"Oh!" they cried, cut to the quick, for Gigi did verily want to go to Rome for his college course, and Toscana, who had a pretty mezzo-soprano voice, had a plan of living at her sister's to learn singing. Regina became thoughtful, guessing their own and their friends' dreams, and remembering her own earlier illusions. She vainly sought to shake off the sadness, the remorse, the presentiment of evil, which was weighing her down. "And you, Petrin, I suppose you want to go to Rome too? Couldn't you bring Gabri and Gabrie in this chaise?" "I'm going to Paris," the man answered, stolidly. "To be sure! I remember you thought of it last year. You said you had enough money." "So I have still. I can't spend it here, and my uncle in Paris keeps writing 'Come! Come!'" Regina was not listening. She was caught up in a pleasure, expected indeed, which yet took her by surprise, soothing her sick heart as a balsam soothes a wound. For there, in the hollow behind the row of black trees bordering the _viassolin_ (lane), was the little white house, a lamp shining from its window! Already she heard the scraping voice of the frogs, which croaked in the ditch beside the lane. Shadows of two persons were spread across the road, and a soprano voice resounded in a prolonged call, like the shout of a would-be passenger to the ferryman on the opposite bank of the river-- "Regina--a--a----" "It's that fool Adamo," said Gigi; "he's always calling you like that. He says you ought to hear him in Rome. She shouts, too," he added, pinching Toscana's knee. "And so do you," said Toscana. The voice rang out again, sent back by the water, echoing to the farther shore. Regina jumped from the carriage, and ran towards the two dear shadows. One of them separated itself from the other and rushed madly. It was the boy, and he fell upon Regina like a thunderbolt, hugging her, squeezing her tightly, even pretending to roll her into the river. "Adamo! Are you gone mad?" she cried, resisting him. "Do you want to break my bones?" Then Adamo, whose great dark eyes were brilliant in the moonlight, remembered Regina had written something about being ill, and he too became suddenly shy of her. "How you've grown!" she exclaimed. "Why, you're two inches taller than I am!" "Ill weeds grow apace," said Gigino. Then Adamo, who for fifteen was really a giant, gave Toscana a push _en passant_, and sprang upon his brother, trying to roll him down the bank. Shouts of laughter, exclamations, a perfect explosion of fun and childish thoughtlessness filled the perfumed silence. Regina left the children to forget her in this rough amusement, and hurried on to her mother. They embraced without a word; then Signora Tagliamari asked for Antonio. "I thought he would have come to take care of you!" she said. "Frankly now, how are you getting on together? You haven't had any little difference----"