She was silent, as if she understood nothing of all this and was willing to wait quietly until he said something that really concerned her. “It is surely beginning to dawn upon me,” he said after a moment’s thought, “that I have traveled over this part of the mountain before. Perhaps I should have recognized this village and this house if it had not been for the mist. Yes, yes, it is the place in the mountains, of course, where the doctor sent me seven years ago, and where I stormed up and down the most inaccessible places, like a fool.” “I was sure of it,” she said, and a little ray of joy lighted on her lips. “I was sure you could not have forgotten. The dog, Fuoco, certainly did not forget it, neither his old hate of you--nor I--my old love.” She said this so cheerfully and with such assurance that he looked at her with increasing surprise. “I do seem to remember now a young girl,” said he, “whom I met once on a height of the Apennines, and who guided me to the home of her parents. I should otherwise have been obliged to pass the night on the cliffs. I even remember that I was pleased--” “Yes,” she broke in, “very much!” “But I didn’t please the maiden. I had a long conversation with her, to which she contributed not above ten words. When I thought at last to awaken the sleeping, sullen, sad little mouth with a kiss--I see her now as she sprang away from me to one side and picked up a stone in each hand, so that I hardly came off without being well stoned. If _you_ are the maiden, how is it that you now talk to me about your old love?” “I was fifteen years of age, Filippo, and very shy. I was always defiant and solitary, and did not know how to express myself. And then, too, I was afraid of my parents, who were still living at that time, as you afterward came to know. My father controlled many herds and herdsmen, and this inn here. There has been little change since then. Only he orders and scolds here no more--may his soul rest in Paradise! And before my mother I was shyest of all. Do you not know, you were sitting then at this very spot and praised the wine we had brought from Pistoja? I heard no more than this. My mother was looking sharply at me, so I went out and placed myself behind the window so that I could still look at you. You were younger, of course, but not better looking. You have to-day the same eyes with which you used to conquer when you wished, and the same mysterious voice which so aroused the jealousy of the dog, poor beast! Till then I had loved no one but him! He knew it, that I loved you more, he knew it better than you did.”