VI + 

Maddalena was very silent on the journey, and Gian-Luca knew that she grieved, so he too was silent, for how could he console her for this unhappy ending to their visit? + 

When they came near the frontier at Modane the next day Gian-Luca looked at his wife; Maddalena was gazing out of the window and he saw that the tears were rolling down her cheeks⁠—she, who so seldom wept. Then he took her hand and stroked it with his fingers, while the other passengers pretended to read⁠—they were all English people who were fond of Italians, and they thought this a quarrel between lovers. + 

Gian-Luca said gently: “Listen, donna mia, I know that this thing had to be⁠—I came as a man who longed for a country, but I go as a man who no longer needs a country, for no country on earth could give me what I need⁠—what I must some day find.” He did not know what he meant by the words, did not know, indeed, why he spoke them; but he went on gently stroking her hand, and now he heard himself speaking again: “It is you that I pity, you are patient and loving, and always you share my misfortunes⁠—but try not to cry; you will go back, I know, you will go back to the Campagna⁠—” and he added: “Just think of the white mule, Umberto, who was such an old robber of grapes!” Then Maddalena must smile through her tears, remembering the wicked Umberto. + 

“And the sheep all wear little bells,” said Maddalena. + 

“Si, si,” he consoled, “they all wear little bells⁠—and your Christ left the print of His foot in the stone⁠—and at sunrise the mists look purple and golden⁠—you have often told me about it.” + 

She said: “But will you come with me, Gian-Luca?” + 

And he answered: “Rome is the cradle of your faith⁠—would you not like to see St. Peter’s again, after all these years, Maddalena?” + 

“Yes, yes⁠—but you will come with me?” she persisted. And he answered: “It is very wonderful, St. Peter’s⁠—all night and all day they burn eighty-nine lamps, and the faithful kneel down and pray at the tomb⁠—you have often told me about it.” + 

Then her eyes grew reminiscent, and she started to tell him many things about the churches of Rome: San Pietro in Vincoli⁠—old, very old, and containing the chains of St. Peter; Santa Prassede with its bones of the martyr; Santa Bibiana, with its stump of a column at which the good saint had been scourged. And as she talked on he nodded and smiled and continued to fondle her hand. + 

“Ma si,” he murmured, “I am glad that you are Roman⁠—it must feel very fine to be Roman, I think⁠—so many brave deeds behind you, Maddalena⁠—and you too are brave, one can see it in your face; and now, look, you have quite stopped crying!” + 

The train had jolted itself into Modane, and all was noise and confusion. Shouting officials running backwards and forwards, dignified English folk talking Italian learnt from inadequate handbooks. There were people snatching a hasty sandwich or an orange, or an apple, or a bun⁠—not a fat currant bun, but its thin Latin cousin containing no currants at all. Presently the train was ready to start: “In vagone! In vagone! Partenza!” + 

And that was how Gian-Luca left the land of his fathers, taking Maddalena with him. + 