"I'm sorry for you, Honourable, very sorry," he said. "You've deceived
us all, but now you are seen in your true colours, and apparently
throwing off all disguise."
The Sergeant was so far right that Rossi was another man. Whatever had
been tender and sweet in him was now hard and bitter. The train started
for Rome, and the soldiers drew the straws out of their Tuscan cigars
and smoked. Rossi coiled himself up in his corner and shut his eyes.
Sometimes a sneer curled his lips, sometimes he laughed aloud.
They were travelling by the coast route, and when the train ran into
Genoa a military band at the foot of the monument to Mazzini was playing
the royal hymn. But the festivities of the King's Jubilee were eclipsed
in public interest by the arrest of Rossi and the collapse of the
conspiracy which it was understood to imply. The marshal of the
Carabineers bought the local papers, and one of them was full of details
of "The Great Plot." An exact account was given from a semi-military
standpoint of the plan of the supposed raid. It included the capture of
the arsenal at Genoa and the assassination of the King at Rome.
The train ran through countless tunnels like the air through a flute,
now rumbling in the darkness, now whistling in the light. Rossi closed
his eyes and shut out the torment of passing scenes, and straightway he
was seeing Roma. He could only see her as he had always seen her, with
her golden complexion, her large violet eyes and long curved lashes, her
mouth which had its own gift of smiling, and her glow of health and
happiness. Whatever she had done he knew that he must always love her.
This worked on him like madness, and once again he leapt to his feet and
made for the corridor, whereupon the Carabineers, who had been sleeping,
got up and shut the door.
Night fell, and the moon rose, large and blood-red as a setting sun.
When the train shot on to the Roman Campagna, like a boat gliding into
open sea, the great and solemn desolation seemed more than ever
withdrawn from the sights and sounds of the living world. Rossi
remembered the joy of joys with which he had expected to cross the
familiar country. Then he looked across at the soldiers who were snoring
in their seats.
When the train stopped at Civita Vecchia, the Carabineers opened the
door to the corridor that their prisoner might stretch his legs. Some
evening papers from Rome were handed into the carriage. Rossi put out
his hand to pay for them, and to his surprise it was seized with an
eager grasp. The newsman, who was also carrying a tray of coffee, was a
huge creature, with a white apron and a paper cap.