Giacinta looked till she could bear it no longer; she kissed the cheek,
and crooned over it, gladdened by a sense of jealous possession when she
thought of the adored thing her mistress had been overnight. One of her
hugs awoke Vittoria, who said, 'Shut my window, mother,' and slept again
fast. Giacinta saw that they were nearer to the mountains. Mountain-
shadows were thrown out, and long lank shadows of cypresses that climbed
up reddish-yellow undulations, told of the sun coming. The sun threw a
blaze of light into the carriage. He shone like a good friend, and
helped Giacinta think, as she had already been disposed to imagine, that
the machinery by which they had been caught out of Milan was amicable
magic after all, and not to be screamed at. The sound medicine of sleep
and sunlight was restoring livelier colour to her mistress. Giacinta
hushed her now, but Vittoria's eyes opened, and settled on her, full of
repose.

'What are you thinking about?' she asked.

'Signorina, my own, I was thinking whether those people I see on the
hill-sides are as fond of coffee as I am.'

Vittoria sat up and tumbled questions out headlong, pressing her eyes and
gathering her senses; she shook with a few convulsions, but shed no
tears. It was rather the discomfort of their position than any vestige
of alarm which prompted Giacinta to project her head and interrogate the
coachman and chasseur. She drew back, saying, 'Holy Virgin! they are
Germans. We are to stop in half-an-hour.' With that she put her hands
to use in arranging and smoothing Vittoria's hair and dress--the dress of
Camilla--of which triumphant heroine Vittoria felt herself an odd little
ghost now. She changed her seat that she might look back on Milan. A
letter was spied fastened with a pin to one of the cushions. She opened