The tramp of marching troops recalled the thought of Gouache, and suddenly he understood what was happening.  The soldiers were leaving Rome to attack the Garibaldians, and he was near one of the gates.  By the light of flaring torches he recognised at some distance the hideous architecture of the Porta Pia.  He caught sight of the Zouave uniform under the glare and pressed forward instinctively, trying to see the faces of the men.  But the crowd was closely packed and he could not obtain a view, try as he might, and the darkness was so thick that the torches only made the air darker around them.

He listened to the tramp of feet and the ring of steel arms and accoutrements like a man in an evil dream.  Instead of passing quickly, the time now seemed interminable, for he was unable to move, and the feeling that among those thousands of moving soldiers there was perhaps that one man for whose blood he thirsted, was intolerable.  At last the tramping died away in the distance and the crowd loosened itself and began to break up.  Giovanni was carried with the stream, and once more it became indifferent to him whither he went.  All at once he was aware of a very tall man who walked beside him, a man so large that he looked up, sure that the giant could be none but his cousin San Giacinto.

“Are you here, too?” asked the latter in a friendly voice, as he recognised Giovanni by the light of a lamp, under which they were passing.

“I came to see them off,” replied Sant’ Ilario, coldly.  It seemed to him as though his companion must have followed him.

“So did I,” said San Giacinto.  “I heard the news late last night, and only lay down for an hour or two.”

“What time is it?” asked Giovanni, who supposed it was about midnight.

“Five o’clock.  It will be daylight, or dawn at least, in an hour.”

Giovanni was silent, wondering absently where he had been all night.  For some time the two walked on without speaking.

“You had better come and have coffee with me,” said San Giacinto as they passed through the Piazza Barbarini.  “I made my man get up so that I might have some as soon as I got home.”

Giovanni assented.  The presence of some one with whom he could speak made him realise that he was almost exhausted for want of food.  It was morning, and he had eaten nothing since the preceding midday, and little enough then.  In a few minutes they reached San Giacinto’s lodging.  There was a lamp burning brightly on the table of the sitting-room, and a little fire was smouldering on the hearth.  Giovanni sank into a chair, worn out with hunger and fatigue, while the servant brought the coffee and set it on the table.

“You look tired,” remarked San Giacinto.  “One lump or two?”

Giovanni drank the beverage without tasting it, but it revived him, and the warmth of the room comforted his chilled and tired limbs.  He did not notice that San Giacinto was looking hard at him, wondering indeed what could have produced so strange an alteration in his appearance and manner.