Her command was instantly obeyed.  Herr Johannes looked her in the face.  ‘You are very decided, my dear lady.’  He seemed to have lost his own decision, but handing Vittoria in, he drew a long cigar from his breastpocket, lit it, and mounted beside the coachman.  The chasseur had disappeared.

Vittoria entreated that a general look-out should be kept for Giacinta.  The road was straight up an ascent, and she had no fear that her maid would not be seen.  Presently there was a view of the violet domes of a city.  ‘Is it Bergamo?—­is it Brescia?’ she longed to ask, thinking of her Bergamasc and Brescian friends, and of those two places famous for the bravery of their sons:  one being especially dear to her, as the birthplace of a genius of melody, whose blood was in her veins.  ’Did he look on these mulberry trees?—­did he look on these green-grassed valleys?—­did he hear these falling waters?’ she asked herself, and closed her spirit with reverential thoughts of him and with his music.  She saw sadly that they were turning from the city.  A little ball of paper was shot into her lap.  She opened it and read:  ’An officer of the cavalry.—­Beppo.’  She put her hand out of the window to signify that she was awake to the situation.  Her anxiety, however, began to fret.  No sight of Giacinta was to be had in any direction.  Her mistress commenced chiding the absent garrulous creature, and did so until she pitied her, when she accused herself of cowardice, for she was incapable of calling out to the coachman to stop.  The rapid motion subdued such energy as remained to her, and she willingly allowed her hurried feelings to rest on the faces of rocks impending over long ravines, and of perched old castles and white villas and sub-Alpine herds.  She burst from the fascination as from a dream, but only to fall into it again, reproaching her weakness, and saying, ‘What a thing am I!’ When she did make her voice heard by Herr Johannes and the coachman, she was nervous and ashamed, and met the equivocating pacification of the reply with an assent half-way, though she was far from comprehending the consolation she supposed that it was meant to convey.  She put out her hand to communicate with Beppo.  Another ball of pencilled writing answered to it.  She read:  ’Keep watch on this Austrian.  Your maid is two hours in the rear.  Refuse to be separated from me.  My life is at your service.—­Beppo.’

Vittoria made her final effort to get a resolve of some sort; ending it with a compassionate exclamation over poor Giacinta.  The girl could soon find her way back to Milan.  On the other hand, the farther from Milan, the less the danger to Carlo’s relative, in whom she now perceived a stronger likeness to her lover.  She sank back in the carriage and closed her eyes.  Though she smiled at the vanity of forcing sleep in this way, sleep came.  Her healthy frame seized its natural medicine to rebuild her after the fever of recent days.