"He is gone," said Bice, jumping up; "he has been gone a long time. What shall we do, Andrea? Can one of the men take him into Florence?" "Would he go?--the signorina should rather ask that question. Otherwise the cart from the _podere_ is here, going in with a couple of pigs that have been sold. But the creature would not follow." "Then we must tie him to the back." "Gia, _gia_, that is it, the signorina has always got her ideas." Old Andrea, who had recovered his good humour, stood shaking his broad shoulders and pointing at Cartouche, who kept close to Beatrice. "And he really is clever, too, he knows he has found a friend. Come along, come along, signorina mia." "You will not go?" said Oliver, holding her back. He was furious with the dog, with the old cook, and with the knowledge that Ibbetson had already been there that morning. One other moment and the girl would have been his, he had known it, and now-- It seemed to Bice as if a weight had fallen from her, she caught her hand from his and stood breathing quickly. "Yes, I must go," she said, almost angrily. "Don't you see they cannot manage him by themselves. Come, Cartouche; come, Andrea." She ran towards the house, the dog followed her, leaping and barking. Oliver turned sharply away and went to the Virgin's niche. He wanted to see if she had really taken fresh flowers there. Had Ibbetson helped her; was she playing a double game? He stood for some time thinking, his head bent and a frown on his face; and while he was there, a cart came jolting down the white and stony road. Behind it, and dragged unwillingly along, was poor Cartouche on his way to his home. Bice was walking by his side to console him for a little part of the road by encouraging words. She did not see Oliver Trent, nor hear his exclamation of rage, but she looked like a creature who had escaped to freedom, and had thrown off a burden. He was half disposed to follow her, but something seemed to warn him that the spell was broken, and must be re-woven before he could succeed.