus, as if a little one sang and would sing on through the thumping of a tambourine and bells.  Vittoria had these fancies:  Angelo had none.  He walked like a hunted man whose life is at stake.

‘If we reach a village soon we may get some conveyance,’ he said.

‘I would rather walk than drive,’ said Vittoria; ’it keeps me from thinking!