Gouache was received very well by Giovanni, and rather coldly by Corona, who knew him but slightly.

“I congratulate you,” said Giovanni, noticing the stripes on the young man’s sleeves; “I see that you have risen in grade.”

“Yes.  I hold an important command of six men.  I spend much time in studying the strategy of Conde and Napoleon.  By the bye, I am here on a very important mission.”

“Indeed!”

“I suppose you give yourselves the luxury of never reading the papers in this delightful retreat.  The day before yesterday the Cardinal attempted to arrest our friend Del Ferice—­have you heard that?”

“No—­what—­has he escaped?” asked Giovanni and Corona in a breath.  But their tones were different.  Giovanni had anticipated the news, and was disgusted at the idea that the fellow had got off.  Corona was merely surprised.

“Yes.  Heaven knows how—­he has escaped.  I am here to cut him off if he tries to get to the Serra di Sant’ Antonio.”

Giovanni laughed.

“He will scarcely try to come this way—­under the very walls of my house,” he said.

“He may do anything.  He is a slippery fellow.”  Gouache proceeded to tell all he knew of the circumstances.

“That is very strange,” said Corona, thoughtfully.  Then after a pause, she added, “We are going to visit our road, Monsieur Gouache.  Will you not come with us?  My husband will give you a horse.”

Gouache was charmed.  He preferred talking to Giovanni and looking at Corona’s face to returning to his six Zouaves, or patrolling the hills in search of Del Ferice.  In a few minutes the three were mounted, and riding slowly along the level stretch towards the works.  As they entered the new road Giovanni and Corona unconsciously fell into conversation, as usual, about what they were doing, and forgot their visitor.  Gouache dropped behind, watching the pair and admiring them with true artistic appreciation.  He had a Parisian’s love of luxury and perfect appointments as well as an artist’s love of beauty, and his eyes rested with unmitigated pleasure on the riders and their horses, losing no detail of their dress, their simple English accoutrements, their firm seats and graceful carriage.  But at a turn of the grade the two riders suddenly slipped from his field of vision, and his attention was attracted to the marvellous beauty of the landscape, as looking down the valley towards Astrardente he saw range on range of purple hills rising in a deep perspective, crowned with jagged rocks or sharply defined brown villages, ruddy in the lowering sun.  He stopped his horse and sat motionless, drinking in the loveliness before him.  So it is that accidents in nature make accidents in the lives of men.

But Giovanni and Corona rode slowly down the gentle incline, hardly noticing that Gouache had stopped behind, and talking of the work.  As they again turned a curve of the grade Corona, who was on the inside, looked up and caught sight of Gouache’s motionless figure at the opposite extremity of the gradient they had just descended.  Giovanni looked straight before him, and was aware of a pale-faced Capuchin friar who with downcast eyes was toiling up the road, seemingly exhausted; a particularly weather-stained and dilapidated friar even for those wild mountains.