VITTORIA

By George Meredith

CONTENTS:

 BOOK 1. I. UP MONTE MOTTERONE II. ON THE HEIGHTS III. SIGNORINA VITTORIA IV. AMMIANI'S INTERCESSION V. THE SPY VI. THE WARNING VII. BARTO RIZZO VIII. THE LETTER

 BOOK 2. IX. IN VERONA X. THE POPE'S MOUTH XI. LAURA PIAVENI XII. THE BRONZE BUTTERFLY XIII. THE PLOT OF THE SIGNOR ANTONIO

 BOOK 3. XIV. AT THE MAESTRO'S DOOR XV. AMMIANI THROUGH THE MIDNIGHT XVI. COUNTESS AMMIANI XVII. IN THE PIAZZA D'ARMI XVIII. THE NIGHT OF THE FIFTEENTH XIX. THE PRIMA DONNA

 BOOK 4. XX. THE OPERA OF CAMILLA XXI. THE THIRD ACT XXII. WILFRID COMES FORWARD XXIII. FIRST HOURS OF THE FLIGHT XXIV. ADVENTURES OF VITTORIA AND ANGELO XXV. ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS

 BOOK 5. XXVI. THE DUEL IN THE PASS XXVII. A NEW ORDEAL XXVIII. THE ESCAPE OF ANGELO

 BOOK 6. XXIX. EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR--THE TOBACCO RIOTS --RINALDO GUIDASCARPI XXX. EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR--THE FIVE DAYS OF MILAN XXXI. EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR--VITTORIA DISOBEYS HER LOVER XXXII. EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR--THE TREACHERY OF PERICLES-THE WRITE UMBRELLA--THE DEATH OF RINALDO GUIDASCARPI

 BOOK 7. XXXIII. EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR--COUNT KARL LENKENSTEIN-- THE STORY OF THE GUIDASCARPI--THE VICTORY OF THE VOLUNTEERS XXXIV. EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR--THE DEEDS OF BARTO RIZZO-- THE MEETING AT ROVEREDO XXXV. CLOSE OF THE LOMBARD CAMPAIGN--VITTORIA'S PERPLEXITY XXXVI. A FRESH ENTANGLEMENT XXXVII. ON LAGO MAGGIORE XXXVIII. VIOLETTA D'ISORELLA XXXIX. ANNA OF LENKENSTEIN

 BOOK 8. XL. THROUGH THE WINTER XLI. THE INTERVIEW XLII. THE SHADOW OF CONSPIRACY XLIII. THE LAST MEETING IN MILAN XLIV. THE WIFE AND THE HUSBAND XLV. SHOWS MANY PATHS CONVERGING TO THE END XLVI. THE LAST EPILOGUE

CHAPTER I

From Monte Motterone you survey the Lombard plain. It is a towering domeof green among a hundred pinnacles of grey and rust-red crags. Atdawn the summit of the mountain has an eagle eye for the far Venetianboundary and the barrier of the Apennines; but with sunrise come themists. The vast brown level is seen narrowing in; the Ticino and theSesia waters, nearest, quiver on the air like sleepy lakes; the plain isengulphed up to the high ridges of the distant Southern mountain range, which lie stretched to a faint cloud-like line, in shape like a solitarymonster of old seas crossing the Deluge. Long arms of vapour stretchacross the urn-like valleys, and gradually thickening and swellingupward, enwrap the scored bodies of the ashen-faced peaks and thepastures of the green mountain, till the heights become islands overa forgotten earth. Bells of herds down the hidden run of the sweetgrasses, and a continuous leaping of its rivulets, give the Motteronea voice of youth and homeliness amid that stern company of Titan-heads, for whom the hawk and the vulture cry. The storm has beaten at themuntil they have got the aspect of the storm. They take colour fromsunlight, and are joyless in colour as in shade. When the lower worldis under pushing steam, they wear the look of the revolted sons of Time, fast chained before scornful heaven in an iron peace. Day at last bringsvigorous fire; arrows of light pierce the mist-wreaths, the dancingdraperies, the floors of vapour; and the mountain of piled pasturages isseen with its foot on the shore of Lago Maggiore. Down an extreme gulfthe full sunlight, as if darting on a jewel in the deeps, seizes theblue-green lake with its isles. The villages along the darkly-woodedborders of the lake show white as clustered swans; here and there atented boat is visible, shooting from terraces of vines, or hanging onits shadow. Monte Boscero is unveiled; the semicircle of the Piedmonteseand the Swiss peaks, covering Lake Orta, behind, on along the Ticineseand the Grisons, leftward toward and beyond the Lugano hills, stand barein black and grey and rust-red and purple. You behold a burnished realmof mountain and plain beneath the royal sun of Italy. In the foregroundit shines hard as the lines of an irradiated Cellini shield. Fartheraway, over middle ranges that are soft and clear, it melts, confusingthe waters with hot rays, and the forests with darkness, to where, wavering in and out of view like flying wings, and shadowed like wingsof archangels with rose and with orange and with violet, silverwhiteAlps are seen. You might take them for mystical streaming torches on theborder-ground between vision and fancy. They lean as in a great flightforward upon Lombardy. 

The curtain of an early autumnal morning was everywhere lifted aroundthe Motterone, save for one milky strip of cloud that lay lizard-likeacross the throat of Monte Boscero facing it, when a party of fivefootfarers, who had met from different points of ascent some way below, and were climbing the mountain together, stood upon the cropped herbageof the second plateau, and stopped to eye the landscape; possibly alsoto get their breath. They were Italians. Two were fair-haired muscularmen, bronzed by the sun and roughly bearded, bearing the stamp of breedof one or other of the hill-cities under the Alps. A third looked asturdy soldier, squareset and hard of feature, for whom beauties ofscenery had few awakening charms. The remaining couple were an oldman and a youth, upon whose shoulder the veteran leaned, and with awhimsical turn of head and eye, indicative of some playful cast ofmind, poured out his remarks upon the objects in sight, and chuckledto himself, like one who has learnt the necessity to appreciate his ownhumour if he is disposed to indulge it. He was carelessly wrapped aboutin long loose woollen stuff, but the youth was dressed like a Milanesecavalier of the first quality, and was evidently one who would have beenat home in the fashionable Corso. His face was of the sweetest virileItalian beauty. The head was long, like a hawk's, not too lean, and notsharply ridged from a rapacious beak, but enough to show characteristicsof eagerness and promptitude. His eyes were darkest blue, the eyebrowsand long disjoining eyelashes being very dark over them, which madetheir colour precious. The nose was straight and forward from the brows;a fluent black moustache ran with the curve of the upper lip, and lostits line upon a smooth olive cheek. The upper lip was firmly supportedby the under, and the chin stood freely out from a fine neck and throat. 

After a space an Austrian war-steamer was discerned puffing out of theharbour of Laveno. 

"That will do, " said the old man. "Carlo, thou son of Paolo, we willstump upward once more. Tell me, hulloa, sir! are the best peachesdoomed to entertain vile, domiciliary, parasitical insects? I ask you, does nature exhibit motherly regard, or none, for the regions of thepicturesque? None, I say. It is an arbitrary distinction of our day. Tocomplain of the intrusion of that black-yellow flag and foul smoke-lineon the lake underneath us is preposterous, since, as you behold, theheavens make no protestation. Let us up. There is comfort in exercise, even for an ancient creature such as I am. This mountain is my brother, and flatters me not--I am old. "

"Take my arm, dear Agostino, " said the youth. 

"Never, my lad, until I need it. On, ahead of me, goat! chamois! andteach me how the thing used to be done in my time. Old legs must bethe pupils of young ones mark that piece of humility, and listen withrespectfulness to an old head by-and-by. "

It was the autumn antecedent to that memorable Spring of the greatItalian uprising, when, though for a tragic issue, the people of Italyfirst felt and acted as a nation, and Charles Albert, called the Swordof Italy, aspired, without comprehension of the passion of patriotismby which it was animated, to lead it quietly into the fold of hisPiedmontese kingship. 

There is not an easier or a pleasanter height to climb than theMotterone, if, in Italian heat, you can endure the disappointment ofseeing the summit, as you ascend, constantly flit away to a fartherstation. It seems to throw its head back, like a laughing senior whenchildren struggle up for kissings. The party of five had come throughthe vines from Stresa and from Baveno. The mountain was strange to them, and they had already reckoned twice on having the topmost eminencein view, when reaching it they found themselves on a fresh plateau, traversed by wild water-courses, and browsed by Alpine herds; and againthe green dome was distant. They came to the highest chalet, where ahearty wiry young fellow, busily employed in making cheese, invitedthem to the enjoyment of shade and fresh milk. "For the sake of theseadolescents, who lose much and require much, let it be so, " saidAgostino gravely, and not without some belief that he consented to reston behalf of his companions. They allowed the young mountaineer to closethe door, and sat about his fire like sagacious men. When cooled andrefreshed, Agostino gave the signal for departure, and returned thanksfor hospitality. Money was not offered and not expected. As theywere going forth the mountaineer accompanied them to the step on thethreshold, and with a mysterious eagerness in his eyes, addressedAgostino. 

"Signore, is it true?--the king marches?"

"Who is the king, my friend?" returned Agostino. "If he marches out ofhis dominions, the king confers a blessing on his people perchance. "

"Our king, signore!" The mountaineer waved his finger as from Novaratoward Milan. 

Agostino seemed to awaken swiftly from his disguise of an absolutegravity. A red light stood in his eyeballs, as if upon a fiery answer. The intemperate fit subsided. Smoothing dawn his mottled grey beard withquieting hands, he took refuge in his habitual sententious irony. 

"My friend, I am not a hare in front of the king, nor am I a ram in therear of him: I fly him not, neither do I propel him. So, therefore, Icannot predict the movements of the king. Will the wind blow from thenorth to-morrow, think you?"

The mountaineer sent a quick gaze up the air, as to descry signs. 

"Who knows?" Agostino continued, though not playing into the smiles ofhis companions; "the wind will blow straight thither where there isa vacuum; and all that we can state of the king is, that there isa positive vacuum here. It would be difficult to predict the king'smovements save by such weighty indications. "

He laid two fingers hard against the rib which shields the heart. It hadbecome apparently necessary for the speaker to relieve a mind surchargedwith bile at the mention of the king; for, having done, he rebukedwith an amazed frown the indiscretion of Carlo, who had shouted, "TheCarbonaro king!"

"Carlo, my son, I will lean on your arm. On your mouth were better, "Agostino added, under his voice, as they moved on. 

"Oh, but, " Carlo remonstrated, "let us trust somebody. Milan has made mesick of late. I like the look of that fellow. "

"You allow yourself, my Carlo, an immense indulgence in permittingyourself to like the look of anything. Now, listen--Viva Carlo Alberto!"

The old man rang out the loyal salutation spiritedly, and awoke a promptresponse from the mountaineer, who sounded his voice wide in the keenupper air. 

"There's the heart of that fellow!" said Agostino. "He has but oneidea--his king! If you confound it, he takes you for an enemy. Thesefree mountain breezes intoxicate you. You would embrace the king himselfif you met him here. "

"I swear I would never be guilty of the bad joke of crying a 'Viva'to him anywhere upon earth, " Carlo replied. "I offend you, " he saidquickly. 

The old man was smiling. 

"Agostino Balderini is too notoriously a bad joker to be offended by thecomments of the perfectly sensible, boy of mine! My limbs were stiff, and the first three steps from a place of rest reminded me acutely ofthe king's five years of hospitality. He has saved me from all fatigueso long, that the necessity to exercise these old joints of mine touchedme with a grateful sense of his royal bounty. I had from him a chair, a bed, and a table: shelter from sun and from all silly chatter. Now Iwant a chair or a bed. I should like to sit at a table; the sun burnsme; my ears are afflicted. I cry 'Viva!' to him that I may be in harmonywith the coming chorus of Italy, which I prophetically hear. That youngfellow, in whom you confide so much, speaks for his country. We poorunits must not be discordant. No! Individual opinion, my Carlo, isdiscord when there is a general delirium. The tide arriving, let us makethe best of the tide. My voice is wisdom. We shall have to follow thisking!"

"Shall we!" uttered one behind them gruffly. "When I see this kingswallow one ounce of Austrian lead, I shall not be sorry to follow him!"

"Right, my dear Ugo, " said Agostino, turning round to him; "and I willthen compose his hymn of praise. He has swallowed enough of Austrianbread. He took an Austrian wife to his bed. Who knows? he may some daydeclare a preference for Austrian lead. But we shall have to follow him, or stay at home drivelling. "

Agostino raised his eyes, that were glazed with the great heat of hisframe. 

"Oh, that, like our Dante, I had lived in the days when souls weredamned! Then would I uplift another shout, believe me! As things gonow, we must allow the traitor to hope for his own future, and we simplyshrug. We cannot plant him neck-deep for everlasting in a burning marl, and hear him howling. We have no weapons in these times--none! Ourcurses come back to roost. This is one of the serious facts of thecentury, and controls violent language. What! are you all gathered aboutme? Oracles must be moving, too. There's no rest even for them, whenthey have got a mountain to scale. "

A cry, "He is there!" and "Do you see him?" burst from the throats ofmen surrounding Agostino. 

Looking up to the mountain's top, they had perceived the figure ofone who stood with folded arms, sufficiently near for the person of anexpected friend to be descried. They waved their hats, and Carloshot ahead. The others trod after him more deliberately, but in gladexcitement, speculating on the time which this sixth member of theparty, who were engaged to assemble at a certain hour of the morningupon yonder height, had taken to reach the spot from Omegna, or Orta, or Pella, and rejoicing that his health should be so stout in despite ofhis wasting labours under city smoke. 

"Yes, health!" said Agostino. "Is it health, do you think? It's theheart of the man! and a heart with a mill-stone about it--a heart tobreed a country from! There stands the man who has faith in Italy, though she has been lying like a corpse for centuries. God bless him! Hehas no other comfort. Viva l'Italia!"

The exclamation went up, and was acknowledged by him on the eminenceoverhanging them; but at a repetition of it his hand smote the airsideways. They understood the motion, and were silent; while he, untilCarlo breathed his name in his hearing, eyed the great scene stedfastly, with the absorbing simple passion of one who has endured long exile, and finds his clustered visions of it confronting the strange, beloved, visible life:--the lake in the arms of giant mountains: thefar-spreading hazy plain; the hanging forests; the pointed crags; thegleam of the distant rose-shadowed snows that stretch for ever like anairy host, mystically clad, and baffling the eye as with the motions ofa flight toward the underlying purple land. 

CHAPTER II

He was a man of middle stature, thin, and even frail, as he stooddefined against the sky; with the complexion of the student, and thestudent's aspect. The attentive droop of his shoulders and head, thestraining of the buttoned coat across his chest, the air as of one whowaited and listened, which distinguished his figure, detracted from thepromise of other than contemplative energy, until his eyes were fairlyseen and felt. That is, until the observer became aware that those softand large dark meditative eyes had taken hold of him. In them lay noabstracted student's languor, no reflex burning of a solitary lamp; buta quiet grappling force engaged the penetrating look. Gazing upon them, you were drawn in suddenly among the thousand whirring wheels of acapacious and a vigorous mind, that was both reasoning and prompt, keenof intellect, acting throughout all its machinery, and having all underfull command: an orbed mind, supplying its own philosophy, and arrivingat the sword-stroke by logical steps, --a mind much less supple than asoldier's; anything but the mind of a Hamlet. The eyes were dark as theforest's border is dark; not as night is dark. Under favourable lightstheir colour was seen to be a deep rich brown, like the chestnut, ormore like the hazel-edged sunset brown which lies upon our western riversin the winter floods, when night begins to shadow them. 

The side-view of his face was an expression of classic beauty rarely nowto be beheld, either in classic lands or elsewhere. It was severe; thetender serenity of the full bow of the eyes relieved it. In profile theyshowed little of their intellectual quality, but what some might havethought a playful luminousness, and some a quick pulse of feeling. Thechin was firm; on it, and on the upper lip, there was a clipped growthof black hair. The whole visage widened upward from the chin, though notvery markedly before it reached the broad-lying brows. The temples werestrongly indented by the swelling of the forehead above them: andon both sides of the head there ran a pregnant ridge, such as willsometimes lift men a deplorable half inch above the earth we tread. If this man was a problem to others, he was none to himself; and whenothers called him an idealist, he accepted the title, reading himself, notwithstanding, as one who was less flighty than many philosophers andprofessedly practical teachers of his generation. He saw far, and hegrasped ends beyond obstacles: he was nourished by sovereign principles;he despised material present interests; and, as I have said, he was lesssupple than a soldier. If the title of idealist belonged to him, we willnot immediately decide that it was opprobrious. The idealized conceptionof stern truths played about his head certainly for those who knew andwho loved it. Such a man, perceiving a devout end to be reached, mightprove less scrupulous in his course, possibly, and less remorseful, thanrevolutionary Generals. His smile was quite unclouded, and came softlyas a curve in water. It seemed to flow with, and to pass in and out of, his thoughts, to be a part of his emotion and his meaning when itshone transiently full. For as he had an orbed mind, so had he an orbednature. The passions were absolutely in harmony with the intelligence. He had the English manner; a remarkable simplicity contrasting withthe demonstrative outcries and gesticulations of his friends when theyjoined him on the height. Calling them each by name, he received theircaresses and took their hands; after which he touched the old man'sshoulder. 

"Agostino, this has breathed you?"

"It has; it has, my dear and best one!" Agostino replied. "But here is agood market-place for air. Down below we have to scramble for it in themire. The spies are stifling down below. I don't know my own shadow. Ibegin to think that I am important. Footing up a mountain corrects thenotion somewhat. Yonder, I believe, I see the Grisons, where Freedomsits. And there's the Monte della Disgrazia. Carlo Alberto should be onthe top of it, but he is invisible. I do not see that Unfortunate. "

"No, " said Carlo Ammiani, who chimed to his humour more readily thanthe rest, and affected to inspect the Grisons' peak through a diminutiveopera-glass. "No, he is not there. "

"Perhaps, my son, he is like a squirrel, and is careful to run upt'other side of the stem. For he is on that mountain; no doubt of itcan exist even in the Boeotian mind of one of his subjects; myself, forexample. It will be an effulgent fact when he gains the summit. "

The others meantime had thrown themselves on the grass at the feet oftheir manifestly acknowledged leader, and looked up for Agostino toexplode the last of his train of conceits. He became aware that themoment for serious talk had arrived, and bent his body, groaning loudly, and uttering imprecations against him whom he accused of being thepromoter of its excruciating stiffness, until the ground relieved him ofits weight. Carlo continued standing, while his eyes examined restlesslythe slopes just surmounted by them, and occasionally the deep descentover the green-glowing Orta Lake. It was still early morning. The heatwas tempered by a cool breeze that came with scents of thyme. They hadno sight of human creature anywhere, but companionship of Alps and birdsof upper air; and though not one of them seasoned the converse withan exclamation of joy and of blessings upon a place of free speech andsafety, the thought was in their hunted bosoms, delicious as a woodlandrivulet that sings only to the leaves overshadowing it. 

They were men who had sworn to set a nation free, --free from theforeigner, to begin with. 

(He who tells this tale is not a partisan; he would deal equally towardall. Of strong devotion, of stout nobility, of unswerving faith andself-sacrifice, he must approve; and when these qualities are displayedin a contest of forces, the wisdom of means employed, or of ultimateviews entertained, may be questioned and condemned; but the menthemselves may not be. )

These men had sworn their oath, knowing the meaning of it, and thenature of the Fury against whom men who stand voluntarily pledged to anygreat resolve must thenceforward match themselves. Many of the originalbrotherhood had fallen, on the battle-field, on the glacis, or inthe dungeon. All present, save the youthfuller Carlo, had suffered. Imprisonment and exile marked the Chief. Ugo Corte, of Bergamo, had seenhis family swept away by the executioner and pecuniary penalties. Thickscars of wounds covered the body and disfigured the face of GiulioBandinelli. Agostino had crawled but half-a-year previously out of hisPiedmontese cell, and Marco Sana, the Brescian, had in such a placetasted of veritable torture. But if the calamity of a great oath wasupon them, they had now in their faithful prosecution of it the supportwhich it gives. They were unwearied; they had one object; the mortalanguish they had gone through had left them no sense for regrets. Lifehad become the field of an endless engagement to them; and as in battleone sees beloved comrades struck down, and casts but a glance at theirprostrate forms, they heard the mention of a name, perchance, and witha word or a sign told what was to be said of a passionate glorious heartat rest, thanks to Austrian or vassal-Sardinian mercy. 

So they lay there and discussed their plans. 

"From what quarter do you apprehend the surprise?" Ugo Corte glancedup from the maps and papers spread along the grass to question Carloironically, while the latter appeared to be keeping rigid watch over thesafety of the position. Carlo puffed the smoke of a cigarette rapidly, and Agostino replied for him:--"From the quarter where the best donkeysare to be had. "

It was supposed that Agostino had resumed the habit usually laid asideby him for the discussion of serious matters, and had condescended tofather a coarse joke; but his eyes showed no spark of their well-knowntwinkling solicitation for laughter, and Carlo spoke in answergravely:--"From Baveno it will be. "

"From Baveno! They might as well think to surprise hawks from Baveno. Keep watch, dear Ammiani; a good start in a race is a kick from theGods. "

With that, Corte turned to the point of his finger on the map. Heconceived it possible that Carlo Ammiani, a Milanese, had reason toanticipate the approach of people by whom he, or they, might not wish tobe seen. Had he studied Carlo's face he would have been reassured. Thebrows of the youth were open, and his eyes eager with expectation, thatshowed the flying forward of the mind, and nothing of knotted distrustor wary watchfulness. Now and then he would move to the other side ofthe mountain, and look over upon Orta; or with the opera-glass claspedin one hand beneath an arm, he stopped in his sentinel-march, frowningreflectively at a word put to him, as if debating within upon all thebearings of it; but the only answer that came was a sharp assent, given after the manner of one who dealt conscientiously in definiteaffirmatives; and again the glass was in requisition. Marco Sana wasa fighting soldier, who stated what he knew, listened, and took hisorders. Giulio Bandinelli was also little better than the lieutenant inan enterprise. Corte, on the other hand, had the conspirator's head, --ahead like a walnut, bulging above the ears, --and the man was of asallying temper. He lay there putting bit by bit of his plot beforethe Chief for his approval, with a careful construction, that upon theexpression of any doubt of its working smoothly in the streets of Milan, caused him to shout a defensive, "But Carlo says yes!"

This uniform character of Ammiani's replies, and the smile of Agostinoon hearing them, had begun to strike the attention of the soldierlyMarco Sana. He ran his hand across his shorn head, and puffed his burntred mole-spotted cheeks, with a sidelong stare at the abstracted youth, "Said yes!" he remarked. "He might say no, for a diversion. He hasyeses enough in his pay to earn a Cardinal's hat. 'Is Milan preparing torise?' 'Yes. '--'Is she ready for the work?' 'Yes. '--'Is the garrisonon its guard?' 'Yes. '--'Have you seen Barto Rizzo?' 'Yes. '--'Have thepeople got the last batch of arms?' 'Yes. '--And 'Yes, ' the secret iswell kept; 'Yes, ' Barto Rizzo is steadily getting them together. We mayrely on him: Carlo is his intimate friend: Yes, Yes:--There's a regimentof them at your service, and you may shuffle them as you will. This isthe help we get from Milan: a specimen of what we may expect!"

Sana had puffed himself hot, and now blew for coolness. 

"You are, "--Agostino addressed him, --"philosophically totally wrong, myMarco. Those affirmatives are fat worms for the catching of fish. Theyare the real pretty fruit of the Hesperides. Personally, you or I may beirritated by them: but I'm not sure they don't please us. Were Carloa woman, of course he should learn to say no;--as he will now if Iask him, Is she in sight? I won't do it, you know; but as a man and adiplomatist, it strikes me that he can't say yes too often. "

"Answer me, Count Ammiani, and do me the favour to attend to thesetrifles for the space of two minutes, " said Corte. "Have you seen BartoRizzo? Is he acting for Medole?"

"As mole, as reindeer, and as bloody northern Raven!" ejaculatedAgostino: "perhaps to be jackal, by-and-by. But I do not care to abuseour Barto Rizzo, who is a prodigy of nature, and has, luckily forhimself, embraced a good cause, for he is certain to be hanged if he isnot shot. He has the prophetic owl's face. I have always a fancy of hishooting his own death-scrip. I wrong our Barto:--Medole would be thejackal, if it lay between the two. "

Carlo Ammiani had corrected Corte's manner to him by a complacentreadiness to give him distinct replies. He then turned and set off atfull speed down the mountain. 

"She is sighted at last, " Agostino murmured, and added rapidly somespirited words under his breath to the Chief, whose chin was resting onhis doubled hand. 

Corte, Marco, and Giulio were full of denunciations against Milan andthe Milanese, who had sent a boy to their councils. It was Brescia andBergamo speaking in their jealousy, but Carlo's behaviour was odd, and called for reproof. He had come as the deputy of Milan to meet theChief, and he had not spoken a serious word on the great business ofthe hour, though the plot had been unfolded, the numbers sworn to, andBrescia, and Bergamo, and Cremona, and Venice had spoken upon all pointsthrough their emissaries, the two latter cities being represented bySana and Corte. 

"We've had enough of this lad, " said Corte. "His laundress is followinghim with a change of linen, I suppose, or it's a scent-bottle. He's anadmirable representative of the Lombard metropolis!" Corte drawled outthe words in prodigious mimicry. "If Milan has nothing better to sendthan such a fellow, we'll finish without her, and shame the beast thatshe is. She has been always a treacherous beast!"

"Poor Milan!" sighed the Chief; "she lies under the beak of the vulture, and has twice been devoured; but she has a soul: she proves it. Ammiani, too, will prove his value. I have no doubt of him. As to boys, or evengirls, you know my faith is in the young. Through them Italy lives. Whatpower can teach devotion to the old?"

"I thank you, signore, " Agostino gesticulated. 

"But, tell me, when did you learn it, my friend?"

In answer, Agostino lifted his hand a little boy's height from theearth. 

The old man then said: "I am afraid, my dear Corte, you must accept thefellowship of a girl as well as of a boy upon this occasion. See! ourCarlo! You recognize that dancing speck below there?--he has joinedhimself--the poor lad wishes he could, I dare swear!--to another biggerspeck, which is verily a lady: who has joined herself to a donkey--acommon habit of the sex, I am told; but I know them not. That lady, signor Ugo, is the signorina Vittoria. You stare? But, I tell you, thegame cannot go on without her; and that is why I have permitted you toknock the ball about at your own pleasure for these forty minutes. "

Corte drew his under-lip on his reddish stubble moustache. "Are we tohave women in a conference?" he asked from eye to eye. 

"Keep to the number, Ugo; and moreover, she is not a woman, but a noblevirgin. I discern a distinction, though you may not. The Vestal's fireburns straight. "

"Who is she?"

"It rejoices me that she should be so little known. All the greaterthe illumination when her light shines out! The signorina Vittoria is acantatrice who is about to appear upon the boards. "

"Ah! that completes it. " Corte rose to his feet with an air ofdesperation. "We require to be refreshed with quavers and crescendosand trillets! Who ever knew a singer that cared an inch of flesh forher country? Money, flowers, flattery, vivas! but, money! money!and Austrian as good as Italian. I've seen the accursed wenches bowgratefully for Austrian bouquets:--bow? ay, and more; and when theAustrian came to them red with our blood. I spit upon their pollutedcheeks! They get us an ill name wherever they go. These singers have nocountry. One--I knew her--betrayed Filippo Mastalone, and sang the nightof the day he was shot. I heard the white demon myself. I could havetaken her long neck till she twisted like a serpent and hissed. Mayheaven forgive me for not levelling a pistol at her head! If God, myfriends, had put the thought into my brain that night!"

A flush had deadened Corte's face to the hue of nightshade. 

"You thunder in a clear atmosphere, my Ugo, " returned the old man, as hefell back calmly at full length. 

"And who is this signorina Vittoria?" cried Corte. 

"A cantatrice who is about to appear upon the boards, as I have alreadyremarked: of La Scala, let me add, if you hold it necessary. "

"And what does she do here?"

"Her object in coming, my friend? Her object in coming is, first, tomake her reverence to one who happens to be among us this day; andsecondly, but principally, to submit a proposition to him and to us. "

"What's her age?" Corte sneered. 

"According to what calendar would you have it reckoned? Wisdom would saysixty: Father Chronos might divide that by three, and would get scarce amonth in addition, hungry as he is for her, and all of us! But Minerva'shandmaiden has no age. And now, dear Ugo, you have your opportunity todenounce her as a convicted screecher by night. Do so. "

Corte turned his face to the Chief, and they spoke together for someminutes: after which, having had names of noble devoted women, dead andliving, cited to him, in answer to brutal bellowings against that sex, and hearing of the damsel under debate as one who was expected and waswelcome, he flung himself upon the ground again, inviting calamity bypremature resignation. Giulio Bandinelli stretched his hand for Carlo'sglass, and spied the approach of the signorina. 

"Dark, " he said. 

"A jewel of that complexion, " added Agostino, by way of comment. 

"She has scorching eyes. "

"She may do mischief; she may do mischief; let it be only on the rightSide!"

"She looks fat. "

"She sits doubled up and forward, don't you see, to relieve the poordonkey. You, my Giulio, would call a swan fat if the neck were notalways on the stretch. "

"By Bacchus! what a throat she has!"

"And well interjected, Giulio! It runs down like wine, like wine, to thelittle ebbing and flowing wave! Away with the glass, my boy! You musttrust to all that's best about you to spy what's within. She makes meyoung--young!"

Agostino waved his hand in the form of a salute to her on the last shortascent. She acknowledged it gracefully; and talking at intervals toCarlo Ammiani, who footed briskly by her side, she drew by degrees amongthe eyes fixed on her, some of which were not gentle; but hers were forthe Chief, at whose feet, when dismounted by Ammiani's solicitous aid, she would have knelt, had he not seized her by her elbows, and put hislips to her cheek. 

"The signorina Vittoria, gentlemen, " said Agostino. 

CHAPTER III

The old man had introduced her with much of the pride of a fatherdisplaying some noble child of his for the first time to admiringfriends. 

"She is one of us, " he pursued; "a daughter of Italy! My daughter also;is it not so?"

He turned to her as for a confirmation. The signorina pressed hisfingers. She was a little intimidated, and for the moment seemed shyand girlish. The shade of her broad straw hat partly concealed her vividfeatures. 

"Now, gentlemen, if you please, the number is complete, and we mayproceed to business, " said Agostino, formally but as he conducted thesignorina to place her at the feet of the Chief, she beckoned to herservant, who was holding the animal she had ridden. He came up to her, and presented himself in something of a military posture of attentionto her commands. These were that he should take the poor brute towater, and then lead him back to Baveno, and do duty in waiting uponher mother. The first injunction was received in a decidedly acquiescentmanner. On hearing the second, which directed his abandonment of hispost of immediate watchfulness over her safety, the man flatly objectedwith a "Signorina, no. "

He was a handsome bright-eyed fellow, with a soldier's frame and a smileas broad and beaming as laughter, indicating much of that mixture ofacuteness, and simplicity which is a characteristic of the South, andmeans no more than that the extreme vivacity of the blood exceeds attimes that of the brain. 

A curious frown of half-amused astonishment hung on the signorina'sface. 

"When I tell you to go, Beppo!"

At once the man threw out his fingers, accompanied by an amazinglyvoluble delivery of his reasons for this revolt against her authority. Among other things, he spoke of an oath sworn by him to a foreigngentleman, his patron, --for whom, and for whomsoever he loved, he wasready to pour forth his heart's blood, --to the effect that he wouldnever quit her side when she left the roof of her house. 

"You see, Beppo, " she remonstrated, "I am among friends. "

Beppo gave a sweeping bow, but remained firm where he stood. Ammianicast a sharp hard look at the man. 

"Do you hear the signorina's orders?"

"I hear them, signore. "

"Will you obey them?"

She interposed. "He must not hear quick words. Beppo is only showinghis love for his master and for me. But you are wrong in this case, myBeppo. You shall give me your protection when I require it; and now, youare sensible, and must understand that it is not wanted. I tell you togo. "

Beppo read the eyes of his young mistress. 

"Signorina, "--he stooped forward mysteriously, --"signorina, that fellowis in Baveno. I saw him this morning. "

"Good, good. And now go, my friend. "

"The signor Agostino, " he remarked loudly, to attract the old man; "thesignor Agostino may think proper to advise you. "

"The signor Agostino will laugh at nothing that you say to-day, Beppo. You will obey me. Go at once, " she repeated, seeing him on tiptoe togain Agostino's attention. 

Beppo knew by her eyes that her ears were locked against him; and, though she spoke softly, there was an imperiousness in her voice not tobe disregarded. He showed plainly by the lost rigidity of his attitudethat he was beaten and perplexed. Further expostulations beingdisregarded, he turned his head to look at the poor panting beast underhis charge, and went slowly up to him: they walked off together, acrest-fallen pair. 

"You have gained the victory, signorina, " said Ugo Corte. 

She replied, smiling, "My poor Beppo! it's not difficult to get the bestof those who love us. "

"Ha!" cried Agostino; "here is one of their secrets, Carlo. Take heed ofit, my boy. We shall have queens when kings are fossils, mark me!"

Ammiani muttered a courtly phrase, whereat Corte yawned in very grimfashion. 

The signorina had dropped to the grass, at a short step from the Chief, to whom her face was now seriously given. In Ammiani's sight she lookeda dark Madonna, with the sun shining bright gold through the edgesof the summer hat, thrown back from her head. The full and steadycontemplative eyes had taken their fixed expression, after a vanishingaffectionate gaze of an instant cast upon Agostino. Attentive as theywere, light played in them like water. The countenance was vivid inrepose. She leaned slightly forward, clasping the wrist of one handabout her knee, and the sole of one little foot showed from under herdress. 

Deliberately, but with no attempt at dramatic impressiveness, the Chiefbegan to speak. He touched upon the condition of Italy, and the new liltanimating her young men and women. "I have heard many good men jeer, "he said, "at our taking women to our counsel, accepting their help, andputting a great stake upon their devotion. You have read history, andyou know what women can accomplish. They may be trained, equally as weare, to venerate the abstract idea of country, and be a sacrifice to it. Without their aid, and the fire of a fresh life being kindled in theirbosoms, no country that has lain like ours in the death-trance canrevive. In the death-trance, I say, for Italy does not die!"

"True, " said other voices. 

"We have this belief in the eternal life of our country, and the beliefis the life itself. But let no strong man among us despise the help ofwomen. I have seen our cause lie desperate, and those who despairedof it were not women. Women kept the flame alive. They worship in thetemple of the cause. "

Ammiani's eyes dwelt fervidly upon the signorina. Her look, which wasfastened upon the Chief, expressed a mind that listened to strangematter concerning her very little. But when the plans for the risingof the Bergamascs and Brescians, the Venetians, the Bolognese, theMilanese, all the principal Northern cities, were recited, with apractical emphasis thrown upon numbers, upon the readiness of theorganized bands, the dispositions of the leaders, and the amount ofresistance to be expected at the various points indicated for theoutbreak, her hands disjoined, and she stretched her fingers to thegrass, supporting herself so, while her extended chin and animatedfeatures told how eagerly her spirit drank at positive springs, andthirsted for assurance of the coming storm. 

"It is decided that Milan gives the signal, " said the Chief; and alight, like the reflection of a beacon-fire upon the night, flashed overher. 

He was pursuing, when Ugo Corte smote the air with his nervous fingers, crying out passionately, "Bunglers! are we again to wait for them, andhear that fifteen patriots have stabbed a Croat corporal, and wrestledhotly with a lieutenant of the guard? I say they are bunglers. Theynever mean the thing. Fifteen! There were just three Milanese among thelast lot--the pick of the city; and the rest were made up of Trentini, and our lads from Bergamo and Brescia; and the order from the Councilwas, 'Go and do the business!' which means, 'Go and earn your ounce ofAustrian lead. ' They went, and we gave fifteen true men for one poordevil of a curst tight blue-leg. They can play the game on if we givethem odds like that. Milan burns bad powder, and goes off like a druggedpistol. It's a nest of bunglers, and may it be razed! We could dowithout it, and well! If it were a family failing, should not I toobe trusting them? My brother was one of the fifteen who marched out astargets to try the skill of those hell-plumed Tyrolese: and they did itthoroughly--shot him straight here. " Corte struck his chest. "He gavea jump and a cry. Was it a viva for Milan? They swear that it was, andthey can't translate from a living mouth, much more from a dead one; butI know my Niccolo better. I have kissed his lips a thousand times, andI know the poor boy meant, 'Scorn and eternal distrust of suchpeddling conspirators as these!' I can deal with traitors, but theseflash-in-the-pan plotters--these shaking, jelly-bodied patriots!--trustto them again? Rather draw lots for another fifteen to bare theirbreasts and bandage their eyes, and march out in the grey morning, whilethe stupid Croat corporal goes on smoking his lumpy pipe! We shall hearthat Milan is moving; we shall rise; we shall be hot at it; and the newswill come that Milan has merely yawned and turned over to sleep on theother side. Twice she has done this trick, and the garrison there hassent five regiments to finish us--teach us to sleep soundly likewise! Isay, let it be Bergamo; or be it Brescia, if you like; or Venice: sheis ready. You trust to Milan, and you are fore-doomed. I would swear itwith this hand in the flames. She give the signal? Shut your eyes, crossyour hands flat on your breasts: you are dead men if you move. She leadthe way? Spin on your heels, and you have followed her!"

Corte had spoken in a thick difficult voice, that seemed to require theaid of his vehement gestures to pour out as it did like a water-pipe ina hurricane of rain. He ceased, red almost to blackness, and knotted hisarms, that were big as the cable of a vessel. Not a murmur followed hisspeech. The word was, given to the Chief, and he resumed:--"You havea personal feeling in this case, Ugo. You have not heard me. I camethrough Paris. A rocket will soon shoot up from Paris that will bea signal for Christendom. The keen French wit is sick of itscompromise-king. All Europe is in convulsions in a few months: to-morrowit may be. The elements are in the hearts of the people, and nothingwill contain them. We have sown them to reap them. The sowing asks forpersistency; but the reaping demands skill and absolute truthfulness. We have now one of those occasions coming which are the flowers tobe plucked by resolute and worthy hands: they are the tests of oursincerity. This time now rapidly approaching will try us all, and wemust be ready for it. If we have believed in it, we stand prepared. Ifwe have conceived our plan of action in purity of heart, we shall beguided to discern the means which may serve us. You will know speedilywhat it is that has prompted you to move. If passion blindfolds you, ifyou are foiled by a prejudice, I also shall know. My friend, thenursing of a single antipathy is a presumption that your motive force ispersonal--whether the thirst for vengeance or some internal union ofa hundred indistinct little fits of egoism. I have seen brave and evennoble men fail at the ordeal of such an hour: not fail in courage, notfail in the strength of their desire; that was the misery for them!They failed because midway they lost the vision to select the rightinstruments put in our way by heaven. That vision belongs solely to suchas have clean and disciplined hearts. The hope in the bosom of aman whose fixed star is Humanity becomes a part of his blood, and isextinguished when his blood flows no more. To conquer him, the principleof life must be conquered. And he, my friend, will use all, because heserves all. I need not touch on Milan. "

The signorina drew in her breath quickly, as if in this abrupt close shehad a revelation of the Chief's whole meaning, and was startled by thesudden unveiling of his mastery. Her hands hung loose; her figure wastremulous. A murmur from Corte jarred within her like a furious discord, but he had not offended by refusing to disclaim his error, and hadsimply said in a gruff acquiescent way, "Proceed. " Her sensations ofsurprise at the singular triumph of the Chief made her look curiouslyinto the faces of the other men; but the pronouncing of her name engagedher attention. 

"Your first night is the night of the fifteenth of next month?"

"It is, signore, " she replied, abashed to find herself speaking with himwho had so moved her. 

"There is no likelihood of a postponement?"

"I am certain, signore, that I shall be ready. "

"There are no squabbles of any serious kind among the singers?"

A soft dimple played for a moment on her lips. "I have heard something. "

"Among the women?"

"Yes, and the men. "

"But the men do not concern you?"

"No, signore. Except that the women twist them. "

Agostino chuckled audibly. The Chief resumed:

"You believe, notwithstanding, that all will go well? The opera will beacted; and you will appear in it?"

"Yes, signore. I know one who has determined on it, and can do it. "

"Good. The opera is Camilla?"

She was answering with an affirmative, when Agostino brokein, --"Camilla! And honour to whom honour is due! Let Caesar claimthe writing of the libretto, if it be Caesar's! It has passed thecensorship, signed Agostino Balderini--a disaffected person out ofPiedmont, rendered tame and fangless by a rigorous imprisonment. Thesources of the tale, O ye grave Signori Tedeschi? The sources arepartly to be traced to a neat little French vaudeville, verysparkling--Camille, or the Husband Asserted; and again to a certainChronicle that may be mediaeval, may be modern, and is just, as thegreat Shakespeare would say, 'as you like it. '"

Agostino recited some mock verses, burlesquing the ordinary libretti, and provoked loud laughter from Carlo Ammiani, who was familiar enoughwith the run of their nonsense. 

"Camilla is the bride of Camillo. I give to her all the brains, whichis a modern idea, quite! He does all the mischief, which is possiblymediaeval. They have both an enemy, which is mediaeval and modern. Noneof them know exactly what they are about; so there you have the modern, the mediaeval, and the antique, all in one. Finally, my friends, Camillais something for you to digest at leisure. The censorship swallowed itat a gulp. Never was bait so handsomely taken! At present I have the joyof playing my fish. On the night of the fifteenth I land him. Camillahas a mother. Do you see? That mother is reported, is generallyconceived, as dead. Do you see further? Camilla's first song treats of adream she has had of that mother. Our signorina shall not be troubled tofavour you with a taste of it, or, by Bacchus and his Indian nymphs, Ishould speedily behold you jumping like peas in a pan, like trout on abank! The earth would be hot under you, verily! As I was remarking, ormeant to be, Camilla and her husband disagree, having agreed to. 'Tis aplot to deceive Count Orso--aha? You are acquainted with Count Orso! Heis Camilla's antenuptial guardian. Now you warm to it! In that conditionI leave you. Perhaps my child here will give you a taste of her voice. The poetry does much upon reflection, but it has to ripen within you--amatter of time. Wed this voice to the poetry, and it finds passage'twixt your ribs, as on the point of a driven blade. Do I cry thesweetness and the coolness of my melons? Not I! Try them. "

The signorina put her hand out for the scroll he was unfolding, and casther eyes along bars of music, while Agostino called a "Silenzio tutti!"She sang one verse, and stopped for breath. 

Between her dismayed breathings she said to the Chief:--"Believe me, signore, I can be trusted to sing when the time comes. "

"Sing on, my blackbird--my viola!" said Agostino. "We all trust you. Look at Colonel Corte, and take him for Count Orso. Take me for prettyCamillo. Take Marco for Michiela; Giulio for Leonardo; Carlo for Cupid. Take the Chief for the audience. Take him for a frivolous public. Ah, myPippo!" (Agostino laughed aside to him). "Let us lead off with a lighterpiece; a trifle-tra-la-la! and then let the frisky piccolo be drownedin deep organ notes, as on some occasions in history the people overruncertain puling characters. But that, I confess, is an illustrationaltogether out of place, and I'll simply jot it down in my notebook. "

Agostino had talked on to let her gain confidence. When he was silentshe sang from memory. It was a song of flourishes: one of thosebe-flowered arias in which the notes flicker and leap like youngflames. Others might have sung it; and though it spoke favourably of heraptitude and musical education, and was of a quality to enrapture easy, merely critical audiences, it won no applause from these men. Theeffect produced by it was exhibited in the placid tolerance shown by theuplifting of Ugo Corte's eyebrows, which said, "Well, here's a voice, certainly. " His subsequent look added, "Is this what we have come hitherto hear?"

Vittoria saw the look. "Am I on my trial before you?" she thought; andthe thought nerved her throat. She sang in strong and grave contraltotones, at first with shut eyes. The sense of hostility left her, andleft her soul free, and she raised them. The song was of Camilla dying. She pardons the treacherous hand, commending her memory and the strengthof her faith to her husband:--

 "Beloved, I am quickly out of sight: I pray that you will love more than my dust. 

 Were death defeat, much weeping would be right; 'Tis victory when it leaves surviving trust. You will not find me save when you forget Earth's feebleness, and come to faith, my friend, For all Humanity doth owe a debt To all Humanity, until the end. "

Agostino glanced at the Chief to see whether his ear had caught note ofhis own language. 

The melancholy severity of that song of death changed to a song ofprophetic triumph. The signorina stood up. Camilla has thrown off themask, and has sung the name "Italia!" At the recurrence of it the menrose likewise. 

 "Italia, Italia, shall be free!"

Vittoria gave the inspiration of a dying voice: the conquest of death byan eternal truth seemed to radiate from her. Voice and features were asone expression of a rapture of belief built upon pathetic trustfulness. 

 "Italia, Italia shall be free!"

She seized the hearts of those hard and serious men as a wind takes thestrong oak-trees, and rocks them on their knotted roots, and leaves themwith the song of soaring among their branches. Italy shone about her;the lake, the plains, the peaks, and the shouldering flushed snowridges. Carlo Ammiani breathed as one who draws in fire. Grizzled Agostinoglittered with suppressed emotion, like a frosted thorn-bush in thesunlight. Ugo Corte had his thick brows down, as a man who is readingiron matter. The Chief alone showed no sign beyond a half lifting ofthe hand, and a most luminous fixed observation of the fair young woman, from whom power was an emanation, free of effort. The gaze was sadin its thoughtfulness, such as our feelings translate of the light ofevening. 

She ceased, and he said, "You sing on the night of the fifteenth?"

"I do, signore. "

"It is your first appearance?"

She bent her head. 

"And you will be prepared on that night to sing this song?"

"Yes, signore. "

"Save in the event of your being forbidden?"

"Unless you shall forbid me, I will sing it, signore. "

"Should they imprison you?--"

"If they shoot me I shall be satisfied to know that I have sung a songthat cannot be forgotten. "

The Chief took her hand in a gentle grasp. 

"Such as you will help to give our Italy freedom. You hold the sacredflame, and know you hold it in trust. "

"Friends, "--he turned to his companions, --"you have heard what will bethe signal for Milan. "

CHAPTER IV

It was a surprise to all of them, save to Agostino Balderini, who passedhis inspecting glance from face to face, marking the effect ofthe announcement. Corte gazed at her heavily, but not altogetherdisapprovingly. Giulio Bandinelli and Marco Sana, though evidentlyastonished, and to some extent incredulous, listened like the perfectlytrusty lieutenants in an enterprise which they were. But Carlo Ammianistood horror-stricken. The blood had left his handsome young olive-huedface, and his eyes were on the signorina, large with amazement, fromwhich they deepened to piteousness of entreaty. 

"Signorina!--you! Can it be true? Do you know?--do you mean it?"

"What, signor Carlo?"

"This; will you venture to do such a thing?"

"Oh, will I venture? What can you think of me? It is my own request. "

"But, signorina, in mercy, listen and consider. "

Carlo turned impetuously to the Chief. "The signorina can't know thedanger she is running. She will be seized on the boards, and shut upbetween four walls before a man of us will be ready, --or more than one, "he added softly. "The house is sure to be packed for a first night; andthe Polizia have a suspicion of her. She has been off her guard in theConservatorio; she has talked of a country called Italy; she has beenindiscreet;--pardon, pardon, signorina! but it is true that she hasspoken out from her noble heart. And this opera! Are they fools?--theymust see through it. It will never, --it can't possibly be reckoned onto appear. I knew that the signorina was heart and soul with us; butwho could guess that her object was to sacrifice herself in the frontrank, --to lead a forlorn hope! I tell you it's like a Pagan rite. Youare positively slaying a victim. I beg you all to look at the casecalmly!"

A burst of laughter checked him; for his seniors by many years could nothear such veteran's counsel from a hurried boy without being shrewdlytouched by the humour of it, while one or two threw a particular ironyinto their tones. 

"When we do slay a victim, we will come to you as our augur, my Carlo, "said Agostino. 

Corte was less gentle. As a Milanese and a mere youth Ammiani wasantipathetic to Corte, who closed his laughter with a windy rattle ofhis lips, and a "pish!" of some emphasis. 

Carlo was quick to give him a challenging frown. 

"What is it?" Corte bent his head back, as if inquiringly. 

"It's I who claim that question by right, " said Carlo. 

"You are a boy. "

"I have studied war. "

"In books. "

"With brains, Colonel Corte. "

"War is a matter of blows, my little lad. "

"Let me inform you, signor Colonel, that war is not a game betweenbulls, to be played with the horns of the head. "

"You are prepared to instruct me?" The fiery Bergamasc lifted hiseyebrows. 

"Nay, nay!" said Agostino. "Between us two first;" and he graspedCarlo's arm, saying in an underbreath, "Your last retort was toolong-winded. In these conflicts you must be quick, sharp as arifle-crack that hits echo on the breast-bone and makes her cry out. I correct a student in the art of war. " Then aloud: "My opera, youngman!--well, it's my libretto, and you know we writers always say 'myopera' when we have put the pegs for the voice; you are certainly awarethat we do. How dare you to make calumnious observations upon my opera?Is it not the ripe and admirable fruit of five years of confinement? Arenot the lines sharp, the stanzas solid? and the stuff, is it not good?Is not the subject simple, pure from offence to sensitive authority, constitutionally harmless? Reply!"

"It's transparent to any but asses, " said Carlo. 

"But if it has passed the censorship? You are guilty, my boy, ofbestowing upon those highly disciplined gentlemen who govern your famouscity--what title? I trust a prophetic one, since that it comes from ananimal whose custom is to turn its back before it delivers a blow, and is, they remark, fonder of encountering dead lions than live ones. Still, it is you who are indiscreet, --eminently so, I must add, if youwill look lofty. If my opera has passed the censorship! eh, what haveyou to say?"

Carlo endured this banter till the end of it came. 

"And you--you encourage her!" he cried wrathfully. "You know what thedanger is for her, if they once lay hands on her. They will have herin Verona in four-and-twenty hours; through the gates of the Adige in acouple of days, and at Spielberg, or some other of their infernal densof groans, within a week. Where is the chance of a rescue then? Theytorture, too, they torture! It's a woman; and insult will be one mode oftorturing her. They can use rods--"

The excited Southern youth was about to cover his face, but caught backhis hands, clenching them. 

"All this, " said Agostino, "is an evasion, manifestly, of the questionconcerning my opera, on which you have thought proper to cast a slur. The phrase, 'transparent to any but asses, ' may not be absolutelyobjectionable, for transparency is, as the critics rightly insist, meritorious in a composition. And, according to the other view, if wedesire our clever opponents to see nothing in something, it isnotably skilful to let them see through it. You perceive, my Carlo. Transparency, then, deserves favourable comment. So, I do not complainof your phrase, but I had the unfortunate privilege of hearing ituttered. The method of delivery scarcely conveyed a compliment. Will youapologize?"

Carlo burst from him with a vehement question to the Chief: "Is itdecided?"

"It is, my friend, " was the reply. 

"Decided! She is doomed! Signorina! what can you know of this frightfulrisk? You are going to the slaughter. You will be seized before thefirst verse is out of your lips, and once in their clutches, you willnever breathe free air again. It's madness!--ah, forgive me!--yes, madness! For you shut your eyes; you rush into the trap blindfolded. Andthat is how you serve our Italy! She sees you an instant, and you arecaught away;--and you who might serve her, if you would, do you thinkyou can move dungeon walls?"

"Perhaps, if I have been once seen, I shall not be forgotten, " saidthe signorina smoothly, and then cast her eyes down, as if she felt theburden of a little possible accusation of vanity in this remark. Sheraised them with fire. 

"No; never!" exclaimed Carlo. "But, now you are ours. And--surely it isnot quite decided?"

He had spoken imploringly to the Chief. "Not irrevocably?" he added. 

"Irrevocably!"

"Then she is lost!"

"For shame, Carlo Ammiani;" said old Agostino, casting his sententioushumours aside. "Do you not hear? It is decided! Do you wish to rob herof her courage, and see her tremble? It's her scheme and mine: a casewhere an old head approves a young one. The Chief says Yes! and youbellow still! Is it a Milanese trick? Be silent. "

"Be silent!" echoed Carlo. "Do you remember the beast Marschatska'sbet?" The allusion was to a black incident concerning a young Italianballet girl who had been carried off by an Austrian officer, under thepretext of her complicity in one of the antecedent conspiracies. 

"He rendered payment for it, " said Agostino. 

"He perished; yes! as we shake dust to the winds; but she!--it'sterrible! You place women in the front ranks--girls! What candefenceless creatures do? Would you let the van-regiment in battle bethe one without weapons? It's slaughter. She's like a lamb to them. Youhold up your jewel to the enemy, and cry, 'Come and take it. ' Thinkof the insults! think of the rough hands, and foul mouths! She will beseized on the boards--"

"Not if you keep your tongue from wagging, " interposed Ugo Corte, fevered by this unseasonable exhibition of what was to him manifestlya lover's frenzied selfishness. He moved off, indifferent to Carlo'sretort. Marco Sana and Giulio Bandinelli were already talking aside withthe Chief. 

"Signor Carlo, not a hand shall touch me, " said the signorina. "And I amnot a lamb, though it is good of you to think me one. I passed throughthe streets of Milan in the last rising. I was unharmed. You must havesome confidence in me. "

"Signorina, there's the danger, " rejoined Carlo. "You trust to your goodangels once, twice--the third time they fail you! What are you amonga host of armed savages? You would be tossed like weed on the sea. Inpity, do not look so scornfully! No, there is no unjust meaning in it;but you despise me for seeing danger. Can nothing persuade you? And, besides, " he addressed the Chief, who alone betrayed no signs ofweariness; "listen, I beg of you. Milan wants no more than a signal. Shedoes not require to be excited. I came charged with several proposalsfor giving the alarm. Attend, you others! The night of the Fifteenthcomes; it is passing like an ordinary night. At twelve a fire-balloon isseen in the sky. Listen, in the name of saints and devils!"

But even the Chief was observed to show signs of amusement, and thegravity of the rest forsook them altogether at the display of thisprofound and original conspiratorial notion. 

"Excellent! excellent! my Carlo, " said old Agostino, cheerfully. "Youhave thought. You must have thought, or whence such a conception? But, you really mistake. It is not the garrison whom we desire to put ontheir guard. By no means. We are not in the Imperial pay. Probably yourballoon is to burst in due time, and, wind permitting, disperse printedpapers all over the city?"

"What if it is?" cried Carlo fiercely. 

"Exactly. I have divined your idea. You have thought, or, to correct thetense, are thinking, which is more hopeful, though it may chance not toseem so meritorious. But, if yours are the ideas of full-blown jackets, bear in mind that our enemies are coated and breeched. It may becreditable to you that your cunning is not the cunning of the serpent;to us it would be more valuable if it were. Continue. "

"Oh! there are a thousand ways. " Carlo controlled himself with a sharpscrew of all his muscles. "I simply wish to save the signorina from anannoyance. "

"Very mildly put, " Agostino murmured assentingly. 

"In our Journal, " said Carlo, holding out the palm of one hand todot the forefinger of the other across it, by way of personalillustration--"in our Journal we might arrange for certain letters torecur at distinct intervals in Roman capitals, which might spell out, 'This Night AT Twelve, ' or 'At Once. '"

"Quite as ingenious, but on the present occasion erring on the side ofintricacy. Aha! you want to increase the sale of your Journal, do you, my boy? The rogue!"

With which, and a light slap over Carlo's shoulder, Agostino left him. 

The aspect of his own futile proposals stared the young man in the facetoo forcibly for him to nurse the spark of resentment which was struckout in the turmoil of his bosom. He veered, as if to follow Agostino, and remained midway, his chest heaving, and his eyelids shut. 

"Signor Carlo, I have not thanked you. " He heard Vittoria speak. "I knowthat a woman should never attempt to do men's work. The Chief will tellyou that we must all serve now, and all do our best. If we fail, andthey put me to great indignity, I promise you that I will not live. Iwould give this up to be done by anyone else who could do it better. Itis in my hands, and my friends must encourage me. "

"Ah, signorina!" the young man sighed bitterly. The knowledge that hehad already betrayed himself in the presence of others too far, and thesob in his throat labouring to escape, kept him still. 

A warning call from Ugo Corte drew their attention. Close by the chaletwhere the first climbers of the mountain had refreshed themselves, Beppowas seen struggling to secure the arms of a man in a high-crowned greenSwiss hat, who was apparently disposed to give the signorina's faithfulservant some trouble. After gazing a minute at this singular contention, she cried--"It's the same who follows me everywhere!"

"And you will not believe you are suspected, " murmured Carlo in her ear. 

"A spy?" Sana queried, showing keen joy at the prospect of scotchingsuch a reptile on the lonely height. Corte went up to the Chief. Theyspoke briefly together, making use of notes and tracings on paper. TheChief then said "Adieu" to the signorina. It was explained to the restby Corte that he had a meeting to attend near Pella about noon, and mustbe in Fobello before midnight. Thence his way would be to Genoa. 

"So, you are resolved to give another trial to our crownedex-Carbonaro, " said Agostino. 

"Without leaving him an initiative this time!" and the Chief embracedthe old man. "You know me upon that point. I cannot trust him. I do not. But, if we make such a tide in Lombardy that his army must be drawn intoit, is such an army to be refused? First, the tide, my friend! See tothat. "

"The king is our instrument!" cried Carlo Ammiani, brightening. 

"Yes, if we were particularly well skilled in the use of that kind ofinstrument, " Agostino muttered. 

He stood apart while the Chief said a few words to Carlo, which made theblood play vividly across the visage of the youth. Carlo tried humblyto expostulate once or twice. In the end his head was bowed, and hesignified a dumb acquiescence. 

"Once more, good-bye. " The Chief addressed the signorina in English. 

She replied in the same tongue, "Good-bye, " tremulously; and passionmounting on it, added--"Oh! when shall I see you again?"

"When Rome is purified to be a fit place for such as you. "

In another minute he was hidden on the slope of the mountain lyingtoward Orta. 

CHAPTER V

Beppo had effected a firm capture of his man some way down the slope. But it was a case of check that entirely precluded his own freemovements. They hung together intertwisted in the characters of speciouspacificator and appealing citizen, both breathless. 

"There! you want to hand me up neatly; I know your vanity, my Beppo; andyou don't even know my name, " said the prisoner. 

"I know your ferret of a face well enough, " said Beppo. "You dog thesignorina. Come up, and don't give trouble. "

"Am I not a sheep? You worry me. Let me go. "

"You're a wriggling eel. "

"Catch me fast by the tail then, and don't hold me by the middle. "

"You want frightening, my pretty fellow!"

"If that's true, my Beppo, somebody made a mistake in sending you to doit. Stop a moment. You're blown. I think you gulp down your minestra toohot; you drink beer. "

"You dog the signorina! I swore to scotch you at last. "

"I left Milan for the purpose--don't you see? Act fairly, my Beppo, andlet us go up to the signorina together decently. "

"Ay, ay, my little reptile! You'll find no Austrians here. Cry out tothem to come to you from Baveno. If the Motterone grew just one tree!Saints! one would serve. "

"Why don't you--fool that you are, my Beppo!--pray to the saintsearlier? Trees don't grow from heaven. "

"You'll be going there soon, and you'll know better about it. "

"Thanks to the Virgin, then, we shall part at some time or other!"

The struggles between them continued sharply during this exchangeof intellectual shots; but hearing Ugo Corte's voice, the prisoner'sconfident audacity forsook him, and he drew a long tight face like themask of an admonitory exclamation addressed to himself from within. 

"Stand up straight!" the soldier's command was uttered. 

Even Beppo was amazed to see that the man had lost the power to obey orto speak. 

Corte grasped him under the arm-pit. With the force of his huge fist heswung him round and stretched him out at arm's length, all collar andshanks. The man hung like a mole from the twig. Yet, while Beppo pouredout the tale of his iniquities, his eyes gave the turn of a twinkle, showing that he could have answered one whom he did not fear. Thecharge brought against him was, that for the last six months he had beenuntiringly spying on the signorina. 

Corte stamped his loose feet to earth, shook him and told him to walkaloft. The flexible voluble fellow had evidently become miserablydisconcerted. He walked in trepidation, speechless, and wheninterrogated on the height his eyes flew across the angry visages withdismal uncertainty. Agostino perceived that he had undoubtedly notexpected to come among them, and forthwith began to excite Giulio andMarco to the worst suspicions, in order to indulge his royal poetic soulwith a study of a timorous wretch pushed to anticipations of extremity. 

"The execution of a spy, " he preluded, "is the signal for the ringingof joy-bells on this earth; not only because he is one of a pestiferousexcess, in point of numbers, but that he is no true son of earth. Heescaped out of hell's doors on a windy day, and all that we do is topuff out a bad light, and send him back. Look at this fellow in whomconscience is operating so that he appears like a corked volcano! Youcan see that he takes Austrian money; his skin has got to be the exactcolour of Munz. He has the greenish-yellow eyes of those elective, thrice-abhorred vampyres who feed on patriot-blood. He is condemnedwithout trial by his villainous countenance, like an ungrammaticalpreface to a book. His tongue refuses to confess, but nature isstronger:--observe his knees. Now this is guilt. It is execrable guilt. He is a nasty object. Nature has in her wisdom shortened his stature toindicate that it is left to us to shorten the growth of his offendingyears. Now, you dangling soul! answer me:--what name hailed you when onearth?"

The fan, with no clearly serviceable tongue, articulated, "Luigi. "

"Luigi! the name Christian and distinctive. The name historic:-LuigiPorco?"

"Luigi Saracco, signore. "

"Saracco: Saracco: very possibly a strip of the posterity of cut-throatMoors. To judge by your face, a Moor undoubtedly: glib, slippery! witha body that slides and a soul that jumps. Taken altogether, more serpentthan eagle. I misdoubt that little quick cornering eye of yours. Do youever remember to have blushed?"

"No, signore, " said Luigi. 

"You spy upon the signorina, do you?"

"You have Beppo's word for that, " interposed Marco Sana, growling. 

"And you are found spying on the mountain this particular day! LuigiSaracco, you are a fellow of a tremendous composition. A goose walkinginto a den of foxes is alone to be compared to you, --if ever such goosewas! How many of us did you count, now, when you were, say, a quarter ofa mile below?"

Marco interposed again: "He has already seen enough up here to make arope of florins. "

"The fellow's eye takes likenesses, " said Giulio. 

Agostino's question was repeated by Corte, and so sternly that Luigi, beholding kindness upon no other face save Vittoria's, watched her, andmuttering "Six, " blinked his keen black eyes piteously to get her signof assent to his hesitated naming of that number. Her mouth and the turnof her head were expressive to him, and he cried "Seven. "

"So; first six, and next seven, " said Corte. 

"Six, I meant, without the signorina, " Luigi explained. 

"You saw six of us without the signorina! You see we are six here, including the signorina. Where is the seventh?"

Luigi tried to penetrate Vittoria's eyes for a proper response; butshe understood the grave necessity for getting the full extent of hisobservations out of him, and she looked as remorseless as the men. Hefeigned stupidity and sullenness, rage and cunning, in quick succession. 

"Who was the seventh?" said Carlo. 

"Was it the king?" Luigi asked. 

This was by just a little too clever; and its cleverness, being seen, magnified the intended evasion so as to make it appear to them thatLuigi knew well the name of the seventh. 

Marco thumped a hand on his shoulder, shouting--"Here; speak out! Yousaw seven of us. Where has the seventh one gone?"

Luigi's wits made a dash at honesty. "Down Orta, signore. "

"And down Orta, I think, you will go; deeper down than you may like. "

Corte now requested Vittoria to stand aside. He motioned to her with hishand to stand farther, and still farther off; and finally told Carlo toescort her to Baveno. She now began to think that the man Luigi was insome perceptible danger, nor did Ammiani disperse the idea. 

"If he is a spy, and if he has seen the Chief, we shall have to detainhim for at least four-and-twenty hours, " he said, "or do worse. "

"But, Signor Carlo, "--Vittoria made appeal to his humanity, --"do theymean, if they decide that he is guilty, to hurt him?"

"Tell me, signorina, what punishment do you imagine a spy deserves?"

"To be called one!"

Carlo smiled at her lofty method of dealing with the animal. 

"Then you presume him to have a conscience?"

"I am sure, Signor Carlo, that I could make him loathe to be called aspy. "

They were slowly pacing from the group, and were on the edge of thedescent, when the signorina's name was shrieked by Luigi. The man camerunning to her for protection, Beppo and the rest at his heels. Sheallowed him to grasp her hand. 

"After all, he is my spy; he does belong to me, " she said, stillspeaking on to Carlo. "I must beg your permission, Colonel Corte andSignor Marco, to try an experiment. The Signor Carlo will not believethat a spy can be ashamed of his name. --Luigi!"

"Signorina!"--he shook his body over her hand with a most plaintiveutterance. 

"You are my countryman, Luigi?"

"Yes, signorina. "

"You are an Italian?"

"Certainly, signorina!"

"A spy!"

Vittoria had not always to lift her voice in music for it to sway thehearts of men. She spoke the word very simply in a mellow soft tone. Luigi's blood shot purple. He thrust his fists against his ears. 

"See, Signor Carlo, " she said; "I was right. Luigi, you will be a spy nomore?"

Carlo Ammiani happened to be rolling a cigarette-paper. She put outher fingers for it, and then reached it to Luigi, who accepted it withsingular contortions of his frame, declaring that he would confesseverything to her. "Yes, signorina, it is true; I am a spy on you. Iknow the houses you visit. I know you eat too much chocolate for yourvoice. I know you are the friend of the Signora Laura, the widow ofGiacomo Piaveni, shot--shot on Annunciation Day. The Virgin bless him!I know the turning of every street from your house near the Duomo tothe signora's. You go nowhere else, except to the maestro's. And it'ssomething to spy upon you. But think of your Beppo who spies upon me!And your little mother, the lady most excellent, is down in Baveno, andshe is always near you when you make an expedition. Signorina, I knowyou would not pay your Beppo for spying upon me. Why does he do it? Ido not sing 'Italia, Italia shall be free!' I have heard you when I wasunder the maestro's windows; and once you sang it to the Signor AgostinoBalderini. Indeed, signorina, I am a sort of guardian of your voice. Itis not gold of the Tedeschi I get from the Signor Antonio Pericles. "

At the mention of this name, Agostino and Vittoria laughed out. 

"You are in the pay of the Signor Antonio-Pericles, " said Agostino. "Without being in our pay, you have done us the service to come up hereamong us! Bravo! In return for your disinterestedness, we kick you down, either upon Baveno or upon Stresa, or across the lake, if you preferit. --The man is harmless. He is hired by a particular worshipper of thesignorina's voice, who affects to have first discovered it when shewas in England, and is a connoisseur, a millionaire, a Greek, a richscoundrel, with one indubitable passion, for which I praise him. We willlet his paid eavesdropper depart, I think. He is harmless. "

Neither Ugo nor Marco was disposed to allow any description of spy toescape unscotched. Vittoria saw that Luigi's looks were against him, andwhispered: "Why do you show such cunning eyes, Luigi?"

He replied: "Signorina, take me out of their hearing, and I will tellyou everything. "

She walked aside. He seemed immediately to be inspired with confidence, and stretched his fingers in the form of a grasshopper, at which sightthey cried: "He knows Barto Rizzo--this rascal!" They plied him withsigns and countersigns, and speedily let him go. There ensued a sharpsnapping of altercation between Luigi and Beppo. Vittoria had to orderBeppo to stand back. 

"It is a poor dog, not of a good breed, signorina, " Luigi said, castinga tolerant glance over his shoulder. "Faithful, but a poor nose. Ah! yougave me this cigarette. Not the Virgin could have touched my marrow asyou did. That's to be remembered by-and-by. Now, you are going to singon the night of the fifteenth of September. Change that night. The Signor Antonio-Pericles watches you, and he is a friend of theGovernment, and the Government is snoring for you to think it asleep. The Signor Antonio-Pericles pacifies the Tedeschi, but he will know allthat you are doing, and how easy it will be, and how simple, for you tolet me know what you think he ought to know, and just enough to keephim comfortable! So we work like a machine, signorina. Only, not throughthat Beppo, for he is vain of his legs, and his looks, and his service, and because he has carried a gun and heard it go off. Yes; I am a spy. But I am honest. I, too, have visited England. One can be honest anda spy. Signorina, I have two arms, but only one heart. If you willbe gracious and consider! Say, here are two hands. One hand does thisthing, one hand does that thing, and that thing wipes out this thing. It amounts to clear reasoning! Here are two eyes. Were they meant tosee nothing but one side! Here is a tongue with a line down the middlealmost to the tip of it--which is for service. That Beppo couldn'tdeal double, if he would; for he is imperfectly designed--a mere dog'spattern! But, only one heart, signorina--mind that. I will neverforget the cigarette. I shall smoke it before I leave the mountain, andthink--oh!"

Having illustrated the philosophy of his system, Luigi continued: "Iam going to tell you everything. Pray, do not look on Beppo! This isimportant. The Signor Antonio-Pericles sent me to spy on you, because heexpects some people to come up the mountain, and you know them; andone is an Austrian officer, and he is an Englishman by birth, and heis coming to meet some English friends who enter Italy from Switzerlandover the Moro, and easily up here on mules or donkeys from Pella. TheSignor Antonio-Pericles has gold ears for everything that concernsthe signorina. 'A patriot is she!' he says; and he is jealous of yourEnglish friends. He thinks they will distract you from your studies;and perhaps"--Luigi nodded sagaciously before he permitted himself tosay--"perhaps he is jealous in another way. I have heard him speak likea sonnet of the signorina's beauty. The Signor Antonio-Pericles thinksthat you have come here to-day to meet them. When he heard that youwere going to leave Milan for Baveno, he was mad, and with two fists up, against all English persons. The Englishman who is an Austrian officeris quartered at Verona, and the Signor Antonio Pericles said that theEnglishman should not meet you yet, if he could help it. "

Victoria stood brooding. "Who can it be, --who is an Englishman, and anAustrian officer, and knows me?"

"Signorina, I don't know names. Behold, that Beppo is approaching likethe snow! What I entreat is, that the signorina will wait a little forthe English party, if they come, so that I may have something to tellmy patron. To invent upon nothing is most unpleasant, and the SignorAntonio can soon perceive whether one swims with corks. Signorina, Ican dance on one rope--I am a man. I am not a midge--I cannot dance uponnothing. "

The days of Vittoria's youth had been passed in England. It was notunknown to her that old English friends were on the way to Italy;the recollection of a quiet and a buried time put a veil across herfeatures. She was perplexed by the mention of the Austrian officer byLuigi, as one may be who divines the truth too surely, but will notaccept it for its loathsomeness. There were Englishmen in the army ofAustria. Could one of them be this one whom she had cared for when shewas a girl? It seemed hatefully cruel to him to believe it. She spoketo Agostino, begging him to remain with her on the height awhile to seewhether the Signor Antonio-Pericles was right; to see whether Luigi wasa truth-teller; to see whether these English persons were really coming. "Because, " she said, "if they do come, it will at once dissolve anysuspicions you may have of this Luigi. And I always long so much toknow if the Signor Antonio is correct. I have never yet known him to bewrong. "

"And you want to see these English, " said Agostino. He frowned. 

"Only to hear them. They shall not recognize me. I have now anothername; and I am changed. My hat is enough to hide me. Let me hear themtalk a little. You and the Signor Carlo will stay with me, and when theycome, if they do come, I will remain no longer than just sufficient tomake sure. I would refuse to know any of them before the night of thefifteenth; I want my strength too much. I shall have to hear a miseryfrom them; I know it, I feel it; it turns my blood. But let me heartheir voices! England is half my country, though I am so willing toforget her and give all my life to Italy. Stay with me, dear friend, mybest father! humour me, for you know that I am always charming when I amhumoured. "

Agostino pressed his finger on a dimple in her cheeks. "You can affordto make such a confession as that to a greybeard. The day is your own. Bear in mind that you are so situated that it will be prudent for youto have no fresh relations, either with foreigners or others, until yourwork is done, --in which, my dear child, may God bless you!"

"I pray to him with all my might, " Vittoria said in reply. 

After a consultation with Agostino, Ugo Corte and Marco and Giulio badetheir adieux to her. The task of keeping Luigi from their clutches wasdifficult; but Agostino helped her in that also. To assure them, afterhis fashion, of the harmlessness of Luigi, he seconded him in a contestof wit against Beppo, and the little fellow, now that he had shaken offhis fears, displayed a quickness of retort and a liveliness "unknownto professional spies and impossible to the race, " said Agostino; "soabsolutely is the mind of man blunted by Austrian gold. We know thatfor a fact. Beppo is no match for him. Beppo is sententious; ponderouslyillustrative; he can't turn; he is long-winded; he, I am afraid, myCarlo, studies the journals. He has got your journalistic style, whereinwords of six syllables form the relief to words of eight, and hardly onedares to stand by itself. They are like huge boulders across a brook. The meaning, do you, see, would run of itself, but you give us theseimpedimenting big stones to help us over it, while we profess tounderstand you by implication. For my part, I own, that to me, yourparliamentary, illegitimate academic, modern crocodile phraseology, which is formidable in the jaws, impenetrable on the back, can'tcircumvent a corner, and is enabled to enter a common understandingsolely by having a special highway prepared for it, --in short, thewriting in your journals is too much for me. Beppo here is an examplethat the style is useless for controversy. This Luigi baffles him atevery step. "

"Some, " rejoined Carlo, "say that Beppo has had the virtue to make youhis study. "

Agostino threw himself on his back and closed his eyes. "That, then, ismore than you have done, signor Tuquoque. Look on the Bernina yonder, and fancy you behold a rout of phantom Goths; a sleepy rout, new risen, with the blood of old battles on their shroud-shirts, and a North-eastwind blowing them upon our fat land. Or take a turn at the otherside toward Orta, and look out for another invasion, by no means sopicturesque, but preferable. Tourists! Do you hear them?"

Carlo Ammiani had descried the advanced troop of a procession ofgravely-heated climbers ladies upon donkeys, and pedestrian guardsstalking beside them, with courier, and lacqueys, and baskets ofprovisions, all bearing the stamp of pilgrims from the great WesternIsland. 

CHAPTER VI

A mountain ascended by these children of the forcible Isle, is amountain to be captured, and colonized, and absolutely occupied fora term; so that Vittoria soon found herself and her small body ofadherents observed, and even exclaimed against, as a sort of intrudingaborigines, whose presence entirely dispelled the sense of romanticdominion which a mighty eminence should give, and which Britons expectwhen they have expended a portion of their energies. The exclamationswere not complimentary; nevertheless, Vittoria listened with pleasedears, as one listens by a brookside near an old home, hearing a musicof memory rather than common words. They talked of heat, of appetite, ofchill, of thirst, of the splendour of the prospect, of the anticipationsof good hotel accommodation below, of the sadness superinduced by thereflection that in these days people were found everywhere, and poetrywas thwarted; again of heat, again of thirst, of beauty, and of chill. There was the enunciation of matronly advice; there was the outcryof girlish insubordination; there were sighings for English ale, andnamings of the visible ranges of peaks, and indicatings of geographicalfingers to show where Switzerland and Piedmont met, and Austria held hergrasp on Lombardy; and "to this point we go to-night; yonder to-morrow;farther the next day, " was uttered, soberly or with excitement, asbefitted the age of the speaker. 

Among these tourists there was one very fair English lady, with longauburn curls of the traditionally English pattern, and the science ofParis displayed in her bonnet and dress; which, if not as gracefulas severe admirers of the antique in statuary or of the mediaeval indrapery demand, pleads prettily to be thought so, and commonly succeedsin its object, when assisted by an artistic feminine manner. Vittoriaheard her answer to the name of Mrs. Sedley. She had once known her asa Miss Adela Pole. Amidst the cluster of assiduous gentlemen surroundingthis lady it was difficult for Vittoria's stolen glances to discern herhusband; and the moment she did discern him she became as indifferentto him as was his young wife, by every manifestation of her sentiments. Mrs. Sedley informed her lord that it was not expected of him to care, or to pretend to care, for such scenes as the Motterone exhibited; andhaving dismissed him to the shade of an umbrella near the provisionbaskets, she took her station within a few steps of Vittoria, andallowed her attendant gentlemen to talk while she remained plunged in ameditative rapture at the prospect. The talk indicated a settled schemefor certain members of the party to reach Milan from the Como road. Mrs. Sedley was asked if she expected her brother to join her here or inMilan. 

"Here, if a man's promises mean anything, " she replied languidly. 

She was told that some one waved a handkerchief to them from below. 

"Is he alone?" she said; and directing an operaglass upon the slope ofthe mountain, pursued, as in a dreamy disregard of circumstances: "Thatis Captain Gambier. My brother Wilfrid has not kept his appointment. Perhaps he could not get leave from the General; perhaps he is married;he is engaged to an Austrian Countess, I have heard. Captain Gambier didme the favour to go round to a place called Stresa to meet him. He hasundertaken the journey for nothing. It is the way with all journeysthough this" (the lady had softly reverted to her rapture) "this is tooexquisite! Nature at least does not deceive. "

Vittoria listened to a bubbling of meaningless chatter, until CaptainGambier had joined Mrs. Sedley; and at him, for she had known himlikewise, she could not forbear looking up. He was speaking to Mrs. Sedley, but caught the look, and bent his head for a clearer view ofthe features under the broad straw hat. Mrs. Sedley commanded himimperiously to say on. 

"Have you no letter from Wilfrid? Has the mountain tired you? HasWilfrid failed to send his sister one word? Surely Mr. Pericles willhave made known our exact route to him? And his uncle, General Pierson, could--I am certain he did--exert his influence to procure him leave fora single week to meet the dearest member of his family. "

Captain Gambier gathered his wits to give serviceable response to thekindled lady, and letting his eyes fall from time to time on the broadstraw hat, made answer--"Lieutenant Pierson, or, in other words, WilfridPole--"

The lady stamped her foot and flushed. 

"You know, Augustus, I detest that name. "

"Pardon me a thousandfold. I had forgotten. "

"What has happened to you?"

Captain Gambier accused the heat. 

"I found a letter from Wilfrid at the hotel. He is apparently kept onconstant service between Milan, and Verona, and Venice. His quarters areat Verona. He informs me that he is to be married in the Spring; thatis, if all continues quiet; married in the Spring. He seems to fancythat there may be disturbances; not of a serious kind, of course. Hewill meet you in Milan. He has never been permitted to remain at Milanlonger than a couple of days at a stretch. Pericles has told him thatshe is in Florence. Pericles has told me that Miss Belloni has removedto Florence. "

"Say it a third time, " the lady indulgently remarked. 

"I do not believe that she has gone. "

"I dare say not. "

"She has changed her name, you know. "

"Oh, dear, yes; she has done something fantastic, naturally! For mypart, I should have thought her own good enough. "

"Emilia Alessandra Belloni is good enough, certainly, " said CaptainGambier. 

The shading straw rim had shaken once during the colloquy. It was now afixed defence. 

"What is her new name?" Mrs. Sedley inquired. 

"That I cannot tell. Wilfrid merely mentions that he has not seen her. "

"I, " said Mrs. Sedley, "when I reach Milan, shall not trust to Mr. Pericles, but shall write to the Conservatorio; for if she is goingto be a great cantatrice, really, it will be agreeable to renewacquaintance with her. Nor will it do any mischief to Wilfrid, now thathe is engaged. Are you very deeply attached to straw hats? They aresweet in a landscape. "

Mrs. Sedley threw him a challenge from her blue eyes; but his reply toit was that of an unskilled youth, who reads a lady by the letters ofher speech:--"One minute. I will be with you instantly. I want to have alook down on the lake. I suppose this is one of the most splendid viewsin Italy. Half a minute!"

Captain Gambier smiled brilliantly; and the lady, perceiving thatpolished shield, checked the shot of indignation on her astonishedfeatures, and laid it by. But the astonishment lingered there, like thelines of a slackened bow. She beheld her ideal of an English gentlemanplace himself before these recumbent foreign people, and turn to talkacross them, with a pertinacious pursuit of the face under the bentstraw hat. Nor was it singular to her that one of them at last shouldrise and protest against the continuation of the impertinence. 

Carlo Ammiani, in fact, had opened matters with a scrupulously-courteousbow. 

"Monsieur is perhaps unaware that he obscures the outlook?"

"Totally, monsieur, " said Captain Gambier, and stood fast. 

"Will monsieur do me the favour to take three steps either to the rightor to the left?"

"Pardon, monsieur, but the request is put almost in the form of anorder. "

"Simply if it should prove inefficacious in the form of a request. "

"What, may I ask, monsieur, is your immediate object?"

"To entreat you to behave with civility. "

"I am at a loss, monsieur, to perceive any offence. "

"Permit me to say, it is lamentable you do not know when you insult alady. "

"I have insulted a lady?" Captain Gambier looked profoundly incredulous. "Oh! then you will not take exception to my assuming the privilege toapologize to her in person?"

Ammiani arrested him as he was about to pass. 

"Stay, monsieur; you determine to be impudent, I perceive; you shall notbe obtrusive. "

Vittoria had tremblingly taken old Agostino's hand, and had risen to herfeet. Still keeping her face hidden, she walked down the slope, followedat an interval by her servant, and curiously watched by the Englishofficer, who said to himself, "Well, I suppose I was mistaken, " andconsequently discovered that he was in a hobble. 

A short duologue in their best stilted French ensued between him andAmmiani. It was pitched too high in a foreign tongue for Captain Gambierto descend from it, as he would fain have done, to ask the lady's name. They exchanged cards and formal salutes, and parted. 

The dignified altercation had been witnessed by the main body of thetourists. Captain Gambier told them that he had merely interchangedamicable commonplaces with the Frenchman, --"or Italian, " he addedcarelessly, reading the card in his hand. "I thought she might besomebody whom we knew, " he said to Mrs. Sedley. 

"Not the shadow of a likeness to her, " the lady returned. 

She had another opinion when later a scrap of paper bearing onepencilled line on it was handed round. A damsel of the party had pickedit up near the spot where, as she remarked, "the foreigners had beensitting. " It said:--

 "Let none who look for safety go to Milan. "

CHAPTER VII

A week following the day of meetings on the Motterone, Luigi the spy wasin Milan, making his way across the Piazza de' Mercanti. He entered anarrow court, one of those which were anciently built upon the Orientalprinciple of giving shade at the small cost of excluding common air. Itwas dusky noon there through the hours of light, and thrice night whendarkness fell. The atmosphere, during the sun's short passage overhead, hung with a glittering heaviness, like the twinkling iron-dust in asubterranean smithy. On the lower window of one of the houses therewas a board, telling men that Barto Rizzo made and mended shoes, andrequesting people who wished to see him to make much noise at the door, for he was hard of hearing. It speedily became known in the court that avisitor desired to see Barto Rizzo. The noise produced by Luigi waslike that of a fanatical beater of the tomtom; he knocked and bangedand danced against the door, crying out for his passing amusement anadaptation of a popular ballad:--"Oh, Barto, Barto! my boot is sadlyworn: The toe is seen that should be veiled from sight. The toe thatshould be veiled like an Eastern maid: like a sultan's daughter:Shocking! shocking! One of a company of ten that were living a secludedlife in chaste privacy! Oh, Barto, Barto! must I charge it to thydespicable leather or to my incessant pilgrimages? One fair toe! I fearpresently the corruption of the remaining nine: Then, alas! what do I goon? How shall I come to a perfumed end, who walk on ten indecent toes?Well may the delicate gentlemen sneer at me and scorn me: As for theangelic Lady who deigns to look so low, I may say of her that hergraciousness clothes what she looks at: To her the foot, the leg, theback: To her the very soul is bared: But she is a rarity upon earth. Oh, Barto, Barto, she is rarest in Milan! I might run a day's length and notfind her. If, O Barto, as my boot hints to me, I am about to be strippedof my last covering, I must hurry to the inconvenient little chamberof my mother, who cannot refuse to acknowledge me as of this pattern:Barto, O shoemaker! thou son of artifice and right-hand-man ofnecessity, preserve me in the fashion of the time: Cobble me neatly: Adozen wax threads and I am remade:--Excellent! I thank you! Now I canplant my foot bravely: Oh, Barto, my shoemaker! between ourselves, itis unpleasant in these refined days to be likened at all to thatpreposterous Adam!"

The omission of the apostrophes to Barto left it one of the ironical, veiled Republican, semi-socialistic ballads of the time, which were sungabout the streets for the sharpness and pith of the couplets, and notfrom a perception of the double edge down the length of them. 

As Luigi was coming to the terminating line, the door opened. A veryhandsome sullen young woman, of the dark, thick-browed Lombard type, asked what was wanted; at the same time the deep voice of a man;conjecturally rising from a lower floor, called, and a lock was rattled. The woman told Luigi to enter. He sent a glance behind him; he hadevidently been drained of his sprightliness in a second; he moved inwith the slackness of limb of a gibbeted figure. The door shut; thewoman led him downstairs. He could not have danced or sung a song nowfor great pay. The smell of mouldiness became so depressing to him thatthe smell of leather struck his nostrils refreshingly. He thought: "Oh, Virgin! it's dark enough to make one believe in every single thing theytell us about the saints. " Up in the light of day Luigi had a turn forcareless thinking on these holy subjects. 

Barto Rizzo stood before him in a square of cellarage that was furnishedwith implements of his craft, too dark for a clear discernment offeatures. 

"So, here you are!" was the greeting Luigi received. 

It was a tremendous voice, that seemed to issue from a vast cavity. "Lead the gentleman to my sitting-room, " said Barto. Luigi felt the windof a handkerchief, and guessed that his eyes were about to be bandagedby the woman behind him. He petitioned to be spared it, on the plea, firstly, that it expressed want of confidence; secondly, that it tookhim in the stomach. The handkerchief was tight across his eyes whilehe was speaking. His hand was touched by the woman, and he commencedtimidly an ascent of stairs. It continued so that he would have swornhe was a shorter time going up the Motterone; then down, and along apassage; lower down, deep into corpse-climate; up again, up anotherenormous mountain; and once more down, as among rats and beetles, anddown, as among faceless horrors, and down, where all things seemedprostrate and with a taste of brass. It was the poor fellow's nervousimagination, preternaturally excited. When the handkerchief was caughtaway, his jaw was shuddering, his eyes were sickly; he looked as ifimpaled on the prongs of fright. It required just half a minute toreanimate this mercurial creature, when he found himself under thelight of two lamps, and Barto Rizzo fronting him, in a place so like thesquare of cellarage which he had been led to with unbandaged eyes, thatit relieved his dread by touching his humour. He cried, "Have I made thejourney of the Signor Capofinale, who visited the other end of the worldby standing on his head?"

Barto Rizzo rolled out a burly laugh. 

"Sit, " he said. "You're a poor sweating body, and must needs have a drytongue. Will you drink?"

"Dry!" quoth Luigi. "Holy San Carlo is a mash in a wine-press comparedwith me. "

Barto Rizzo handed him a liquor, which he drank, and after gave thanksto Providence. Barto raised his hand. 

"We're too low down here for that kind of machinery, " he said. "They saythat Providence is on the side of the Austrians. Now then, what have youto communicate to me? This time I let you come to my house trust at all, trust entirely. I think that's the proverb. You are admitted: speak likea guest. "

Luigi's preference happened to be for categorical interrogations. Neverhaving an idea of spontaneously telling the whole truth, the sense thathe was undertaking a narrative gave him such emotions as a bad swimmerupon deep seas may have; while, on the other hand, his being subjectedto a series of questions seemed at least to leave him with one legon shore, for then he could lie discreetly, and according to thefinger-posts, and only when necessary, and he could recover himself ifhe made a false step. His ingenious mind reasoned these images out tohis own satisfaction. He requested, therefore, that his host would lethim hear what he desired to know. 

Barto Rizzo's forefinger was pressed from an angle into one temple. Hishead inclined to meet it: so that it was like the support to a broadblunt pillar. The cropped head was flat as an owl's; the chest ofimmense breadth; the bulgy knees and big hands were those of a dwarfathlete. Strong colour, lying full on him from the neck to the forehead, made the big veins purple and the eyes fierier than the movements of hismind would have indicated. He was simply studying the character of hisman. Luigi feared him; he was troubled chiefly because he was unaware ofwhat Barto Rizzo wanted to know, and could not consequently tell whatto bring to the market. The simplicity of the questions put to him wasbewildering: he fell into the trap. Barto's eyes began to get terriblyoblique. Jingling money in his pocket, he said:--"You saw Colonel Corteon the Motterone: you saw the Signor Agostino Balderini: good men, both!Also young Count Ammiani: I served his father, the General, and joggedthe lad on my knee. You saw the Signorina Vittoria. The English peoplecame, and you heard them talk, but did not understand. You came home andtold all this to the Signor Antonio, your employer number one. You havetold the same to me, your employer number two. There's your pay. "

Barto summed up thus the information he had received, and handed Luigisix gold pieces. The latter, springing with boyish thankfulness andpride at the easy earning of them, threw in a few additional facts, as, that he had been taken for a spy by the conspirators, and had heard oneof the Englishmen mention the Signorina Vittoria's English name. Barto Rizzo lifted his eyebrows queerly. "We'll go through anotherinterrogatory in an hour, " he said; "stop here till I return. "

Luigi was always too full of his own cunning to suspect the same inanother, until he was left alone to reflect on a scene; when it becameoverwhelmingly transparent. "But, what could I say more than I did say?"he asked himself, as he stared at the one lamp Barto had left. Findingthe door unfastened, he took the lamp and lighted himself out, and alonga cavernous passage ending in a blank wall, against which his heartknocked and fell, for his sensation was immediately the terror ofimprisonment and helplessness. Mad with alarm, he tried every spot foran aperture. Then he sat down on his haunches; he remembered hearingword of Barto Rizzo's rack:--certain methods peculiar to Barto Rizzo, by which he screwed matters out of his agents, and terrified them intofidelity. His personal dealings with Barto were of recent date; butLuigi knew him by repute: he knew that the shoemaking business wasa mask. Barto had been a soldier, a schoolmaster: twice an exile; aconspirator since the day when the Austrians had the two fine Applesof Pomona, Lombardy and Venice, given them as fruits of peace. Luigiremembered how he had snapped his fingers at the name of Barto Rizzo. There was no despising him now. He could only arrive at a peacefulcontemplation of Barto Rizzo's character by determining to tell all, and (since that seemed little) more than he knew. He got back tothe leather-smelling chamber, which was either the same or purposelyrendered exactly similar to the one he had first been led to. 

At the end of a leaden hour Barto Rizzo returned. 

"Now, to recommence, " he said. "Drink before you speak, if your tongueis dry. "

Luigi thrust aside the mention of liquor. It seemed to him that by doingso he propitiated that ill-conceived divinity called Virtue, who livedin the open air, and desired men to drink water. Barto Rizzo evidentlyunderstood the kind of man he was schooling to his service. 

"Did that Austrian officer, who is an Englishman, acquainted with theSignor Antonio-Pericles, meet the lady, his sister, on the Motterone?"

Luigi answered promptly, "Yes. "

"Did the Signorina Vittoria speak to the lady?"

"No. "

"Not a word?"

"No. "

"Not one communication to her?"

"No: she sat under her straw hat. "

"She concealed her face?"

"She sat like a naughty angry girl. "

"Did she speak to the officer?"

"Not she!"

"Did she see him?"

"Of course she did! As if a woman's eyes couldn't see throughstraw-plait!"

Barto paused, calculatingly, eye on victim. 

"The Signorina Vittoria, " he resumed, "has engaged to sing on the nightof the Fifteenth; has she?"

A twitching of Luigi's muscles showed that he apprehended a necessarystraining of his invention on another tack. 

"On the night of the Fifteenth, Signor Barto Rizzo? That's the night ofher first appearance. Oh, yes!"

"To sing a particular song?"

"Lots of them! ay-aie!"

Barto took him by the shoulder and pressed him into his seat till hehowled, saying, "Now, there's a slate and a pencil. Expect me at theend of two hours, this time. Next time it will be four: then eight, then sixteen. Find out how many hours that will be at the sixteenthexamination. "

Luigi flew at the torturer and stuck at the length of his straightenedarm, where he wriggled, refusing to listen to the explanation of Barto'ssystem; which was that, in cases where every fresh examination taughthim more, they were continued, after regularly-lengthening intervals, that might extend from the sowing of seed to the ripening of grain. "When all's delivered, " said Barto, "then we begin to correctdiscrepancies. I expect, " he added, "you and I will have done before aweek's out. "

"A week!" Luigi shouted. "Here's my stomach already leaping like a fishat the smell of this hole. You brute bear! it's a smell of bones. It turns my inside with a spoon. May the devil seize you when you'resleeping! You shan't go: I'll tell you everything--everything. Ican't tell you anything more than I have told you. She gave me acigarette--there! Now you know:--gave me a cigarette; a cigarette. Ismoked it--there! Your faithful servant!"

"She gave you a cigarette, and you smoked it; ha!" said Barto Rizzo, whoappeared to see something to weigh even in that small fact. "The Englishlady gave you the cigarette?"

Luigi nodded: "Yes;" pertinacious in deception. "Yes, " he repeated; "theEnglish lady. That was the person. What's the use of your skewering mewith your eyes!"

"I perceive that you have never travelled, my Luigi, " said Barto. "I amafraid we shall not part so early as I had supposed. I double the dose, and return to you in four hours' time. "

Luigi threw himself flat on the ground, shrieking that he was readyto tell everything--anything. Not even the apparent desperation of hiscircumstances could teach him that a promise to tell the truth was amore direct way of speaking. Indeed, the hitting of the truth wouldhave seemed to him a sort of artful archery, the burden of which shoulddevolve upon the questioner, whom he supplied with the relation of"everything and anything. "

All through a night Luigi's lesson continued. In the morning he wasstill breaking out in small and purposeless lies; but Barto Rizzohad accomplished his two objects: that of squeezing him, and thatof subjecting his imagination. Luigi confessed (owing to a singularrecovery of his memory) the gift of the cigarette as coming from theSignorina Vittoria. What did it matter if she did give him a cigarette?

"You adore her for it?" said Barto. 

"May the Virgin sweep the floor of heaven into her lap!" interjectedLuigi. "She is a good patriot. "

"Are you one?" Barto asked. 

"Certainly I am. "

"Then I shall have to suspect you, for the good of your country. "

Luigi could not see the deduction. He was incapable of guessing that itmight apply forcibly to Vittoria, who had undertaken a grave, perilous, and imminent work. Nothing but the spontaneous desire to elude thepursuit of a questioner had at first instigated his baffling of BartoRizzo, until, fearing the dark square man himself, he feared him dimlyfor Vittoria's sake; he could not have said why. She was a good patriot:wherefore the reason for wishing to know more of her? Barto Rizzo hadcompelled him at last to furnish a narrative of the events of that dayon the Motterone, and, finding himself at sea, Luigi struck out boldlyand swam as well as he could. Barto disentangled one succinct thread ofincidents: Vittoria had been commissioned by the Chief to sing on thenight of the Fifteenth; she had subsequently, without speaking to any ofthe English party, or revealing her features "keeping them beautifullyhidden, " Luigi said, with unaccountable enthusiasm--written a warning tothem that they were to avoid Milan. The paper on which the warning hadbeen written was found by the English when he was the only Italian onthe height, lying thereto observe and note things in the service ofBarto Rizzo. The writing was English, but when one of the Englishladies--"who wore her hair like a planed shred of wood; like a tornvine; like a kite with two tails; like Luxury at the Banquet, readyto tumble over marble shoulders" (an illustration drawn probably fromLuigi's study of some allegorical picture, --he was at a loss to describethe foreign female head-dress)--when this lady had read the writing, she exclaimed that it was the hand of "her Emilia!" and soon after sheaddressed Luigi in English, then in French, then in "barricade Italian"(by which phrase Luigi meant that the Italian words were there, butdid not present their proper smooth footing for his understanding), andstrove to obtain information from him concerning the signorina, andalso concerning the chances that Milan would be an agitated city. Luigiassured her that Milan was the peacefullest of cities--a pure babe. Headmitted his acquaintance with the Signorina Vittoria Campa, and deniedher being "any longer" the Emilia Alessandra Belloni of the Englishlady. The latter had partly retained him in her service, havinggiven him directions to call at her hotel in Milan, and help her tocommunicate with her old friend. "I present myself to her to-morrow, Friday, " said Luigi. 

"That's to-day, " said Barto. 

Luigi clapped his hand to his cheek, crying wofully, "You've drawn, beastly gaoler! a night out of my life like an old jaw-tooth. "

"There's day two or three fathoms above us, " said Barto; "and hot coffeeis coming down. "

"I believe I've been stewing in a pot while the moon looked so cool. "Luigi groaned, and touched up along the sleeves of his arms: that whichhe fancied he instantaneously felt. 

The coffee was brought by the heavy-browed young woman. Before shequitted the place Barto desired her to cast her eyes on Luigi, and saywhether she thought she should know him again. She scarcely glanced, andgave answer with a shrug of the shoulders as she retired. Luigi at thetime was drinking. He rose; he was about to speak, but yawned instead. The woman's carelessly-dropped upper eyelids seemed to him to be readinghim through a dozen of his contortions and disguises, and checked theidea of liberty which he associated with getting to the daylight. 

"But it is worth the money!" shouted Barto Rizzo, with a splendiddivination of his thought. "You skulker! are you not paid and fattenedto do business which you've only to remember, and it'll honey your legsin purgatory? You're the shooting-dog of that Greek, and you noseabout the bushes for his birds, and who cares if any fellow, just forexercise, shoots a dagger a yard from his wrist and sticks you in theback? You serve me, and there's pay for you; brothers, doctors, nurses, friends, --a tight blanket if you fall from a housetop! and masses foryour soul when your hour strikes. The treacherous cur lies rotting in aditch! Do you conceive that when I employ you I am in your power? Yourintelligence will open gradually. Do you know that here in this houseI can conceal fifty men, and leave the door open to the Croats to findthem? I tell you now--you are free; go forth. You go alone; no onetouches you; ten years hence a skeleton is found with an English letteron its ribs--"

"Oh, stop! signor Barto, and be a blessed man, " interposed Luigi, doubling and wriggling in a posture that appeared as if he were shakingnegatives from the elbows of his crossed arms. "Stop. How did you knowof a letter? I forgot--I have seen the English lady at her hotel. I wascarrying the signorina's answer, when I thought 'Barto Rizzo calls me, 'and I came like a lamb. And what does it matter? She is a good patriot;you are a good patriot; here it is. Consider my reputation, do; and becareful with the wax. "

Barto drew a long breath. The mention of the English letter had been ashot in the dark. The result corroborated his devotional belief in theunerringness of his own powerful intuition. He had guessed the case, orhardly even guessed it--merely stated it, to horrify Luigi. The letterwas placed in his hands, and he sat as strongly thrilled by emotion, under the mask of his hard face, as a lover hearing music. "I readEnglish, " he remarked. 

After he had drawn the seal three or four times slowly over the lamp, the green wax bubbled and unsnapped. Vittoria had written the followinglines in reply to her old English friend:--

 "Forgive me, and do not ask to see me until we have passed the fifteenth of the month. You will see me that night at La Scala. I wish to embrace you, but I am miserable to think of your being in Milan. I cannot yet tell you where my residence is. I have not met your brother. If he writes to me it will make me happy, but I refuse to see him. I will explain to him why. Let him not try to see me. Let him send by this messenger. I hope he will contrive to be out of Milan all this month. Pray let me influence you to go for a time. I write coldly; I am tired, and forget my English. I do not forget my friends. I have you close against my heart. If it were prudent, and it involved me alone, I would come to you without a moment's loss of time. Do know that I am not changed, and am your affectionate

 "Emilia. "

When Barto Rizzo had finished reading, he went from the chamber and blewhis voice into what Luigi supposed to be a hollow tube. 

"This letter, " he said, coming back, "is a repetition of the SignorinaVittoria's warning to her friends on the Motterone. The English lady'sbrother, who is in the Austrian service, was there, you say?"

Luigi considered that, having lately been believed in, he could notafford to look untruthful, and replied with a sprightly "Assuredly. "

"He was there, and he read the writing on the paper?"

"Assuredly: right out loud, between puff-puff of his cigar. "

"His name is Lieutenant Pierson. Did not Antonio-Pericles tell you hisname? He will write to her: you will be the bearer of his letter to thesignorina. I must see her reply. She is a good patriot; so am I; so areyou. Good patriots must be prudent. I tell you, I must see her replyto this Lieutenant Pierson. " Barto stuck his thumb and finger astrideLuigi's shoulder and began rocking him gently, with a horriblemeditative expression. "You will have to accomplish this, my Luigi. Allfair excuses will be made, if you fail generally. This you must do. Keepupright while I am speaking to you! The excuses will be made; but I, notyou, must make them: bear that in mind. Is there any person whom you, myLuigi, like best in the world?"

It was a winning question, and though Luigi was not the dupe of itsinsinuating gentleness, he answered, "The little girl who carriesflowers every morning to the caffe La Scala. "

"Ah! the little girl who carries flowers every morning to the caffeLa Scala. Now, my Luigi, you may fail me, and I may pardon you. Listenattentively: if you are false; if you are guilty of one piece oftreachery:--do you see? You can't help slipping, but you can helpjumping. Restrain yourself from jumping, that's all. If you are guiltyof treachery, hurry at once, straight off, to the little girl whocarries flowers every morning to the caffe La Scala. Go to her, takeher by the two cheeks, kiss her, say to her 'addio, addio, ' for, by thethunder of heaven! you will never see her more. "

Luigi was rocked forward and back, while Barto spoke in level tones, till the voice dropped into its vast hollow, when Barto held him fast amoment, and hurled him away by the simple lifting of his hand. 

The woman appeared and bound Luigi's eyes. Barto did not utter anotherword. On his journey back to daylight, Luigi comforted himself bymuttering oaths that he would never again enter into this trap. Assoon as his eyes were unbandaged, he laughed, and sang, and tossed acompliment from his finger-tips to the savage-browed beauty; pretendedthat he had got an armful, and that his heart was touched by theecstasy; and sang again: "Oh, Barto, Barto! my boot is sadly worn. Thetoe is seen, " etc. , half-way down the stanzas. Without his knowing it, and before he had quitted the court, he had sunk into songless gloom, brooding on the scenes of the night. However free he might be in body, his imagination was captive to Barto Rizzo. He was no luckier than abird, for whom the cage is open that it may feel the more keenly withits little taste of liberty that it is tied by the leg. 

CHAPTER VIII

The importance of the matters extracted from Luigi does not lie on thesurface; it will have to be seen through Barto Rizzo's mind. This manregarded himself as the mainspring of the conspiracy; specially itsguardian, its wakeful Argus. He had conspired sleeplessly for thirtyyears; so long, that having no ideal reserve in his nature, conspiracyhad become his professional occupation, --the wheel which it was hisbusiness to roll. He was above jealousy; he was above vanity. No oneoutstripping him cast a bad colour on him; nor did he object to bow toanother as his superior. But he was prepared to suspect every one ofinsincerity and of faithlessness; and, being the master of the machineryof the plots, he was ready, upon a whispered justification, todespise the orders of his leader, and act by his own light in bluntdisobedience. For it was his belief that while others speculated he knewall. He knew where the plots had failed; he knew the man who had bentand doubled. In the patriotic cause, perfect arrangements arecrowned with perfect success, unless there is an imperfection of theinstruments; for the cause is blessed by all superior agencies. Such washis governing idea. His arrangements had always been perfect; hence thededuction was a denunciation of some one particular person. He pointedout the traitor here, the traitor there; and in one or two cases hedid so with a mildness that made those fret at their beards vaguelywho understood his character. Barto Rizzo was, it was said, born ina village near Forli, in the dominions of the Pope; according to therumour, he was the child of a veiled woman and a cowled paternity. Ifnot an offender against Government, he was at least a wanderer early inlife. None could accuse him of personal ambition. He boasted that hehad served as a common soldier with the Italian contingent furnishedby Eugene to the Moscow campaign; he showed scars of old wounds: brownspots, and blue spots, and twisted twine of white skin, dotting thewrist, the neck, the calf, the ankle, and looking up from them, heslapped them proudly. Nor had he personal animosities of any kind. Onesharp scar, which he called his shoulder knot, he owed to the knife ofa friend, by name Sarpo, who had things ready to betray him, and struckhim, in anticipation of that tremendous moment of surprise and wrathwhen the awakened victim frequently is nerved with devil's strength;but, striking, like a novice, on the bone, the stilet stuck there; andBarto coolly got him to point the outlet of escape, and walked off, carrying the blade where the terrified assassin had planted it. ThisSarpo had become a tradesman in Milan--a bookseller and small printer;and he was unmolested. Barto said of him, that he was as bad as a fewodd persons thought himself to be, and had in him the making of a greattraitor; but, that as Sarpo hated him and had sought to be rid of himfor private reasons only, it was a pity to waste on such a fellow steelthat should serve the Cause. "While I live, " said Barto, "my enemieshave a tolerably active conscience. "

The absence of personal animosity in him was not due to magnanimity. Hedoubted the patriotism of all booksellers. He had been twice betrayedby women. He never attempted to be revenged on them; but he doubtedthe patriotism of all women. "Use them; keep eye on them, " he said. In Venice he had conspired when he was living there as the clerk ofa notary; in Bologna subsequently while earning his bread as a pettyschoolmaster. His evasions, both of Papal sbirri and the Austrianpolizia, furnished instances of astonishing audacity that made his namea byword for mastery in the hour of peril. His residence in Milan now, after seven years of exile in England and Switzerland, was an act ofpointed defiance, incomprehensible to his own party, and only to beexplained by the prevalent belief that the authorities feared to provokea collision with the people by laying hands on him. They had only oncemade a visitation to his house, and appeared to be satisfied at notfinding him. At that period Austria was simulating benevolence in herLombardic provinces, with the half degree of persuasive earnestnesswhich makes a Government lax in its vigilance, and leaves it simplyopen to the charge of effeteness. There were contradictory rumours asto whether his house had ever been visited by the polizia; but it was alegible fact that his name was on the window, and it was understood thathe was not without elusive contrivances in the event of the authoritiesdeclaring war against him. 

Of the nature of these contrivances Luigi had just learnt something. Hehad heard Barto Rizzo called 'The Miner' and 'The Great Cat, ' and he nowcomprehended a little of the quality of his employer. He had entereda very different service from that of the Signor Antonio-Pericles, whopaid him for nothing more than to keep eye on Vittoria, and recount hergoings in and out; for what absolute object he was unaware, but that itwas not for a political one he was certain. "Cursed be the day when thelust of gold made me open my hand to Barto Rizzo!" he thought; and couldonly reflect that life is short and gold is sweet, and that he was inthe claws of the Great Cat. He had met Barto in a wine-shop. He cursedthe habit which led him to call at that shop; the thirst which temptedhim to drink: the ear which had been seduced to listen. Yet as all hisexpenses had been paid in advance, and his reward at the instant ofhis application for it; and as the signorina and Barto were both goodpatriots, and he, Luigi, was a good patriot, what harm could be done toher? Both she and Barto had stamped their different impressions onhis waxen nature. He reconciled his service to them separately by theexclamation that they were both good patriots. 

The plot for the rising in Milan city was two months old. It comprisedsome of the nobles of the city, and enjoyed the good wishes of thegreater part of them, whose payment of fifty to sixty per cent to theGovernment on the revenue of their estates was sufficient reason fora desire to change masters, positively though they might detestRepublicanism, and dread the shadow of anarchy. These looked hopefullyto Charles Albert. Their motive was to rise, or to countenance a rising, and summon the ambitious Sardinian monarch with such assurances ofdevotion, that a Piedmontese army would be at the gates when thebanner of Austria was in the dust. Among the most active members of theprospectively insurgent aristocracy of Milan was Count Medole, a youngnobleman of vast wealth and possessed of a reliance on his powersof mind that induced him to take a prominent part in the openingdeliberations, and speedily necessitated his hire of the friendlyoffices of one who could supply him with facts, with suggestions, withcounsel, with fortitude, with everything to strengthen his pretensionsto the leadership, excepting money. He discovered his man in BartoRizzo, who quitted the ranks of the republican section to serve him, andwield a tool for his own party. By the help of Agostino Balderini, CarloAmmiani, and others, the aristocratic and the republican sections ofthe conspiracy were brought near enough together to permit of a commonaction between them, though the maintaining of such harmony demanded anextreme and tireless delicacy of management. The presence of the Chief, whom we have seen on the Motterone, was claimed by other cities ofItaly. Unto him solely did Barto Rizzo yield thorough adhesion. He beingabsent from Milan, Barto undertook to represent him and carry out hisviews. How far he was entitled to do so may be guessed when it is statedthat, on the ground of his general contempt for women, he objected tothe proposition that Vittoria should give the signal. The propositionwas Agostino's. Count Medole, Barto, and Agostino discussed it secretly:Barto held resolutely against it, until Agostino thrust a sly-handedletter into his fingers and let him know that previous to anyconsultation on the subject he had gained the consent of his Chief. Barto then fell silent. He despatched his new spy, Luigi, to theMotterone, more for the purpose of giving him a schooling on theexpedition, and on his return from it, and so getting hand and brainand soul service out of him. He expected no such a report of Vittoria'sindiscretion as Luigi had spiced with his one foolish lie. That sheshould tell the relatives of an Austrian officer that Milan was soon tobe a dangerous place for them;--and that she should write it on paperand leave it for the officer to read, --left her, according to Barto'sreading of her, open to the alternative charges of imbecility or oftreachery. Her letter to the English lady, the Austrian officer'ssister, was an exaggeration of the offence, but lent it more the lookof heedless folly. The point was to obtain sight of her letter to theAustrian officer himself. Barto was baffled during a course of anxiousdays that led closely up to the fifteenth. She had written no letter. Lieutenant Pierson, the officer in question, had ridden into the cityonce from Verona, and had called upon Antonio-Pericles to extract heraddress from him; the Greek had denied that she was in Milan. Luigicould tell no more. He described the officer's personal appearance, by saying that he was a recognizable Englishman in Austrian dragoonuniform;--white tunic, white helmet, brown moustache;--ay! and eh! andoh! and ah! coming frequently from his mouth; that he stood square whilespeaking, and seemed to like his own smile; an extraordinary touch ofportraiture, or else a scoff at insular self-satisfaction; at any rate, it commended itself to the memory. Barto dismissed him, telling him tobe daily in attendance on the English lady. 

Barto Rizzo's respect for the Chief was at war with his intenseconviction that a blow should be struck at Vittoria even upon the narrowinformation which he possessed. Twice betrayed, his dreams and hauntingthoughts cried "Shall a woman betray you thrice?" In his imaginationhe stood identified with Italy: the betrayal of one meant that ofboth. Falling into a deep reflection, Barto counted over his hours ofconspiracy: he counted the Chief's; comparing the two sets of figures hediscovered, that as he had suspected, he was the elder in the patrioticwork therefore, if he bowed his head to the Chief, it was a voluntaryact, a form of respect, and not the surrendering of his judgement. Hewas on the spot: the Chief was absent. Barto reasoned that the Chiefcould have had no experience of women, seeing that he was ready to trustin them. "Do I trust to my pigeon, my sling-stone?" he said jovially tothe thickbrowed, splendidly ruddy young woman, who was his wife; "do Itrust her? Not half a morsel of her!" This young woman, a peasant womanof remarkable personal attractions, served him with the fidelity of afascinated animal, and the dumbness of a wooden vessel. She could havehanged him, had it pleased her. She had all his secrets: but it was notvain speaking on Barto Rizzo's part; he was master of her will; and onthe occasions when he showed that he did not trust her, he was carefulat the same time to shock and subdue her senses. Her report of Vittoriawas, that she went to the house of the Signora, Laura Piaveni, widow ofthe latest heroic son of Milan, and to that of the maestro Rocco Ricci;to no other. It was also Luigi's report. 

"She's true enough, " the woman said, evidently permitting herself toentertain an opinion; a sign that she required fresh schooling. 

"So are you, " said Barto, and eyed her in a way that made her ask, "Now, what's for me to do?"

He thought awhile. 

"You will see the colonel. Tell him to come in corporal's uniform. What's the little wretch twisting her body for? Shan't I embrace herpresently if she's obedient? Send to the polizia. You believe yourhusband is in the city, and will visit you in disguise at the corporal'shour. They seize him. They also examine the house up to the point wherewe seal it. Your object is to learn whether the Austrians are movingmen upon Milan. If they are-I learn something. When the house has beenexamined, our court here will have rest for a good month ahead; andit suits me not to be disturbed. Do this, and we will have a red-wineevening in the house, shut up alone, my snake! my pepper-flower!"

It happened that Luigi was entering the court to keep an appointmentwith Barto when he saw a handful of the polizia burst into the house anddrag out a soldier, who was in the uniform, as he guessed it to be, ofthe Prohaska regiment. The soldier struggled and offered money tothem. Luigi could not help shouting, "You fools! don't you see he's anofficer?" Two of them took their captive aside. The rest made a searchthrough the house. While they were doing so Luigi saw Barto Rizzo'sface at the windows of the house opposite. He clamoured at the door, butBarto was denied to him there. When the polizia had gone from the court, he was admitted and allowed to look into every room. Not finding him, hesaid, "Barto Rizzo does not keep his appointments, then!" The same wordswere repeated in his ear when he had left the court, and was inthe street running parallel with it. "Barto Rizzo does not keep hisappointments, then!" It was Barto who smacked him on the back, and spokeout his own name with brown-faced laughter in the bustling street. Luigiwas so impressed by his cunning and his recklessness that he at oncetold him more than he wished to tell:--The Austrian officer was with hissister, and had written to the signorina, and Luigi had delivered theletter; but the signorina was at the maestro's, Rocco Ricci's, and therewas no answer: the officer was leaving for Verona in the morning. Aftertelling so much, Luigi drew back, feeling that he had given Barto hisfull measure and owed to the signorina what remained. 

Barto probably read nothing of the mind of his spy, but understood thatit was a moment for distrust of him. Vittoria and her mother lodged atthe house of one Zotti, a confectioner, dwelling between the Duomo andLa Scala. Luigi, at Barto's bidding, left word with Zotti that he wouldcall for the signorina's answer to a certain letter about sunrise. "Ipromised my Rosellina, my poppyheaded sipper, a red-wine evening, or Iwould hold this fellow under my eye till the light comes, " thought Bartomisgivingly, and let him go. Luigi slouched about the English lady'shotel. At nightfall her brother came forth. Luigi directed him to bein the square of the Duomo by sunrise, and slipped from his hold; theofficer ran after him some distance. "She can't say I was false to hernow, " said Luigi, dancing with nervous ecstasy. At sunrise Barto Rizzowas standing under the shadow of the Duomo. Luigi passed him and wentto Zotti's house, where the letter was placed in his hand, and thedoor shut in his face. Barto rushed to him, but Luigi, with a vixenishcountenance, standing like a humped cat, hissed, "Would you destroy myreputation and have it seen that I deliver up letters, under the nosesof the writers, to the wrong persons?--ha! pestilence!" He ran, Bartofollowing him. They were crossed by the officer on horseback, whochallenged Luigi to give up the letter, which was very plainly beingthrust from his hand into his breast. The officer found it no difficultmatter to catch him and pluck the letter from him; he opened it, readingit on the jog of the saddle as he cantered off. Luigi turned in a terrorof expostulation to ward Barto's wrath. Barto looked at him hard, whilehe noted the matter down on the tablet of an ivory book. All hesaid was, "I have that letter!" stamping the assertion with an oath. Half-an-hour later Luigi saw Barto in the saddle, tight-legged about arusty beast, evidently bound for the South-eastern gate, his brows setlike a black wind. "Blessings on his going!" thought Luigi, and sang oneof his street-songs:--"O lemons, lemons, what a taste you leave in themouth! I desire you, I love you, but when I suck you, I'm all caughtup in a bundle and turn to water, like a wry-faced fountain. Why not besatisfied by a sniff at the blossoms? There's gratification. Why did yougrow up from the precious little sweet chuck that you were, Marietta?Lemons, O lemons! such a thing as a decent appetite is not known aftersucking at you. "

His natural horror of a resolute man, more than fear (of which he had norecollection in the sunny Piazza), made him shiver and gave his tonguean acid taste at the prospect of ever meeting Barto Rizzo again. Therewas the prospect also that he might never meet him again. 

CHAPTER IX

IN VERONA

The lieutenant read these lines, as he clattered through the quietstreets toward the Porta Tosa:

'DEAR FRIEND, --I am glad that you remind me of our old affection, forit assures me that yours is not dead. I cannot consent to see you yet. Iwould rather that we should not meet. 

'I thought I would sign my name here, and say, "God bless you, Wilfrid;go!"

'Oh! why have you done this thing! I must write on. It seems like mypast life laughing at me, that my old friend should have come here inItaly, to wear the detestable uniform. How can we be friends when wemust act as enemies? We shall soon be in arms, one against the other. I pity you, for you have chosen a falling side; and when you are beatenback, you can have no pride in your country, as we Italians have; nodelight, no love. They will call you a mercenary soldier. I rememberthat I used to have the fear of your joining our enemies, when we werein England, but it seemed too much for my reason. 

'You are with a band of butchers. If I could see you and tell you thestory of Giacomo Piaveni, and some other things, I believe you wouldbreak your sword instantly. 

'There is time. Come to Milan on the fifteenth. You will see me then. Iappear at La Scala. Promise me, if you hear me, that you will do exactlywhat I make you feel it right to do. Ah, you will not, though thousandswill! But step aside to me, when the curtain falls, and remain--oh, dearfriend! I write in honour to you; we have sworn to free the city and thecountry--remain among us: break your sword, tear off your uniform; weare so strong that we are irresistible. I know what a hero you can be onthe field: then, why not in the true cause? I do not understand thatyou should waste your bravery under that ugly flag, bloody and pastforgiveness. 

'I shall be glad to have news of you all, and of England. The bearer ofthis is a trusty messenger, and will continue to call at the hotel. A. Is offended that I do not allow my messenger to give my address; but Imust not only be hidden, I must have peace, and forget you all until Ihave done my task. Addio. We have both changed names. I am the same. CanI think that you are? Addio, dear friend. 

 'VITTORIA. '

Lieutenant Pierson read again and again the letter of her whom he hadloved in England, to get new lights from it, as lovers do when they havelost the power to take single impressions. He was the bearer of a verbaldespatch from the commandant in Milan to the Marshal in Verona. At thatperiod great favour was shown to Englishmen in the Austrian service, andthe lieutenant's uncle being a General of distinction, he had a sort ofsemi-attachment to the Marshal's staff, and was hurried to and fro, for the purpose of keeping him out of duelling scrapes, as many of hisfriendlier comrades surmised. The right to the distinction of exercisingstaff-duties is, of course, only to be gained by stout competitorship inthe Austrian service; but favour may do something for a young man evenin that rigorous school of Arms. He had to turn to Brescia on his way, and calculated that if luck should put good horses under him, he wouldenter Verona gates about sunset. Meantime; there was Vittoria's letterto occupy him as he went. 

We will leave him to his bronzing ride through the mulberries and thegrapes, and the white and yellow and arid hues of the September plain, and make acquaintance with some of his comrades of that proud army whichVittoria thought would stand feebly against the pouring tide of Italianpatriotism. 

The fairest of the cities of the plain had long been a nest of foreignsoldiery. The life of its beauty was not more visible then than now. Within the walls there are glimpses of it, that belong rather to thehaunting spirit than to the life. Military science has made a mailedgiant of Verona, and a silent one, save upon occasion. Its face grinsof war, like a skeleton of death; the salient image of the skull andcongregating worms was one that Italian lyrists applied naturally toVerona. 

The old Field-Marshal and chief commander of the Austrian forces inLombardy, prompted by the counsels of his sagacious adlatus, the chiefof the staff, was engaged at that period in adding some of those uglyround walls and flanking bastions to Verona, upon which, when Austriawas thrown back by the first outburst of the insurrection and theadvance of the Piedmontese, she was enabled to plant a sturdy hind-foot, daring her foes as from a rock of defence. 

A group of officers, of the cavalry, with a few infantry uniformsskirting them, were sitting in the pleasant cooling evening air, fannedby the fresh springing breeze, outside one of the Piazza Bra caffes, close upon the shadow of the great Verona amphitheatre. They weresmoking their attenuated long straw cigars, sipping iced lemonade orcoffee, and talking the common talk of the garrison officers, withperhaps that additional savour of a robust immorality which a Viennesesocial education may give. The rounded ball of the brilliant Septembermoon hung still aloft, lighting a fathomless sky as well as the fairearth. It threw solid blackness from the old savage walls almost to ajunction with their indolent outstretched feet. Itinerant street musictwittered along the Piazza; officers walked arm-in-arm; now in moonlightbright as day, now in a shadow black as night: distant figures twinkledwith the alternation. The light lay like a blade's sharp edge around themassive circle. Of Italians of a superior rank, Verona sent none tothis resort. Even the melon-seller stopped beneath the arch ending theStradone Porta Nuova, as if he had reached a marked limit of his popularcustomers. 

This isolation of the rulers of Lombardy had commenced in Milan, but, owing to particular causes, was not positively defined there as it wasin Verona. War was already rageing between the Veronese ladies and theofficers of Austria. According to the Gallic Terpsichorean code, alady who permits herself to make election of her partners and to rejectapplicants to the honour of her hand in the dance, when that hand isdisengaged, has no just ground of complaint if a glove should smite hercheek. The Austrians had to endure this sort of rejection in Ballrooms. On the promenade their features were forgotten. They bowed to statues. Now, the officers of Austria who do not belong to a Croat regiment, or to one drawn from any point of the extreme East of the empire, arecommonly gentlemanly men; and though they can be vindictive after muchirritation, they may claim at least as good a reputation for forbearancein a conquered country as our officers in India. They are notill-humoured, and they are not peevishly arrogant, except uponprovocation. The conduct of the tender Italian dames was vexatious. Itwas exasperating to these knights of the slumbering sword to hear theirnative waltzes sounding of exquisite Vienna, while their legs stretchedin melancholy inactivity on the Piazza pavement, and their armsencircled no ductile waists. They tried to despise it more than theydisliked it, called their female foes Amazons, and their male by a lesscomplimentary title, and so waited for the patriotic epidemic to pass. 

A certain Captain Weisspriess, of the regiment named after a sagaciousmonarch whose crown was the sole flourishing blossom of diplomacy, particularly distinguished himself by insisting that a lady shouldremember him in public places. He was famous for skill with his weapons. He waltzed admirably; erect as under his Field-Marshal's eye. In thelanguage of his brother officers, he was successful; that is, evenas God Mars when Bellona does not rage. Captain Weisspriess (JohannNepomuk, Freiherr von Scheppenhausen) resembled in appearance one in theImperial Royal service, a gambling General of Division, for whomFame had not yet blown her blast. Rumour declared that they might berelatives; a little-scrupulous society did not hesitate to mentionhow. The captain's moustache was straw-coloured; he wore it beyond theregulation length and caressed it infinitely. Surmounted by a pairof hot eyes, wavering in their direction, this grand moustache was afeature to be forgotten with difficulty, and Weisspriess was doubtlesscorrect in asserting that his face had endured a slight equal to abuffet. He stood high and square-shouldered; the flame of the moustachestreamed on either side his face in a splendid curve; his vigilant headwas loftily posted to detect what he chose to construe as insult, or gather the smiles of approbation, to which, owing to the unerringjudgement of the sex, he was more accustomed. Handsome or not, heenjoyed the privileges of masculine beauty. 

This captain of a renown to come pretended that a superb Venetian ladyof the Branciani family was bound to make response in public to hisprivate signals, and publicly to reply to his salutations. He refused tobe as a particle in space floating airily before her invincible aspect. Meeting her one evening, ere sweet Italy had exiled herself from thePiazza, he bowed, and stepping to the front of her, bowed pointedly. She crossed her arms and gazed over him. He called up a thing to herrecollection in resonant speech. Shameful lie, or shameful truth, it wasuttered in the hearing of many of his brother officers, of three Italianladies, and of an Italian gentleman, Count Broncini, attending them. Thelady listened calmly. Count Broncini smote him on the face. That eveningthe lady's brother arrived from Venice, and claimed his right to defendher. Captain Weisspriess ran him through the body, and attached asinister label to his corpse. This he did not so much from brutality;the man felt that henceforth while he held his life he was at war withevery Italian gentleman of mettle. Count Broncini was his next victim. There, for a time, the slaughtering business of the captain stopped. His brother officers of the better kind would not have excused him atanother season, but the avenger of their irritation and fine vindicatorof the merits of Austrian steel, had a welcome truly warm, when at thetermination of his second duel he strode into mess, or what serves foran Austrian regimental mess. 

It ensued naturally that there was everywhere in Verona a sharp divisionbetween the Italians of all classes and their conquerors. The greatgreen-rinded melons were never wheeled into the neighbourhood of thewhitecoats. Damsels were no longer coquettish under the military glance, but hurried by in couples; and there was much scowling mixed withderisive servility, throughout the city, hard to be endured without thathostile state of the spirit which is the military mind's refuge insuch cases. Itinerant musicians, and none but this fry, continued to beattentive to the dispensers of soldi. 

The Austrian army prides itself upon being a brotherhood. Discipline isvery strict, but all commissioned officers, when off duty, are as freein their intercourse as big boys. The General accepts a cigar from thelieutenant, and in return lifts his glass to him. The General takes aninterest in his lieutenant's love-affairs: nor is the latter shy whenhe feels it his duty modestly to compliment his superior officer upon arecent conquest. There is really good fellowship both among the officersand in the ranks, and it is systematically encouraged. 

The army of Austria was in those days the Austrian Empire. Outsidethe army the empire was a jealous congery of intriguing disaffectednationalities. The same policy which played the various States againstone another in order to reduce all to subserviency to the central Head, erected a privileged force wherein the sentiment of union was fosteredtill it became a nationality of the sword. Nothing more fatal can bedone for a country; but for an army it is a simple measure of wisdom. Where the password is MARCH, and not DEVELOP, a body of men, to be aserviceable instrument, must consent to act as one. Hannibal is thehistoric example of what a General can accomplish with tribes who arethus, enrolled in a new citizenship; and (as far as we know of him andhis fortunes) he appears to be an example of the necessity of the fusingfire of action to congregated aliens in arms. When Austria was fightingyear after year, and being worsted in campaign after campaign, she lostfoot by foot, but she held together soundly; and more than the baptism, the atmosphere of strife has always been required to give her a healthyvitality as a centralized empire. She knew it; this (apart from thefamous promptitude of the Hapsburgs) was one secret of her dauntlessreadiness to fight. War did the work of a smithy for the iron and steelholding her together; and but that war costs money, she would have beenan empire distinguished by aggressiveness. The next best medicinal thingto war is the military occupation of insurgent provinces. The soldierysoon feel where their home is, and feel the pride of atomies in unitivepower, when they are sneered at, hooted, pelted, stabbed upon a grossmisinterpretation of the slightest of moral offences, shamefully abusedfor doing their duty with a considerate sense of it, and too accuratelydivided from the inhabitants of the land they hold. In Italy, theGerman, the Czech, the Magyar, the Croft, even in general instances theItalian, clung to the standard for safety, for pay, for glory, and allbecame pre-eminently Austrian soldiers; little besides. 

It was against a power thus bound in iron hoops, that Italy, dismembered, and jealous, and corrupt, with an organization promoted bypassion chiefly, was preparing to rise. In the end, a country true toitself and determined to claim God's gift to brave men will overmatch amere army, however solid its force. But an inspired energy of faith isdemanded of it. The intervening chapters will show pitiable weakness, and such a schooling of disaster as makes men, looking on the surfaceof things, deem the struggle folly. As well, they might say, let yonderscuffling vagabonds up any of the Veronese side-streets fall upon thepatrol marching like one man, and hope to overcome them! In Vienna therewas often despair: but it never existed in the Austrian camp. Vienna wasfrequently double-dealing and time-serving her force in arms was likea trained man feeling his muscle. Thus, when the Government thought oftemporizing, they issued orders to Generals whose one idea was to strikethe blow of a mallet. 

At this period there was no suspicion of any grand revolt being inprocess of development. The abounding dissatisfaction was treated asnothing more than the Italian disease showing symptoms here and there, and Vienna counselled measures mildly repressive, --'conciliating, 'it was her pleasure to call them. Her recent commands with respect toturbulent Venice were the subject of criticism among the circle outsidethe Piazza Gaffe. An enforced inactivity of the military legs willquicken the military wits, it would appear, for some of the youngerofficers spoke hotly as to their notion of the method of ruling Venezia. One had bidden his Herr General to 'look here, ' while he stretched forthhis hand and declared that Italians were like women, and wanted--yes, wanted--(their instinct called for it) a beating, a real beating; asthe emphatic would say in our vernacular, a thundering thrashing, once amonth:-'Or so, ' the General added acquiescingly. A thundering thrashing, once a month or so, to these unruly Italians, because they are likewomen! It was a youth who spoke, but none doubted his acquaintance withwomen, or cared to suggest that his education in that department ofknowledge was an insufficient guarantee for his fitness to governVenezia. Two young dragoon officers had approached during the fervidallocution, and after the salute to their superior, caught up chairsand stamped them down, thereupon calling for the loan of anybody'scigar-case. Where it is that an Austrian officer ordinarily keepsthis instrument so necessary to his comfort, and obnoxious, one wouldsuppose, to the rigid correctness of his shapely costume, wecannot easily guess. None can tell even where he stows away hispocket-handkerchief, or haply his purse. However, these things appear ondemand. Several elongated cigar-cases were thrust forward, and then itwas seen that the attire of the gallant youngsters was in disorder. 

'Did you hunt her to earth?' they were asked. 

The reply trenched on philosophy; and consisted in an inquiry as to whocared for the whole basketful--of the like description of damsels, beingimplied. Immoderate and uproarious laughter burst around them. Bothseemed to have been clawed impartially. Their tightfitting coats bulgedat the breast or opened at the waist, as though buttons were lacking, and the whiteness of that garment cried aloud for the purification ofpipeclay. Questions flew. The damsel who had been pursued was known asa pretty girl, the daughter of a blacksmith, and no prolonged resistancewas expected from one of her class. But, as it came out, she had said, a week past, 'I shall be stabbed if I am seen talking to you'; andtherefore the odd matter was, not that she had, in tripping down thePiazza with her rogue-eyed cousin from Milan, looked away and declinedall invitation to moderate her pace and to converse, but that, afterdoubling down and about lonely streets, the length of which she ran asswiftly as her feet would carry her, at a corner of the Via Colomba sheallowed herself to be caught--wilfully, beyond a doubt, seeing that shewas not a bit breathed--allowed one quick taste of her lips, and thenshrieked as naturally as a netted bird, and brought a hustling crowdjust at that particular point to her rescue: not less than fifty, andall men. 'Not a woman among them!' the excited young officer repeated. 

A veteran in similar affairs could see that he had the wish to remainundisturbed in his bewilderment at the damsel's conduct. Profoundbelief in her partiality for him perplexed his recent experience ratheragreeably. Indeed, it was at this epoch an article of faith with theAustrian military that nothing save terror of their males keptsweet Italian women from the expression of their preference for thebroad-shouldered, thick-limbed, yellow-haired warriors--the contrastto themselves which is supposed greatly to inspirit genial Cupid in theselection from his quiver. 

'What became of her? Did you let her go?' came pestering remarks, tooabsurd for replies if they had not been so persistent. 

'Let her go? In the devil's name, how was I to keep my hold of her ina crowd of fifty of the fellows, all mowing, and hustling, andelbowing--every rascal stinking right under my nose like the pit?'

''Hem!' went the General present. 'As long as you did not draw!Unsheathe, a minute. '

He motioned for a sight of their naked swords. 

The couple of young officers flushed. 

'Herr General! Pardon!' they remonstrated. 

'No, no. I know how boys talk; I've been one myself. Tutt! You tell thetruth, of course; but the business is for me to know in what! how far!Your swords, gentlemen. '

'But, General!'

'Well? I merely wish to examine the blades. '

'Do you doubt our words?'

'Hark at them! Words? Are you lawyers? A soldier deals in acts. I don'twant to know your words, but your deeds, my gallant lads. I want to lookat the blades of your swords, my children. What was the last order? Thaton no account were we to provoke, or, if possibly to be avoided, accepta collision, etc. , etc. The soldier in peace is a citizen, etc. No swordon any account, or for any excuse, to be drawn, etc. You all heard it?So, good! I receive your denial, my children. In addition, I merelydesire to satisfy curiosity. Did the guard clear a way for you?'

The answer was affirmative. 

'Your swords!'

One of them drew, and proffered the handle. 

The other clasped the haft angrily, and with a resolute smack on it, settled it in the scabbard. 

'Am I a prisoner, General?'

'Not at all!'

'Then I decline to surrender my sword. '

Another General officer happened to be sauntering by. Applauding withhis hands, and choosing the Italian language as the best form of speechfor the enunciation of ironical superlatives, he said:

'Eccellentemente! most admirable! of a distinguished loftiness of moralgrandeur: "Then I decline, " etc. : you are aware that you are quoting?"as the drummerboy said to Napoleon. " I think you forgot to add that? Itis the same young soldier who utters these immense things, which we canhardly get out of our mouths. So the little fellow towers! His moralgreatness is as noisy as his drum. What's wrong?'

'General Pierson, nothing's wrong, ' was replied by several voices; andsome explained that Lieutenant Jenna had been called upon by GeneralSchoneck to show his sword, and had refused. 

The heroic defender of his sword shouted to the officer with whomGeneral Pierson had been conversing: 'Here! Weisspriess!'

'What is it, my dear fellow? Speak, my good Jenna!'

The explanation was given, and full sympathy elicited from CaptainWeisspriess, while the two Generals likewise whispered and nodded. 

'Did you draw?' the captain inquired, yawning. 'You needn't say itin quite so many words, if you did. I shall be asked by the Generalpresently; and owing to that duel pending 'twixt you and his nephew, ofwhich he is aware, he may put a bad interpretation on your pepperiness. '

'The devil fetch his nephew!' returned the furious Lieutenant Jenna. 'Hecomes back to-night from Milan, and if he doesn't fight me to-morrow, Ipost him a coward. Well, about that business! My good Weisspriess, thefellows had got into a thick crowd all round, and had begun to knead me. Do you understand me? I felt their knuckles. '

'Ah, good, good!' said the captain. 'Then, you didn't draw, of course. What officer of the Imperial service would, under similar circumstances!That is my reply to the Emperor, if ever I am questioned. To draw wouldbe to show that an Austrian officer relies on his good sword inthe thick of his enemies; against which, as you know, my Jenna, theGovernment have issued an express injunction button. Did you sell itdear?'

'A fellow parted with his ear for it. '

Lieutenant Jenna illustrated a particular cut from a turn of his wrist. 

'That oughtn't to make a noise?' he queried somewhat anxiously. 

'It won't hear one any longer, at all events, ' said Captain Weisspriess;and the two officers entered into the significance of the remark withenjoyment. 

Meantime General Pierson had concluded an apparently humorous dialoguewith his brother General, and the later, now addressing LieutenantJenna, said: 'Since you prefer surrendering your person rather than yoursword--it is good! Report yourself at the door of my room to-night, atten. I suspect that you have been blazing your steel, sir. They say, 'tis as ready to flash out as your temper. '

Several voices interposed: 'General! what if he did draw!'

'Silence. You have read the recent order. Orlando may have hisDurindarda bare; but you may not. Grasp that fact. The Government wishto make Christians of you, my children. One cheek being smitten, whatshould you do?'

'Shall I show you, General?' cried a quick little subaltern. 

'The order, my children, as received a fortnight since from our oldWien, commands you to offer the other cheek to the smiter. '

'So that a proper balance may be restored to both sides of the face, 'General Pierson appended. 

'And mark me, ' he resumed. 'There may be doubts about the policy ofanything, though I shouldn't counsel you to cherish them: but there'sno mortal doubt about the punishment for this thing. ' The General spokesternly; and then relaxing the severity of his tone, he said, 'Thedesire of the Government is to make an army of Christians. '

'And a precious way of doing it!' interjected two or three of theyounger officers. They perfectly understood how hateful the Viennesedomination was to their chiefs, and that they would meet sympathyand tolerance for any extreme of irony, provided that they showed adisposition to be subordinate. For the bureaucratic order, whatever itwas, had to be obeyed. The army might, and of course did, know best:nevertheless it was bound to be nothing better than a machine in thehands of the dull closeted men in Vienna, who judged of difficultiesand plans of action from a calculation of numbers, or from foreignjournals--from heaven knows what!

General Schoneck and General Pierson walked away laughing, andthe younger officers were left to themselves. Half-a-dozen of theminterlaced arms, striding up toward the Porta Nuova, near which, at thecorner of the Via Trinita, they had the pleasant excitement of beholdinga riderless horse suddenly in mid gallop sink on its knees and rollover. A crowd came pouring after it, and from the midst the voice ofa comrade hailed them. 'It's Pierson, ' cried Lieutenant Jenna. Theofficers drew their swords, and hailed the guard from the gates. Lieutenant Pierson dropped in among their shoulders, dead from want ofbreath. They held him up, and finding him sound, thumped his back. Theblade of his sword was red. He coughed with their thumpings, and sangout to them to cease; the idle mob which had been at his heels drew backbefore the guard could come up with them. Lieutenant Pierson gave noexplanation except that he had been attacked near Juliet's tomb on hisway to General Schoneck's quarters. Fellows had stabbed his horse, andbrought him to the ground, and torn the coat off his back. He complainedin bitter mutterings of the loss of a letter therein, during the firstcandid moments of his anger: and, as he was known to be engaged to theCountess Lena von Lenkenstein, it was conjectured by his comrades thatthis lady might have had something to do with the ravishment of theletter. Great laughter surrounded him, and he looked from man to man. Allowance is naturally made for the irascibility of a brother officercoming tattered out of the hands of enemies, or Lieutenant Jenna wouldhave construed his eye's challenge on the spot. As it was, he cried out, 'The letter! the letter! Charge, for the honour of the army, and rescuethe letter!' Others echoed him: 'The letter! the letter! the Englishletter!' A foreigner in an army can have as much provocation as hepleases; if he is anything of a favourite with his superiors, hisfellows will task his forbearance. Wilfrid Pierson glanced at the bladeof his sword, and slowly sheathed it. 'Lieutenant Jenna is a good actorbefore a mob, ' he said. 'Gentlemen, I rely upon you to make no noiseabout that letter; it is a private matter. In an hour or so, if anyofficer shall choose to question me concerning it, I will answer him. '

The last remnants of the mob had withdrawn. The officer in command atthe gates threw a cloak over Wilfrid's shoulders; and taking the arm ofa friend Wilfrid hurried to barracks, and was quickly in a position toreport himself to his General, whose first remark, 'Has the dead horsebeen removed?' robbed him of his usual readiness to equivocate. 'Whenyou are the bearer of a verbal despatch, come straight to quarters, if you have to come like a fig-tree on the north side of the wall inWinter, ' said General Schoneck, who was joined presently by GeneralPierson. 

'What 's this I hear of some letter you have been barking about allover the city?' the latter asked, after returning his nephew's on-dutysalute. 

Wilfrid replied that it was a letter of his sister's treating of familymatters. 

The two Generals, who were close friends, discussed the attack to whichhe had been subjected. Wilfrid had to recount it with circumstance: how, as he was nearing General Schoneck's quarters at a military trot, sixmen headed by a leader had dashed out on him from a narrow side-street, unhorsed him after a struggle, rifled the saddlebags, and torn the coatfrom his back, and had taken the mark of his sword, while a gatheringcrowd looked on, hooting. His horse had fled, and he confessed that hehad followed his horse. General Schoneck spoke the name of Countess Lenasuggestively. 'Not a bit, ' returned General Pierson; 'the fellow courtsher too hotly. The scoundrels here want a bombardment; that 's where itlies. A dose of iron pills will make Verona a healthy place. She musthave it. '

General Schoneck said, 'I hope not, ' and laughed at the heat of Irishblood. He led Wilfrid in to the Marshal, after which Wilfrid was free toseek Lieutenant Jenna, who had gained the right to a similar freedom bypledging his honour not to fight within a stipulated term of days. Thenext morning Wilfrid was roused by an orderly coming from his uncle, whoplaced in his hands a copy of Vittoria's letter: at the end of it hisuncle had written, 'Rather astonishing. Done pretty well; but by aforeigner. "Affection" spelt with one "f. " An Italian: you will see theletters are emphatic at "ugly flag"; also "bloody and past forgiveness"very large; the copyist had a dash of the feelings of a commentator, anddid his (or her) best to add an oath to it. Who the deuce, sir, is thisopera girl calling herself Vittoria? I have a lecture for you. Germanwomen don't forgive diversions during courtship; and if you let thisCountess Lena slip, your chance has gone. I compliment you on your powerof lying; but you must learn to show your right face to me, or the veryhandsome feature, your nose, and that useful box, your skull, willcome to grief. The whole business is a mystery. The letter (copy) wasdirected to you, brought to me, and opened in a fit of abstraction, necessary to commanding uncles who are trying to push the fortunes ofyoung noodles pretending to be related to them. Go to Countess Lena. Count Paul is with her, from Bologna. Speak to her, and observe her andhim. He knows English--has been attached to the embassy in London; but, pooh! the hand's Italian. I confess myself puzzled. We shall possiblyhave to act on the intimation of the fifteenth, and profess to bewiser than others. Something is brewing for business. See Countess Lenaboldly, and then come and breakfast with me. '

Wilfrid read the miserable copy of Vittoria's letter, utterly unable toresolve anything in his mind, except that he would know among a thousandthe leader of those men who had attacked him, and who bore the mark ofhis sword. 

CHAPTER X

THE POPE'S MOUTH

Barto Rizzo had done what he had sworn to do. He had not found itdifficult to outstrip the lieutenant (who had to visit Brescia on hisway) and reach the gates of Verona in advance of him, where he obtainedentrance among a body of grape-gatherers and others descending from thehills to meet a press of labour in the autumnal plains. With themhe hoped to issue forth unchallenged on the following morning; butWilfrid's sword had made lusty play; and, as in the case when the orderhas been given that a man shall be spared in life and limb, Barto andhis fellow-assailants suffered by their effort to hold him simply half aminute powerless. He received a shrewd cut across the head, and lay fora couple of hours senseless in the wine-shop of one Battista--one ofthe many all over Lombardy who had pledged their allegiance to the GreatCat, thinking him scarcely vulnerable. He read the letter, dizzy withpain, and with the frankness proper to inflated spirits after loss ofblood, he owned to himself that it was not worth much as a prize. It wasworth the attempt to get possession of it, for anything is worth whatit costs, if it be only as a schooling in resolution, energy, anddevotedness:--regrets are the sole admission of a fruitless business;they show the bad tree;--so, according to his principle of action, hedeliberated; but he was compelled to admit that Vittoria's letter waslittle else than a repetition of her want of discretion when she was onthe Motterone. He admitted it, wrathfully: his efforts to convict thiswoman telling him she deserved some punishment; and his suspicions beingunsatisfied, he resolved to keep them hungry upon her, and return toMilan at once. As to the letter itself, he purposed, since the harm init was accomplished, to send it back honourably to the lieutenant, tillfinding it blood-stained, he declined to furnish the gratification ofsuch a sight to any Austrian sword. For that reason, he copied it, whileBattista's wife held double bandages tight round his head: believingthat the letter stood transcribed in a precisely similar hand, heforwarded it to Lieutenant Pierson, and then sank and swooned. Two dayshe lay incapable and let his thoughts dance as they would. Informationwas brought to him that the gates were strictly watched, and that troopswere starting for Milan. This was in the dull hour antecedent to thedawn. 'She is a traitress!' he exclaimed, and leaping from his bed, aswith a brain striking fire, screamed, 'Traitress! traitress!' Battistaand his wife had to fling themselves on him and gag him, guessing himas mad. He spoke pompously and theatrically; called himself the Eye ofItaly, and said that he must be in Milan, or Milan would perish, becauseof the traitress: all with a great sullen air of composure and an odddistension of the eyelids. When they released him, he smiled and thankedthem, though they knew, that had he chosen, he could have thrown off adozen of them, such was his strength. The woman went down on her kneesto him to get his consent that she should dress and bandage his headafresh. The sound of the regimental bugles drew him from the house, rather than any immediate settled scheme to watch at the gates. 

Artillery and infantry were in motion before sunrise, from variouspoints of the city, bearing toward the Palio and Zeno gates, and thepeople turned out to see them, for it was a march that looked like thebeginning of things. The soldiers had green twigs in their hats, andkissed their hands good-humouredly to the gazing crowd, shouting bits ofverses:

'I'm off! I'm off! Farewell, Mariandl! if I come back a sergeant-majoror a Field-Marshal, don't turn up your nose at me: Swear you will befaithful all the while; because, when a woman swears, it's a comfort, somehow: Farewell! Squeeze the cow's udders: I shall be thirsty enough:You pretty wriggler! don't you know, the first cup of wine and thelast, I shall float your name on it? Luck to the lads we leave behind!Farewell, Mariandl!'

The kindly fellows waved their hands and would take no rebuff. Thesoldiery of Austria are kindlier than most, until their blood is up. A Tyrolese regiment passed, singing splendidly in chorus. Songs ofsentiment prevailed, but the traditions of a soldier's experience of thesex have informed his ballads with strange touches of irony, that helphim to his (so to say) philosophy, which is recklessness. The Tyroler's'Katchen' here, was a saturnine Giulia, who gave him no response, eitherof eye or lip. 

'Little mother, little sister, little sweetheart, 'ade! ade!' My littlesweetheart, your meadow is half-way up the mountain; it's such a greenspot on the eyeballs of a roving boy! and the chapel just above it, Ishall see it as I've seen it a thousand times; and the cloud hangs nearit, and moves to the door and enters, for it is an angel, not a cloud; awhite angel gone in to pray for Katerlein and me: Little mother, littlesister, little sweetheart, 'ade! ade!' Keep single, Katerlein, as longas you can: as long as you can hold out, keep single: 'ade!''

Fifteen hundred men and six guns were counted as they marched on to onegate. 

Barto Rizzo, with Battista and his wife on each side of him, were amongthe spectators. The black cock's feathers of the Tyrolese were stillfluttering up the Corso, when the woman said, 'I 've known the tail of aregiment get through the gates without having to show paper. '

Battista thereupon asked Barto whether he would try that chance. Theanswer was a vacuous shake of the head, accompanied by an expressionof unutterable mournfulness. 'There's no other way, ' pursued Battista, 'unless you jump into the Adige, and swim down half-a-mile under water;and cats hate water--eh, my comico?'

He conceived that the sword-cut had rendered Barto imbecile, and pulledhis hat down his forehead, and patted his shoulder, and bade him havecheer, patronizingly: but women do not so lightly lose their impressionof a notable man. His wife checked him. Barto had shut his eyes, andhung swaying between them, as in drowsiness or drunkenness. Like hisbody, his faith was swaying within him. He felt it borne upon thereeling brain, and clung to it desperately, calling upon chance to aidhim; for he was weak, incapable of a physical or mental contest, andthis part of his settled creed that human beings alone failed thepatriotic cause as instruments, while circumstances constantlybefriended it--was shocked by present events. The image of Vittoria, the traitress, floated over the soldiery marching on Milan through hertreachery. Never had an Austrian force seemed to him so terrible. He hadto yield the internal fight, and let his faith sink and be blackened, in order that his mind might rest supine, according to his rememberedsystem; for the inspiration which points to the right course does notcome during mental strife, but after it, when faith summons its agenciesundisturbed--if only men will have the faith, and will teach themselvesto know that the inspiration must come, and will counsel them justly. This was a part of Barto Rizzo's sustaining creed; nor did he lose hisgrasp of it in the torment and the darkness of his condition. 

He heard English voices. A carriage had stopped almost in front of him. A General officer was hat in hand, talking to a lady, who called himuncle, and said that she had been obliged to decide to quit Verona onaccount of her husband, to whom the excessive heat was unendurable. Her husband, in the same breath, protested that the heat killed him. He adorned the statement with all kinds of domestic and subterraneanimagery, and laughed faintly, saying that after the fifteenth--on whichnight his wife insisted upon going to the Opera at Milan to hear a newsinger and old friend--he should try a week at the Baths of Bormio, andonly drop from the mountains when a proper temperature reigned, he beingsomething of an invalid. 

'And, uncle, will you be in Milan on the fifteenth?' said the lady; 'andWilfrid, too?'

'Wilfrid will reach Milan as soon as you do, and I shall undoubtedly bethere on the fifteenth, ' said the General. 

'I cannot possibly express to you how beautiful I think your armylooks, ' said the lady. 

'Fine men, General Pierson, very fine men. I never saw suchmarching--equal to our Guards, ' her husband remarked. 

The lady named her Milanese hotel as the General waved his plumes, nodded, and rode off. 

Before the carriage had started, Barto Rizzo dashed up to it; and 'Deargood English lady, ' he addressed her, 'I am the brother of Luigi, whocarries letters for you in Milan--little Luigi!--and I have a motherdying in Milan; and here I am in Verona, ill, and can't get to her, poorsoul! Will you allow me that I may sit up behind as quiet as a mouse, and be near one of the lovely English ladies who are so kind tounfortunate persons, and never deaf to the name of charity? It's mymother who is dying, poor soul!'

The lady consulted her husband's face, which presented the total blankof one who refused to be responsible for an opinion hostile to theclaims of charity, while it was impossible for him to fall in withforeign habits of familiarity, and accede to extraordinary petitions. Barto sprang up. 'I shall be your courier, dear lady, ' he said, andcommenced his professional career in her service by shouting to thevetturino to drive on. Wilfrid met them as he was trotting down fromthe Porta del Palio, and to him his sister confided her new trouble inhaving a strange man attached to her, who might be anything. 'We don'tknow the man, ' said her husband; and Adela pleaded for him: 'Don't speakto him harshly, pray, Wilfrid; he says he has a mother dying in Milan. 'Barto kept his head down on his arms and groaned; Adela gave a dolefullittle grimace. 'Oh, take the poor beggar, ' said Wilfrid; and sang outto him in Italian: 'Who are you--what are you, my fine fellow?' Bartogroaned louder, and replied in Swiss-French from a smothering depth: 'Apoor man, and the gracious lady's servant till we reach Milan. '

'I can't wait, ' said Wilfrid; 'I start in half-an-hour. It's all right;you must take him now you've got him, or else pitch him out--one of thetwo. If things go on quietly we shall have the Autumn manoeuvres in aweek, and then you may see something of the army. ' He rode away. Bartopassed the gates as one of the licenced English family. 

Milan was more strictly guarded than when he had quitted it. He hadanticipated that it would be so, and tamed his spirit to submit to theslow stages of the carriage, spent a fiery night in Brescia, and enteredthe city of action on the noon of the fourteenth. Safe within the walls, he thanked the English lady, assuring her that her charitable deed wouldbe remembered aloft. He then turned his steps in the direction of theRevolutionary post-office. This place was nothing other than a blankabutment of a corner house that had long been undergoing repair, andhad a great bank of brick and mortar rubbish at its base. A stationarymelonseller and some black fig and vegetable stalls occupied thetriangular space fronting it. The removal of a square piece ofcement showed a recess, where, chiefly during the night, letters andproclamation papers were deposited, for the accredited postman todisperse them. Hither, as one would go to a caffe for the news, BartoRizzo came in the broad glare of noon, and flinging himself down like atired man under the strip of shade, worked with a hand behind him, anddrew out several folded scraps, of which one was addressed to him by hisinitials. He opened it and read:

'Your house is watched. 

'A corporal of the P... Ka regiment was seen leaving it this morning intime for the second bugle. 

'Reply:--where to meet. 

'Spies are doubled, troops coming. 

'The numbers in Verona; who heads them. 

'Look to your wife. 

'Letters are called for every third hour. '

Barto sneered indolently at this fresh evidence of the small amount ofintelligence which he could ever learn from others. He threw his eyesall round the vacant space while pencilling in reply:--'V. Waits for M. , but in a box' (that is, Verona for Milan). 'We take the key to her. 

'I have no wife, but a little pupil. 

'A Lieutenant Pierson, of the dragoons; Czech white coats, helmetswithout plumes; an Englishman, nephew of General Pierson: speakscrippled Italian; returns from V. To-day. Keep eye on him;--what house, what hour. '

Meditating awhile, Barto wrote out Vittoria's name and enclosed it in athick black ring. 

Beneath it he wrote

'The same on all the play-bills. 

'The Fifteenth is cancelled. 

'We meet the day after. 

'At the house of Count M. To-night. '

He secreted this missive, and wrote Vittoria's name on numbers of slipsto divers addresses, heading them, 'From the Pope's Mouth, ' such beingthe title of the Revolutionary postoffice, to whatsoever spot it mightin prudence shift. The title was entirely complimentary to hisHoliness. Tangible freedom, as well as airy blessings, were at that timeanticipated, and not without warrant, from the mouth of the successor ofSt. Peter. From the Pope's Mouth the clear voice of Italian liberty wasto issue. This sentiment of the period was a natural and a joyful one, and endowed the popular ebullition with a sense of unity and a stamp ofrighteousness that the abstract idea of liberty could not assure to itbefore martyrdom. After suffering, after walking in the shades of deathand despair, men of worth and of valour cease to take high personages asrepresentative objects of worship, even when these (as the good Pope wasthen doing) benevolently bless the nation and bid it to have great hope, with a voice of authority. But, for an extended popular movement a greatname is like a consecrated banner. Proclamations from the Pope's Mouthexacted reverence, and Barto Rizzo, who despised the Pope (because hewas Pope, doubtless), did not hesitate to make use of him by virtue ofhis office. 

Barto lay against the heap of rubbish, waiting for the approach of histrained lad, Checco, a lanky simpleton, cunning as a pure idiot, who wasdoing postman's duty, when a kick, delivered by that youth behind, sent him bounding round with rage, like a fish in air. The marketplaceresounded with a clapping of hands; for it was here that Checcocame daily to eat figs, and it was known that the 'povero, ' the dearhalf-witted creature, would not tolerate an intruder in the place wherehe stretched his limbs to peel and suck in the gummy morsels twice orthrice a day. Barto seized and shook him. Checco knocked off his hat;the bandage about the wound broke and dropped, and Barto put his hand tohis forehead, murmuring: 'What 's come to me that I lose my temper witha boy--an animal?'

The excitement all over the triangular space was hushed by an imperiousguttural shout that scattered the groups. Two Austrian officers, followed by military servants, rode side by side. Dust had whitenedtheir mustachios, and the heat had laid a brown-red varnish on theirfaces. Way was made for them, while Barto stood smoothing his foreheadand staring at Checco. 

'I see the very man!' cried one of the officers quickly. 'Weisspriess, there's the rascal who headed the attack on me in Verona the other day. It's the same!

'Himmel!' returned his companion, scrutinizing the sword-cut, 'if that'syour work on his head, you did it right well, my Pierson! He is veryneatly scored indeed. A clean stroke, manifestly!'

'But here when I left Milan! at Verona when I entered the North-westgate there; and the first man I see as I come back is this very brute. He dogs me everywhere! By the way, there may be two of them. '

Lieutenant Pierson leaned over his horse's neck, and looked narrowlyat the man Barto Rizzo. He himself was eyed as in retort, and with yetgreater intentness. At first Barto's hand was sweeping the air withina finger's length of his forehead, like one who fought a giddiness forsteady sight. The mist upon his brain dispersing under the gaze of hisenemy, his eyeballs fixed, and he became a curious picture of passivemalice, his eyes seeming to say: 'It is enough for me to know yourfeatures, and I know them. ' Such a look from a civilian is exasperating:it was scarcely to be endured from an Italian of the plebs. 

'You appear to me to want more, ' said the lieutenant audibly to himself;and he repeated words to the same effect to his companion, in badGerman. 

'Eh? You would promote him to another epaulette?' laughed CaptainWeisspriess. 'Come off. Orders are direct against it. And we're inMilan--not like being in Verona! And my good fellow! remember your bet;the dozen of iced Rudesheimer. I want to drink my share, and dream I'mquartered in Mainz--the only place for an Austrian when he quits Vienna. Come. '

'No; but if this is the villain who attacked me, and tore my coat frommy back, ' cried Wilfrid, screwing in his saddle. 

'And took your letter took your letter; a particular letter; we haveheard of it, ' said Weisspriess. 

The lieutenant exclaimed that he should overhaul and examine the man, and see whether he thought fit to give him into custody. Weisspriesslaid hand on his bridle. 

'Take my advice, and don't provoke a disturbance in the streets. Thetruth is, you Englishmen and Irishmen get us a bad name among thesenatives. If this is the man who unhorsed you and maltreated you, andcommitted the rape of the letter, I'm afraid you won't get satisfactionout of him, to judge by his look. I'm really afraid not. Try it if youlike. In any case, if you halt, I am compelled to quit your society, which is sometimes infinitely diverting. Let me remind you that you beardespatches. The other day they were verbal ones; you are now carryingpaper. '

'Are you anxious to teach me my duty, Captain Weisspriess?'

'If you don't know it. I said I would "remind you. " I can also teachyou, if you need it. '

'And I can pay you for the instruction, whenever you are disposed toreceive payment. '

'Settle your outstanding claims, my good Pierson!'

'When I have fought Jenna?'

'Oh! you're a Prussian--a Prussian!' Captain Weisspriess laughed. 'APrussian, I mean, in your gross way of blurting out everything. I'vemarched and messed with Prussians--with oxen. '

'I am, as you are aware, an Englishman, Captain Weisspriess. I am due toLieutenant Jenna for the present. After that you or any one may commandme. '

'As you please, ' said Weisspriess, drawing out one stream of hismoustache. 'In the meantime, thank me for luring you away from thechances of a street row. '

Barto Rizzo was left behind, and they rode on to the Duomo. Glancing upat its pinnacles, Weisspriess said:

'How splendidly Flatschmann's jagers would pick them off from there, now, if the dogs were giving trouble in this part of the city!'

They entered upon a professional discussion of the ways and means ofdealing with a revolutionary movement in the streets of a city likeMilan, and passed on to the Piazza La Scala. Weisspriess stopped beforethe Play-bills. 'To-morrow's the fifteenth of the month, ' he said. 'Shall I tell you a secret, Pierson? I am to have a private peep at thenew prima donna this night. They say she's charming, and very pert. "I do not interchange letters with Germans. " Benlomik sent her a neatlittle note to the conservatorio--he hadn't seen her only heard ofher, and that was our patriotic reply. She wants taming. I believe Iam called upon for that duty. At least, my friend Antonio-Pericles, whooccasionally assists me with supplies, hints as much to me. You'rean engaged man, or, upon my honour, I wouldn't trust you; but betweenourselves, this Greek--and he's quite right--is trying to get her awayfrom the set of snuffy vagabonds who are prompting her for mischief, anddon't know how to treat her. '

While he was speaking Barto Rizzo pushed roughly between them, and witha black brush painted the circle about Vittoria's name. 

'Do you see that?' said Weisspriess. 

'I see, ' Wilfrid retorted, 'that you are ready to meddle with thereputation of any woman who is likely to be talked about. Don't do it inmy presence. '

It was natural for Captain Weisspriess to express astonishment at thisoutburst, and the accompanying quiver of Wilfrid's lip. 

'Austrian military etiquette, Lieutenant Pierson, ' he said, 'precludesthe suspicion that the officers of the Imperial army are subjectto dissension in public. We conduct these affairs upon a differentprinciple. But I'll tell you what. That fellow's behaviour may beconstrued as a more than common stretch of incivility. I'll do you aservice. I'll arrest him, and then you can hear tidings of your preciousletter. We'll have his confession published. '

Weisspriess drew his sword, and commanded the troopers in attendance tolay hands on Barto; but the troopers called, and the officer found thatthey were surrounded. Weisspriess shrugged dismally. 'The brute must go, I suppose, ' he said. The situation was one of those which were everynow and then occurring in the Lombard towns and cities, when a chanceprovocation created a riot that became a revolt or not, according to thetimidity of the ruling powers or the readiness of the disaffected. Theextent and evident regulation of the crowd operated as a warning to theImperial officers. Weisspriess sheathed his sword and shouted, 'Way, there!' Way was made for him; but Wilfrid lingered to scrutinize theman who, for an unaccountable reason, appeared to be his peculiar enemy. Barto carelessly threaded the crowd, and Wilfrid, finding it useless toget out after him, cried, 'Who is he? Tell me the name of that man?' Thequestion drew a great burst of laughter around him, and exclamations of'Englishman! Englishman!' He turned where there was a clear way left forhim in the track of his brother officer. 

Comments on the petty disturbance had been all the while passing at theCaffe La Scala, where sat Agostino Balderini, with, Count Medole andothers, who, if the order for their arrest had been issued, were as safein that place as in their own homes. Their policy, indeed, was to showthemselves openly abroad. Agostino was enjoying the smoke of papercigarettes, with all prudent regard for the well-being of an inflammablebeard. Perceiving Wilfrid going by, he said, 'An Englishman! I continueto hope much from his countrymen. I have no right to do so, only theyinsist on it. They have promised, and more than once, to sail a fleetto our assistance across the plains of Lombardy, and I believe theywill--probably in the watery epoch which is to follow Metternich. Beholdmy Carlo approaching. The heart of that lad doth so boil the brain ofhim, he can scarcely keep the lid on. What is it now? Speak, my son. '

Carlo Ammiani had to communicate that he had just seen a black circleto Vittoria's name on two public playbills. His endeavour to ape adeliberate gravity while he told the tale, roused Agostino's humouristicire. 

'Round her name?' said Agostino. 

'Yes; in every bill. '

'Meaning that she is suspected!'

'Meaning any damnable thing you like. '

'It's a device of the enemy. '

Agostino, glad of the pretext to recur to his habitual luxurious irony, threw himself back, repeating 'It 's a device of the enemy. Calculate, my son, that the enemy invariably knows all you intend to do: determinesimply to astonish him with what you do. Intentions have lungs, Carlo, and depend on the circumambient air, which, if not designedlytreacherous, is communicative. Deeds, I need not remark, are a differentbody. It has for many generations been our Italian error to imaginea positive blood relationship--not to say maternity itself--existingbetween intentions and deeds. Nothing of the sort! There is only theintention of a link to unite them. You perceive? It's much to be famousfor fine intentions, so we won't complain. Indeed, it's not our businessto complain, but Posterity's; for fine intentions are really richpossessions, but they don't leave grand legacies; that is all. They meanto possess the future: they are only the voluptuous sons of the present. It's my belief, Carlino, from observation, apprehension, and other giftsof my senses, that our paternal government is not unacquainted with ourintention to sing a song in a certain opera. And it may have learntour clumsy method of enclosing names publicly, at the bidding of anon-appointed prosecutor, so to, isolate or extinguish them. Who cansay? Oh, ay! Yes! the machinery that can so easily be made rickety isto blame; we admit that; but if you will have a conspiracy like a Genevawatch, you must expect any slight interference with the laws thatgovern it to upset the mechanism altogether. Ah-a! look yonder, butnot hastily, my Carlo. Checco is nearing us, and he knows that he hasfellows after him. And if I guess right, he has a burden to deliver toone of us. '

Checco came along at his usual pace, and it was quite evident that hefancied himself under espionage. On two sides of the square a suspiciousfigure threaded its way in the line of shade not far behind him. Checcopassed the cafe looking at nothing but the huge hands he rubbed over andover. The manifest agents of the polizia were nearing when Checco ranback, and began mouthing as in retort at something that had been spokenfrom the cafe as he shot by. He made a gabbling appeal on either side, and addressed the pair of apparent mouchards, in what, if intelligible, should have been the language of earnest entreaty. At the first wordwhich the caffe was guilty of uttering, a fit of exasperation seizedhim, and the exciteable creature plucked at his hat and sent it whirlingacross the open-air tables right through the doorway. Then, witha whine, he begged his followers to get his hat back for him. Theycomplied. 

'We only called "Illustrissimo!"' said Agostino, as one of the menreturned from the interior of the caffe hat in hand. 

'The Signori should have known better--it is an idiot, ' the man replied. He was a novice: in daring to rebuke he betrayed his office. 

Checco snatched his hat from his attentive friend grinning, and was awayin a flash. Thereupon the caffe laughed, and laughed with an abashingvehemence that disconcerted the spies. They wavered in their choice offollowing Checco or not; one went a step forward, one pulled back; theloiterer hurried to rejoin his comrade, who was now for a retrogrademovement, and standing together they swayed like two imperfectly jollyfellows, or ballet bandits, each plucking at the other, until at lastthe maddening laughter made them break, reciprocate cat-like hisses ofabuse, and escape as they best could--lamentable figures. 

'It says well for Milan that the Tedeschi can scrape up nothing betterfrom the gutters than rascals the like of those for their service, 'quoth Agostino. 'Eh, Signor Conte?'

'That enclosure about La Vittoria's name on the bills is correct, ' saidthe person addressed, in a low tone. He turned and indicated one whofollowed from the interior of the caffe. 

'If Barto is to be trusted she is not safe, ' the latter remarked. Heproduced a paper that had been secreted in Checco's hat. Under the dateand the superscription of the Pope's Mouth, 'LA VITTORIA' stood out inthe ominous heavily-pencilled ring: the initials of Barto Rizzo were ina corner. Agostino began smoothing his beard. 

'He has discovered that she is not trustworthy, ' said Count Medole, a young man of a premature gravity and partial baldness, who spokehabitually with a forefinger pressed flat on his long pointed chin. 

'Do you mean to tell me, Count Medole, that you attach importance to acommunication of this sort?' said Carlo, forcing an amazement to concealhis anger. 

'I do, Count Ammiani, ' returned the patrician conspirator. 

'You really listen to a man you despise?'

'I do not despise him, my friend. '

'You cannot surely tell us that you allow such a man, on his soleauthority, to blacken the character of the signorina?'

'I believe that he has not. '

'Believe? trust him? Then we are all in his hands. What can you mean?Come to the signorina herself instantly. Agostino, you now conductCount Medole to her, and save him from the shame of subscribing to themonstrous calumny. I beg you to go with our Agostino, Count Medole. Itis time for you--I honour you for the part you have taken; but it istime to act according to your own better judgement. '

Count Medole bowed. 

'The filthy rat!' cried Ammiani, panting to let out his wrath. 

'A serviceable dog, ' Agostino remarked correctingly. 'Keep true to theform of animal, Carlo. He has done good service in his time. '

'You listen to the man?' Carlo said, now thoroughly amazed. 

'An indiscretion is possible to woman, my lad. She may have beenindiscreet in some way I am compelled to admit the existence ofpossibilities. '

'Of all men, you, Agostino! You call her daughter, and profess to loveher. '

'You forget, ' said Agostino sharply. 'The question concerns the country, not the girl. ' He added in an underbreath, 'I think you are professingthat you love her a little too strongly, and scarce give her much helpas an advocate. The matter must be looked into. If Barto shall be foundto have acted without just grounds, I am certain that Count Medole'--heturned suavely to the nobleman--'will withdraw confidence from him;and that will be equivalent to a rope's-end for Barto. We shall see himto-night at your house?'

'He will be there, ' Medole said. 

'But the harm's done; the mischief's done! And what's to follow if youshall choose to consider this vile idiot justified?' asked Ammiani. 

'She sings, and there is no rising, ' said Medole. 

'She is detached from the patriotic battery, for the moment: it will bebetter for her not to sing at all, ' said Agostino. 'In fact, Barto hasmerely given us warning that--and things look like it--the Fifteenth islikely to be an Austrian feast-day. Your arm, my son. We will join youto-night, my dear Count. Now, Carlo, I was observing, it appears to methat the Austrians are not going to be surprised by us, and it affordsme exquisite comfort. Fellows prepared are never more than preparedfor one day and another day; and they are sure to be in a state of laxpreparation after a first and second disappointment. On the contrary, fellows surprised'--Agostino had recovered his old smile again--'fellowssurprised may be expected to make use of the inspirations pertaining togenius. Don't you see?'

'Oh, cruel! I am sick of you all!' Carlo exclaimed. 'Look at her; thinkof her, with her pure dream of Italy and her noble devotion. And youpermit a doubt to be cast on her!'

'Now, is it not true that you have an idea of the country not beingworthy of her?' said Agostino, slyly. 'The Chief, I fancy, did not takecertain facts into his calculation when he pleaded that the conspiratrixwas the sum and completion of the conspirator. You will come to Medole'sto-night, Carlo. You need not be too sweet to him, but beware ofexplosiveness. I, a Republican, am nevertheless a practical exponentof the sacrifices necessary to unity. I accept the local leadership ofMedole--on whom I can never look without thinking of an unfeathered pie;and I submit to be assisted by the man Barto Rizzo. Do thou likewise, myson. Let your enamoured sensations follow that duty, and with a breezyspace between. A conspiracy is an epitome of humanity, with a boilingpower beneath it. You're no more than a bit of mechanism--happy if itgoes at all!'

Agostino said that he would pay a visit to Vittoria in the evening. Ammiani had determined to hunt out Barto Rizzo and the heads of theClubs before he saw her. It was a relief to him to behold in the Piazzathe Englishman who had exchanged cards with him on the Motterone. Captain Gambier advanced upon a ceremonious bow, saying frankly, in amore colloquial French than he had employed at their first interview, that he had to apologize for his conduct, and to request monsieur'sexcuse. 'If, ' he pursued, 'that lady is the person whom I knew formerlyin England as Mademoiselle Belloni, and is now known as MademoiselleVittoria Campa, may I beg you to inform her that, according to whatI have heard, she is likely to be in some danger to-morrow?' What theexact nature of the danger was, Captain Gambier could not say. 

Ammiani replied: 'She is in need of all her friends, ' and took thepressure of the Englishman's hand, who would fair have asked more butfor the stately courtesy of the Italian's withdrawing salute. Ammianicould no longer doubt that Vittoria's implication in the conspiracy wasknown. 

CHAPTER XI

LAURA PIAVENI

After dark on the same day antecedent to the outbreak, Vittoria, withher faithful Beppo at her heels, left her mother to run and pass onecomforting hour in the society of the Signora Laura Piaveni and herchildren. 

There were two daughters of a parasitical Italian nobleman, of whomone had married the patriot Giacomo Piaveni, and one an Austriandiplomatist, the Commendatore Graf von Lenkenstein. Count Serabiglionewas traditionally parasitical. His ancestors all had moved in Courts. The children of the House had illustrious sponsors. The House itself wasa symbolical sunflower constantly turning toward Royalty. Great excusesare to be made for this, the last male descendant, whose father inhis youth had been an Imperial page, and who had been nursed in theconception that Italy (or at least Lombardy) was a natural fief ofAustria, allied by instinct and by interest to the holders of the Alps. Count Serabiglione mixed little with his countrymen, --the statementmight be inversed, --but when, perchance, he was among them, he talkedwillingly of the Tedeschi, and voluntarily declared them to be gross, obstinate, offensive-bears, in short. At such times he would intimate inany cordial ear that the serpent was probably a match for the bear ina game of skill, and that the wisdom of the serpent was shown inhis selection of the bear as his master, since, by the ordination ofcircumstances, master he must have. The count would speak pityingly ofthe poor depraved intellects which admitted the possibility of a comingKingdom of Italy united: the lunatics who preached of it he considered asort of self-elected targets for appointed files of Tyrolese jagers. But he was vindictive against him whom he called the professionaldoctrinaire, and he had vile names for the man. Acknowledging thatItaly mourned her present woes, he charged this man with the crimeof originating them:--and why? what was his object? He was, the countdeclared in answer, a born intriguer, a lover of blood, mad for thesmell of it!--an Old Man of the Mountain; a sheaf of assassins; andmore--the curse of Italy! There should be extradition treaties all overthe world to bring this arch-conspirator to justice. The door of hisconscience had been knocked at by a thousand bleeding ghosts, andnothing had opened to them. What was Italy in his eyes? A chess-board;and Italians were the chessmen to this cold player with live flesh. England nourished the wretch, that she might undermine the peace of theContinent. 

Count Serabiglione would work himself up in the climax of denunciation, and then look abroad frankly as one whose spirit had been relieved. He hated bad men; and it was besides necessary for him to denouncesomebody, and get relief of some kind. Italians edged away from him. Hewas beginning to feel that he had no country. The detested title 'YoungItaly' hurried him into fits of wrath. 'I am, ' he said, 'one of the OldItalians, if a distinction is to be made. ' He assured his listenersthat he was for his commune, his district, and aired his old-Italianprejudices delightedly; clapping his hands to the quarrels of Milan andBrescia; Florence and Siena--haply the feuds of villages--and the commonNorth-Italian jealousy of the chief city. He had numerous capital talesto tell of village feuds, their date and origin, the stupid effortto heal them, and the wider consequent split; saying, 'We have, allItalians, the tenacity, the unforgiveness, the fervent blood of pureHebrews; and a little more gaiety, perhaps; together with a love of fairthings. We can outlive ten races of conquerors. '

In this fashion he philosophized, or forced a kind of philosophy. But hehad married his daughter to an Austrian, which was what his countrymencould not overlook, and they made him feel it. Little by little, halfacquiescing, half protesting, and gradually denationalized, the countwas edged out of Italian society, save of the parasitical class, whichhe very much despised. He was not a happy man. Success at the ImperialCourt might have comforted him; but a remorseless sensitiveness of hisnature tripped his steps. 

Bitter laughter rang throughout Lombardy when, in spite of his effortsto save his daughter's husband, Giacomo Piaveni suffered death. Noharder blow had ever befallen the count: it was as good as a publicproclamation that he possessed small influence. To have bent the kneewas not afflicting to this nobleman's conscience: but it was an anguishto think of having bent the knee for nothing. 

Giacomo Piaveni was a noble Italian of the young blood, son of a Generalloved by Eugene. In him the loss of Italy was deplorable. He perished bytreachery at the age of twenty-three years. So splendid was this youthin appearance, of so sweet a manner with women, and altogether so-gentleand gallant, that it was a widowhood for women to have known him: andat his death the hearts of two women who had loved him in rivalry becamebound by a sacred tie of friendship. He, though not of distinguishedbirth, had the choice of an almost royal alliance in the first blushof his manhood. He refused his chance, pleading in excuse to CountSerabiglione, that he was in love with that nobleman's daughter, Laura;which it flattered the count to hear, but he had ever after a contemptfor the young man's discretion, and was observed to shrug, with thesmooth sorrowfulness of one who has been a prophet, on the day whenGiacomo was shot. The larger estates of the Piaveni family, then inGiacomo's hands, were in a famous cheese-making district, producing adelicious cheese:--'white as lambkins!' the count would ejaculate mostdolefully; and in a rapture of admiration, 'You would say, a marblequarry when you cut into it. ' The theme was afflicting, for all theestates of Giacomo were for the time forfeit, and the pleasant agitationproduced among his senses by the mention of the cheese reminded him atthe same instant that he had to support a widow with two children. TheSignora Piaveni lived in Milan, and the count her father visited hertwice during the summer months, and wrote to her from his fitful Winterresidences in various capital cities, to report progress in the settledscheme for the recovery of Giacomo's property, as well for his widowas for the heirs of his body. 'It is a duty, ' Count Serabiglione saidemphatically. 'My daughter can entertain no proposal until her childrenare duly established; or would she, who is young and lovely and archlycapricious, continue to decline the very best offers of the Milanesenobility, and live on one flat in an old quarter of the city, instead ofin a bright and handsome street, musical with equipages, and full of theshows of life?'

In conjunction with certain friends of the signora, the count workeddiligently for the immediate restitution of the estates. He was ablyseconded by the young princess of Schyll-Weilingen, --by marriagecountess of Fohrendorf, duchess of Graatli, in central Germany, by whichtitle she passed, --an Austrian princess; she who had loved Giacomo, andwould have given all for him, and who now loved his widow. The extremeand painful difficulty was that the Signora Piaveni made no concealmentof her abhorrence of the House of Austria, and hatred of Austrian rulein Italy. The spirit of her dead husband had come to her from the grave, and warmed a frame previously indifferent to anything save his personalmerits. It had been covertly communicated to her that if she performeddue submission to the authorities, and lived for six months in goodlegal, that is to say, nonpatriotic odour, she might hope to have theestates. The duchess had obtained this mercy for her, and it was much;for Giacomo's scheme of revolt had been conceived with a subtlety ofgenius, and contrived on a scale sufficient to incense any despotic lordof such a glorious milch-cow as Lombardy. Unhappily the signora was moreinspired by the remembrance of her husband than by consideration forher children. She received disaffected persons: she subscribed her moneyostentatiously for notoriously patriotic purposes; and she who, in herfather's Como villa, had been a shy speechless girl, nothing more thanbeautiful, had become celebrated for her public letters, and the ardourof declamation against the foreigner which characterized her style. Inthe face of such facts, the estates continued to be withheld from hergovernance. Austria could do that: she could wreak her spite againstthe woman, but she respected her own law even in a conquered land: theestates were not confiscated, and not absolutely sequestrated; and, indeed, money coming from them had been sent to her for the educationof her children. It lay in unopened official envelopes, piled one uponanother, quarterly remittances, horrible as blood of slaughter in hersight. Count Serabiglione made a point of counting the packets alwayswithin the first five minutes of a visit to his daughter. He saidnothing, but was careful to see to the proper working of the lock ofthe cupboard where the precious deposits were kept, and sometimes inforgetfulness he carried off the key. When his daughter reclaimed it, she observed, 'Pray believe me quite as anxious as yourself to preservethese documents. ' And the count answered, 'They represent the estates, and are of legal value, though the amount is small. They represent yourprotest, and the admission of your claim. They are priceless. '

In some degree, also, they compensated him for the expense he was putto in providing for his daughter's subsistence and that of her children. For there, at all events, visible before his eyes, was the value of themoney, if not the money expended. He remonstrated with Laura for leavingit more than necessarily exposed. She replied, 'My people know what that money means!' implying, of course, that no onein her house would consequently touch it. Yet it was reserved for thecount to find it gone. 

The discovery was made by the astounded nobleman on the day precedingVittoria's appearance at La Scala. His daughter being absent, he hadvisited the cupboard merely to satisfy an habitual curiosity. Thecupboard was open, and had evidently been ransacked. He rang up thedomestics, and would have charged them all with having done violenceto the key, but that on reflection he considered this to be a way ofbinding faggots together, and he resolved to take them one by one, likethe threading Jesuit that he was, and so get a Judas. Laura's returnsaved him from much exercise of his peculiar skill. She, with a cool'Ebbene!' asked him how long he had expected the money to remainthere. Upon which, enraged, he accused her of devoting the money to theaccursed patriotic cause. And here they came to a curious open division. 

'Be content, my father, ' she said; 'the money is my husband's, and isexpended on his behalf. '

'You waste it among the people who were the cause of his ruin!' herfather retorted. 

'You presume me to have returned it to the Government, possibly?'

'I charge you with tossing it to your so-called patriots. '

'Sir, if I have done that, I have done well. '

'Hear her!' cried the count to the attentive ceiling; and addressingher with an ironical 'madame, ' he begged permission to inquire of herwhether haply she might be the person in the pay of Revolutionistswho was about to appear at La Scala, under the name of the SignorinaVittoria. 'For you are getting dramatic in your pose, my Laura, ' headded, familiarizing the colder tone of his irony. 'You are beginning tostand easily in attitudes of defiance to your own father. '

'That I may practise how to provoke a paternal Government, you mean, 'she rejoined, and was quite a match for him in dialectics. 

The count chanced to allude further to the Signorina Vittoria. 

'Do you know much of that lady?' she asked. 

'As much as is known, ' said he. 

They looked at one another; the count thinking, 'I gave to this girl anexcess of brains, in my folly!'

Compelled to drop his eyes, and vexed by the tacit defeat, he pursued, 'You expect great things from her?'

'Great, ' said his daughter. 

'Well, well, ' he murmured acquiescingly, while sounding within himselffor the part to play. 'Well-yes! she may do what you expect. '

'There is not the slightest doubt of her capacity, ' said his daughter, in a tone of such perfect conviction that the count was immediately andirresistibly tempted to play the part of sagacious, kindly, tolerant butforeseeing father; and in this becoming character he exposed the risksher party ran in trusting anything of weight to a woman. Not that hedecried women. Out of their sphere he did not trust them, and he simplyobjected to them when out of their sphere: the last four words beinguttered staccato. 

'But we trust her to do what she has undertaken to do, ' said Laura. 

The count brightened prodigiously from his suspicion to a certainty; andas he was still smiling at the egregious trap his clever but unskilleddaughter had fallen into, he found himself listening incredulously toher plain additional sentence:--'She has easy command of three octaves. '

By which the allusion was transformed from politics to Art. Had Laurareserved this cunning turn a little further, yielding to the naturaltemptation to increase the shock of the antithetical battery, she wouldhave betrayed herself: but it came at the right moment: the count gaveup his arms. He told her that this Signorina Vittoria was suspected. 'Whom will they not suspect!' interjected Laura. He assured her thatif a conspiracy had ripened it must fail. She was to believe that heabhorred the part of a spy or informer, but he was bound, since she wasreckless, to watch over his daughter; and also bound, that he mightbe of service to her, to earn by service to others as much power ashe could reasonably hope to obtain. Laura signified that he arguedexcellently well. In a fit of unjustified doubt of her sincerity, hecomplained, with a querulous snap:

'You have your own ideas; you have your own ideas. You think me this andthat. A man must be employed. '

'And this is to account for your occupation?' she remarked. 

'Employed, I say!' the count reiterated fretfully. He was unmasking tono purpose, and felt himself as on a slope, having given his adversaryvantage. 

'So that there is no choice for you, do you mean?'

The count set up a staggering affirmative, but knocked it over with itsnatural enemy as soon as his daughter had said, 'Not being for Italy, you must necessarily be against her:--I admit that to be the position!'

'No!' he cried; 'no: there is no question of "for" or "against, " as youare aware. "Italy, and not Revolution": that is my motto. '

'Or, in other words, "The impossible, "' said Laura. 'A perfect motto!'

Again the count looked at her, with the remorseful thought: 'I certainlygave you too much brains. '

He smiled: 'If you could only believe it not impossible!'

'Do you really imagine that "Italy without Revolution" does not mean"Austria"?' she inquired. 

She had discovered how much he, and therefore his party, suspected, andnow she had reasons for wishing him away. Not daring to show symptomsof restlessness, she offered him the chance of recovering himself onthe crutches of an explanation. He accepted the assistance, praisinghis wits for their sprightly divination, and went through a long-windedstatement of his views for the welfare of Italy, quoting his favouriteBerni frequently, and forcing the occasion for that jolly poet. Lauragave quiet attention to all, and when he was exhausted at the close, said meditatively, 'Yes. Well; you are older. It may seem to you that Ishall think as you do when I have had a similar, or the same, length ofexperience. '

This provoking reply caused her father to jump up from his chair andspin round for his hat. She rose to speed him forth. 

'It may seem to me!' he kept muttering. 'It may seem to me that when adaughter gets married--addio! she is nothing but her husband. '

'Ay! ay! if it might be so!' the signora wailed out. 

The count hated tears, considering them a clog to all useful machinery. He was departing, when through the open window a noise of scuffling inthe street below arrested him. 

'Has it commenced?' he said, starting. 

'What?' asked the signora, coolly; and made him pause. 

'But-but-but!' he answered, and had the grace to spare her ears. Thethought in him was: 'But that I had some faith in my wife, and don'tadmire the devil sufficiently, I would accuse him point-blank, for, byBacchus! you are as clever as he. '

It is a point in the education of parents that they should learnto apprehend humbly the compliment of being outwitted by their ownoffspring. 

Count Serabiglione leaned out of the window and saw that his horses weresafe and the coachman handy. There were two separate engagements goingon between angry twisting couples. 

'Is there a habitable town in Italy?' the count exclaimed frenziedly. First he called to his coachman to drive away, next to wait as if nailedto the spot. He cursed the revolutionary spirit as the mother of vices. While he was gazing at the fray, the door behind him opened, as he knewby the rush of cool air which struck his temples. He fancied that hisdaughter was hurrying off in obedience to a signal, and turned upon herjust as Laura was motioning to a female figure in the doorway to retire. 

'Who is this?' said the count. 

A veil was over the strange lady's head. She was excited, and breathedquickly. The count brought forward a chair to her, and put on his bestcourt manner. Laura caressed her, whispering, ere she replied: 'TheSignorina Vittoria Romana!--Biancolla!--Benarriva!' and numerous othernames of inventive endearment. But the count was too sharp to be thrownoff the scent. 'Aha!' he said, 'do I see her one evening before the termappointed?' and bowed profoundly. 'The Signorina Vittoria!'

She threw up her veil. 

'Success is certain, ' he remarked and applauded, holding one hand as asnuff-box for the fingers of the other to tap on. 

'Signor Conte, you--must not praise me before you have heard me. '

'To have seen you!'

'The voice has a wider dominion, Signor Conte. '

'The fame of the signorina's beauty will soon be far wider. Was Venus acantatrice?'

She blushed, being unable to continue this sort of Mayfly-shootingdialogue, but her first charming readiness had affected the proficientsocial gentleman very pleasantly, and with fascinated eyes he hummedand buzzed about her like a moth at a lamp. Suddenly his head dived:'Nothing, nothing, signorina, ' he said, brushing delicately at herdress; 'I thought it might be paint. ' He smiled to reassure her, andthen he dived again, murmuring: 'It must be something sticking to thedress. Pardon me. ' With that he went to the bell. 'I will ring up mydaughter's maid. Or Laura--where is Laura?'

The Signora Piaveni had walked to the window. This antiquated fussinessof the dilettante little nobleman was sickening to her. 

'Probably you expect to discover a revolutionary symbol in the lines ofthe signorina's dress, ' she said. 

'A revolutionary symbol!--my dear! my dear!' The count reproved hisdaughter. 'Is not our signorina a pure artist, accomplishing easilythree octaves? aha! Three!' and he rubbed his hands. 'But, three goodoctaves!' he addressed Vittoria seriously and admonishingly. 'It is afortune-millions! It is precisely the very grandest heritage! It is anarmy!'

'I trust that it may be!' said Vittoria, with so deep and earnest a ringof her voice that the count himself, malicious as his ejaculationshad been, was astonished. At that instant Laura cried from the window:'These horses will go mad. '

The exclamation had the desired effect. 

'Eh?--pardon me, signorina, ' said the count, moving half-way to thewindow, and then askant for his hat. The clatter of the horses' hoofssent him dashing through the doorway, at which place his daughterstood with his hat extended. He thanked and blessed her for the kindlyattention, and in terror lest the signorina should think evil of himas 'one of the generation of the hasty, ' he said, 'Were it anythingbut horses! anything but horses! one's horses!--ha!' The audible hoofscalled him off. He kissed the tips of his fingers, and tripped out. 

The signora stepped rapidly to the window, and leaning there, crieda word to the coachman, who signalled perfect comprehension, andimmediately the count's horses were on their hind-legs, chafing andpulling to right and left, and the street was tumultuous with them. Sheflung down the window, seized Vittoria's cheeks in her two hands, andpressed the head upon her bosom. 'He will not disturb us again, ' shesaid, in quite a new tone, sliding her hands from the cheeks to theshoulders and along the arms to the fingers'-ends, which they clutchedlovingly. 'He is of the old school, friend of my heart! and besides, hehas but two pairs of horses, and one he keeps in Vienna. We live inthe hope that our masters will pay us better! Tell me! you are in goodhealth? All is well with you? Will they have to put paint on her softcheeks to-morrow? Little, if they hold the colour as full as now? MySandra! amica! should I have been jealous if Giacomo had known you? Onmy soul, I cannot guess! But, you love what he loved. He seems to livefor me when they are talking of Italy, and you send your eyes forwardas if you saw the country free. God help me! how I have been containingmyself for the last hour and a half!'

The signora dropped in a seat and laughed a languid laugh. 

'The little ones? I will ring for them. Assunta shall bring them down intheir night-gowns if they are undressed; and we will muffle the windows, for my little man will be wanting his song; and did you not promise himthe great one which is to raise Italy-his mother, from the dead? Do youremember our little fellow's eyes as he tried to see the picture? I fearI force him too much, and there's no need-not a bit. '

The time was exciting, and the signora spoke excitedly. Messing andReggio were in arms. South Italy had given the open signal. It was nearupon the hour of the unmasking of the great Lombard conspiracy, andVittoria, standing there, was the beacon-light of it. Her presencefilled Laura with transports of exultation; and shy of displayingit, and of the theme itself, she let her tongue run on, and satisfiedherself by smoothing the hand of the brave girl on her chin, andplucking with little loving tugs at her skirts. In doing this shesuddenly gave a cry, as if stung. 

'You carry pins, ' she said. And inspecting the skirts more closely, 'Youhave a careless maid in that creature Giacinta; she lets paper stick toyour dress. What is this?'

Vittoria turned her head, and gathered up her dress to see. 

'Pinned with the butterfly!' Laura spoke under her breath. 

Vittoria asked what it meant. 

'Nothing--nothing, ' said her friend, and rose, pulling her eagerlytoward the lamp. 

A small bronze butterfly secured a square piece of paper with clippedcorners to her dress. Two words were written on it:--

 'SEI SOSPETTA. '

CHAPTER XII

THE BRONZE BUTTERFLY

The two women were facing one another in a painful silence when CarloAmmiani was announced to them. He entered with a rapid stride, andstruck his hands together gladly at sight of Vittoria. 

Laura met his salutation by lifting the accusing butterfly attached toVittoria's dress. 

'Yes; I expected it, ' he said, breathing quick from recent exertion. 'They are kind--they give her a personal warning. Sometimes the daggerheads the butterfly. I have seen the mark on the Play-bills affixed tothe signorina's name. '

'What does it mean?' said Laura, speaking huskily, with her head bentover the bronze insect. 'What can it mean?' she asked again, and lookedup to meet a covert answer. 

'Unpin it. ' Vittoria raised her arms as if she felt the thing to beenveloping her. 

The signora loosened the pin from its hold; but dreading lest shethereby sacrificed some possible clue to the mystery, she hesitated inher action, and sent an intolerable shiver of spite through Vittoria'sframe, at whom she gazed in a cold and cruel way, saying, 'Don'ttremble. ' And again, 'Is it the doing of that 'garritrice magrezza, 'whom you call 'la Lazzeruola?' Speak. Can you trace it to her hand? Whoput the plague-mark upon you?'

Vittoria looked steadily away from her. 

'It means just this, ' Carlo interposed; 'there! now it 's off; and, signorina, I entreat you to think nothing of it, --it means that any onewho takes a chief part in the game we play, shall and must provokeall fools, knaves, and idiots to think and do their worst. They can'timagine a pure devotion. Yes, I see--"Sei sospetta. " They would writetheir 'Sei sospetta' upon St. Catherine in the Wheel. Put it out of yourmind. Pass it. '

'But they suspect her; and why do they suspect her?' Laura questionedvehemently. 'I ask, is it a Conservatorio rival, or the brand of one ofthe Clubs? She has no answer. '

'Observe. ' Carlo laid the paper under her eyes. 

Three angles were clipped, the fourth was doubled under. He turned itback and disclosed the initials B. R. 'This also is the work of ourman-devil, as I thought. I begin to think that we shall be eternallythwarted, until we first clear our Italy of its vermin. Here is aweazel, a snake, a tiger, in one. They call him the Great Cat. Hefancies himself a patriot, --he is only a conspirator. I denounce him, but he gets the faith of people, our Agostino among them, I believe. Theenergy of this wretch is terrific. He has the vigour of a fasting saint. Myself--I declare it to you, signora, with shame, I know what it is tofear this man. He has Satanic blood, and the worst is, that the Chieftrusts him. '

'Then, so do I, ' said Laura. 

'And I, ' Vittoria echoed her. 

A sudden squeeze beset her fingers. 'And I trust you, ' Laura said toher. 'But there has been some indiscretion. My child, wait: give noheed to me, and have no feelings. Carlo, my friend--my husband'sboy--brother-in-arms! let her teach you to be generous. She must havebeen indiscreet. Has she friends among the Austrians? I have one, andit is known, and I am not suspected. But, has she? What have you said ordone that might cause them to suspect you? Speak, Sandra mia. '

It was difficult for Vittoria to speak upon the theme, which made herappear as a criminal replying to a charge. At last she said, 'English:I have no foreign friends but English. I remember nothing that I havedone. --Yes, I have said I thought I might tremble if I was led out to beshot. '

'Pish! tush!' Laura checked her. 'They flog women, they do not shootthem. They shoot men. '

'That is our better fortune, ' said Ammiani. 

'But, Sandra, my sister, ' Laura persisted now, in melodious coaxingtones. 'Can you not help us to guess? I am troubled: I am stung. It isfor your sake I feel it so. Can't you imagine who did it, for instance?'

'No, signora, I cannot, ' Vittoria replied. 

'You can't guess?'

I cannot help you. '

'You will not!' said the irritable woman. 'Have you noticed no onepassing near you?'

'A woman brushed by me as I entered this street. I remember no one else. And my Beppo seized a man who was spying on me, as he said. That is allI can remember. '

Vittoria turned her face to Ammiani. 

'Barto Rizzo has lived in England, ' he remarked, half to himself. 'Didyou come across a man called Barto Rizzo there, signorina? I suspect himto be the author of this. '

At the name of Barto Rizzo, Laura's eyes widened, awakening a memory inAmmiani; and her face had a spectral wanness. 

'I must go to my chamber, ' she said. 'Talk of it together. I will bewith you soon. '

She left them. 

Ammiani bent over to Vittoria's ear. 'It was this man who sent thewarning to Giacomo, the signora's husband, which he despised, and whichwould have saved him. 

It is the only good thing I know of Barto Rizzo. Pardon her. '

'I do, ' said the girl, now weeping. 

'She has evidently a rooted superstitious faith in these revolutionarysign-marks. They are contagious to her. She loves you, and believes inyou, and will kneel to you for forgiveness by-and-by. Her misery is adisease. She thinks now, "If my husband had given heed to the warning!"

'Yes, I see how her heart works, ' said Vittoria. 'You knew her husband, Signor Carlo?'

'I knew him. I served under him. He was the brother of my love. I shallhave no other. '

Vittoria placed her hand for Ammiani to take it. He joined his own tothe fevered touch. The heart of the young man swelled most ungovernably, but the perils of the morrow were imaged by him, circling her as with atragic flame, and he had no word for his passion. 

The door opened, when a noble little boy bounded into the room; followedby a little girl in pink and white, like a streamer in the steps ofher brother. With shouts, and with arms thrown forward, they flungthemselves upon Vittoria, the boy claiming all her lap, and the girlstruggling for a share of the kingdom. Vittoria kissed them, crying, 'No, no, no, Messer Jack, this is a republic, and not an empire, and youare to have no rights of "first come"; and Amalia sits on one knee, andyou on one knee, and you sit face to face, and take hands, and swear tobe satisfied. '

'Then I desire not to be called an English Christian name, and you willcall me Giacomo, ' said the boy. 

Vittoria sang, in mountain-notes, 'Giacomo!--Giacomo--Giac-giac-giac.. Como!'

The children listened, glistening up at her, and in conjunction jumpedand shouted for more. 

'More?' said Vittoria; 'but is the Signor Carlo no friend of ours? anddoes he wear a magic ring that makes him invisible?'

'Let the German girl go to him, ' said Giacomo, and strained his throatto reach at kisses. 

'I am not a German girl, ' little Amalia protested, refusing to go toCarlo Ammiani under that stigma, though a delightful haven of open armsand knees, and filliping fingers, invited her. 

'She is not a German girl, O Signor Giacomo, ' said Vittoria, in thetheatrical manner. 

'She has a German name. '

'It's not a German name!' the little girl shrieked. 

Giacomo set Amalia to a miauling tune. 

'So, you hate the Duchess of Graatli!' said Vittoria. 'Very well. Ishall remember. '

The boy declared that he did not hate his mother's friend and sister'sgodmother: he rather liked her, he really liked her, he loved her; buthe loathed the name 'Amalia, ' and could not understand why the duchesswould be a German. He concluded by miauling 'Amalia' in the triumph ofcontempt. 

'Cat, begone!' said Vittoria, promptly setting him down on his feet, andlittle Amalia at the same time perceiving that practical sympathy onlyrequired a ring at the bell for it to come out, straightway pulled thewires within herself, and emitted a doleful wail that gave her solepossession of Vittoria's bosom, where she was allowed to bring her tearsto an end very comfortingly. Giacomo meanwhile, his body bent in anarch, plucked at Carlo Ammiani's wrists with savagely playful tugs, andtook a stout boy's lesson in the art of despising what he coveted. Hehad only to ask for pardon. Finding it necessary, he came shyly upto Vittoria, who put Amalia in his way, kissing whom, he was himselftenderly kissed. 

'But girls should not cry!' Vittoria reproved the little woman. 

'Why do you cry?' asked Amalia simply. 

'See! she has been crying. ' Giacomo appropriated the discovery, perforceof loudness, after the fashion of his sex. 

'Why does our Vittoria cry?' both the children clamoured. 

'Because your mother is such a cruel sister to her, ' said Laura, passingup to them from the doorway. She drew Vittoria's head against herbreast, looked into her eyes, and sat down among them. Vittoria sangone low-toned soft song, like the voice of evening, before they weredismissed to their beds. She could not obey Giacomo's demand for amartial air, and had to plead that she was tired. 

When the children had gone, it was as if a truce had ended. The signoraand Ammiani fell to a brisk counterchange of questions relating to themysterious suspicion which had fallen upon Vittoria. Despite Laura'slove for her, she betrayed her invincible feeling that there must besome grounds for special or temporary distrust. 

'The lives that hang on it knock at me here, ' she said, touching underher throat with fingers set like falling arrows. 

But Ammiani, who moved in the centre of conspiracies, met at theircouncils, and knew their heads, and frequently combated their schemes, was not possessed by the same profound idea of their potential commandof hidden facts and sovereign wisdom. He said, 'We trust too much to oneman. We are compelled to trust him, but we trust too much to him. I meanthis man, this devil, Barto Rizzo. Signora, signora, he must be spokenof. He has dislocated the plot. He is the fanatic of the revolution, and we are trusting him as if he had full sway of reason. What is theconsequence? The Chief is absent he is now, as I believe, in Genoa. Allthe plan for the rising is accurate; the instruments are ready, andwe are paralyzed. I have been to three houses to-night, and where, twohours previously, there was union and concert, all are irresolute anddivided. I have hurried off a messenger to the Chief. Until we hear fromhim, nothing can be done. I left Ugo Corte storming against us Milanese, threatening, as usual, to work without us, and have a Bergamasc andBrescian Republic of his own. Count Medole is for a week's postponement. Agostino smiles and chuckles, and talks his poetisms. '

'Until you hear from the Chief, nothing is to be done?' Laura saidpassionately. 'Are we to remain in suspense? Impossible! I cannotbear it. We have plenty of arms in the city. Oh, that we had cannon!I worship cannon! They are the Gods of battle! But if we surprise thecitadel;--one true shock of alarm makes a mob of an army. I have heardmy husband say so. Let there be no delay. That is my word. '

'But, signora, do you see that all concert about the signal is lost?'

'My friend, I see something'; Laura nodded a significant half-meaningat him. 'And perhaps it will be as well. Go at once. See that anothersignal is decided upon. Oh! because we are ready--ready. Inaction nowis uttermost anguish--kills the heart. What number of the white butchershave we in the city to-night?'

'They are marching in at every gate. I saw a regiment of Hungarianscoming up the Borgo della Stella. Two fresh squadrons of Uhlans in theCorso Francesco. In the Piazza d'Armi artillery is encamped. '

'The better for Brescia, for Bergamo, for Padua, for Venice!' exclaimedLaura. 'There is a limit to their power. We Milanese can match them. Fordays and days I have had a dream lying in my bosom that Milan was soonto breathe. Go, my brother; go to Barto Rizzo; gather him and CountMedole, Agostino, and Colonel Corte--to whom I kiss my fingers--gatherthem together, and squeeze their brains for the one spark of divine firein this darkness which must exist where there are so many thorough menbent upon a sacred enterprise. And, Carlo, '--Laura checked her nervousvoice, 'don't think I am declaiming to you from one of my "MidnightLamps. "' (She spoke of the title of her pamphlets to the Italianpeople. ) 'You feel among us women very much as Agostino and ColonelCorte feel when the boy Carlo airs his impetuosities in their presence. Yes, my fervour makes a philosopher of you. That is human nature. Pityme, pardon me, and do my bidding. '

The comparison of Ammiani's present sentiments to those of the elders ofthe conspiracy, when his mouth was open in their midst, was severe andmasterful, for the young man rose instantly without a thought in hishead. 

He remarked: 'I will tell them that the signorina does not give thesignal. '

'Tell them that the name she has chosen shall be Vittoria still; butsay, that she feels a shadow of suspicion to be an injunction upon herat such a crisis, and she will serve silently and humbly until she isrightly known, and her time comes. She is willing to appear before them, and submit to interrogation. She knows her innocence, and knowing thatthey work for the good of the country, she, if it is their will, iscontent to be blotted out of all participation:--all! She abjures allfor the common welfare. Say that. And say, to-morrow night the risingmust be. Oh! to-morrow night! It is my husband to me. '

Laura Piaveni crossed her arms upon her bosom. 

Ammiani was moving from them with a downward face, when a bell-note ofVittoria's voice arrested him. 

'Stay, Signor Carlo; I shall sing to-morrow night. '

The widow heard her through that thick emotion which had just closedher' speech with its symbolical sensuous rapture. Divining oppositionfiercely, like a creature thwarted when athirst for the wells, she gaveher a terrible look, and then said cajolingly, as far as absence ofsweetness could make the tones pleasant, 'Yes, you will sing, but youwill not sing that song. '

'It is that song which I intend to sing, signora. '

'When it is interdicted?'

'There is only one whose interdict I can acknowledge. '

'You will dare to sing in defiance of me?'

'I dare nothing when I simply do my duty. '

Ammiani went up to the window, and leaned there, eyeing the lightsleading down to the crowding Piazza. He wished that he were among thecrowd, and might not hear those sharp stinging utterances coming fromLaura, and Vittoria's unwavering replies, less frequent, but firmer, andgravely solid. Laura spent her energy in taunts, but Vittoria spokeonly of her resolve, and to the point. It was, as his military instinctsframed the simile, like the venomous crackling of skirmishing riflesbefore a fortress, that answered slowly with its volume of sound andsweeping shot. He had the vision of himself pleading to secure hersafety, and in her hearing, on the Motterone, where she had seemed sosimple a damsel, albeit nobly enthusiastic: too fair, too gentle to bestationed in any corner of the conflict at hand. Partly abased by theremembrance of his brainless intercessions then, and of the laughterwhich had greeted them, and which the signora had recently recalled, itwas nevertheless not all in self-abasement (as the momentary recognitionof a splendid character is commonly with men) that he perceived thestature of Vittoria's soul. Remembering also what the Chief had spokenof women, Ammiani thought 'Perhaps he has known one such as she. ' Thepassion of the young man's heart magnified her image. He did not wonderto see the signora acknowledge herself worsted in the conflict. 

'She talks like the edge of a sword, ' cried Laura, desperately, anddropped into a chair. 'Take her home, and convince her, if you can, on the way, Carlo. I go to the Duchess of Graatli to-night. She has areception. Take this girl home. She says she will sing: she obeys theChief, and none but the Chief. We will not suppose that it is her desireto shine. She is suspected; she is accused; she is branded; there is nogeneral faith in her; yet she will hold the torch to-morrow night:--andwhat ensues? Some will move, some turn back, some run headlong over totreachery, some hang irresolute all are for the shambles! The blood ison her head. '

'I will excuse myself to you another time, ' said Vittoria. 'I love you, Signora Laura. '

'You do, you do, or you would not think of excusing yourself to me, 'said Laura. 'But now, go. You have cut me in two. Carlo Ammiani maysucceed where I have failed, and I have used every weapon; enough tomake a mean creature hate me for life and kiss me with transports. Doyour best, Carlo, and let it be your utmost. '

It remained for Ammiani to assure her that their views were different. 

'The signorina persists in her determination to carry out the programmeindicated by the Chief, and refuses to be diverted from her path by thefalse suspicions of subordinates. ' He employed a sententious phraseologyinstinctively, as men do when they are nervous, as well as when theyjustify the cynic's definition of the uses of speech. 'The signorina is, in my opinion, right. If she draws back, she publicly accepts the blotupon her name. I speak against my own feelings and my wishes. '

'Sandra, do you hear?' exclaimed Laura. 'This is a friend'sinterpretation of your inconsiderate wilfulness. '

Vittoria was content to reply, 'The Signor Carlo judges of medifferently. '

'Go, then, and be fortified by him in this headstrong folly. ' Lauramotioned her hand, and laid it on her face. 

Vittoria knelt and enclosed her with her arms, kissing her knees. 

'Beppo waits for me at the house-door, ' she said; but Carlo chose not tohear of this shadow-like Beppo. 

'You have nothing to say for her save that she clears her name by givingthe signal, ' Laura burst out on his temperate 'Addio, ' and started toher feet. 'Well, let it be so. Fruitless blood again! A 'rivederla' toyou both. To-night I am in the enemy's camp. They play with opencards. Amalia tells me all she knows by what she disguises. I may learnsomething. Come to me to-morrow. My Sandra, I will kiss you. Theseshudderings of mine have no meaning. '

The signora embraced her, and took Ammiani's salute upon her fingers. 

'Sour fingers!' he said. She leaned her cheek to him, whispering, 'Icould easily be persuaded to betray you. '

He answered, 'I must have some merit in not betraying myself. '

'At each elbow!' she laughed. 'You show the thumps of an electricbattery at each elbow, and expect your Goddess of lightnings not to seethat she moves you. Go. You have not sided with me, and I am right, andI am a woman. By the way, Sandra mia, I would beg the loan of your Beppofor two hours or less. '

Vittoria placed Beppo at her disposal. 

'And you run home to bed, ' continued Laura. 'Reason comes to youobstinate people when you are left alone for a time in the dark. '

She hardly listened to Vittoria's statement that the chief singers inthe new opera were engaged to attend a meeting at eleven at night at thehouse of the maestro Rocco Ricci. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE PLOT OF THE SIGNOR ANTONIO

There was no concealment as to Laura's object in making request for theservices of Beppo. She herself knew it to be obvious that she intendedto probe and cross-examine the man, and in her wilfulness she chose tobe obtuse to opinion. She did not even blush to lean a secret ear abovethe stairs that she might judge, by the tones of Vittoria's voice uponher giving Beppo the order to wait, whether she was at the same timeconveying a hint for guardedness. But Vittoria said not a word: it wasAmmiani who gave the order. 'I am despicable in distrusting her fora single second, ' said Laura. That did not the less encourage her toquestion Beppo rigorously forthwith; and as she was not to be deceivedby an Italian's affectation of simplicity, she let him answer two orthree times like a plain fool, and then abruptly accused him of standingprepared with these answers. Beppo, within his own bosom, immediatelyascribed to his sagacious instinct the mere spirit of opposition anddislike to serve any one save his own young mistress which had causedhim to irritate the signora and be on his guard. He proffered a candidadmission of the truth of the charge; adding, that he stood likewiseprepared with an unlimited number of statements. 'Questions, illustrioussignora, invariably put me on the defensive, and seem to cry for areturn thrust; and this I account for by the fact that my mother--theblessed little woman now among the Saints!--was questioned, brows andheels, by a ferruginously--faced old judge at the momentous period whenshe carried me. So that, a question--and I show point; but ask me for astatement, and, ah, signora!' Beppo delivered a sweep of the arm, as toindicate the spontaneous flow of his tongue. 

'I think, ' said Laura, 'you have been a soldier, and a serving-man. '

'And a scene-shifter, most noble signora, at La Scala. '

'You accompanied the Signor Mertyrio to England when he was wounded?'

'I did. '

'And there you beheld the Signorina Vittoria, who was then bearing thename of Emilia Belloni?'

'Which name she changed on her arrival in Italy, illustrious signora, for that of Vittoria Campa--"sull' campo dells gloria"--ah! ah!--her ownname being an attraction to the blow-flies in her own country. All thisis true. '

'It should be a comfort to you! The Signor Mertyrio... '

Beppo writhed his person at the continuance of the questionings, andobtaining a pause, he rushed into his statement: 'The Signor Mertyriowas well, and on the point of visiting Italy, and quitting thewave-embraced island of fog, of beer, of moist winds, and much money, and much kindness, where great hearts grew. The signorina correspondedwith him, and with him only. '

'You know that, and will swear to it?' Laura exclaimed. 

Beppo thereby receiving the cue he had commenced beating for, swore toits truth profoundly, and straightway directed his statement to provethat his mistress had not been politically (or amorously, if thesuspicion aimed at her in those softer regions) indiscreet or blameablein any of her actions. The signorina, he said, never went out from herabode without the companionship of her meritorious mother and his ownmost humble attendance. He, Beppo, had a master and a mistress, theSignor Mertyrio and the Signorina Vittoria. She saw no foreigners:though--a curious thing!--he had seen her when the English language wastalked in her neighbourhood; and she had a love for that language: itmade her face play in smiles like an infant's after it has had suck andis full;--the sort of look you perceive when one is dreaming and hearsmusic. She did not speak to foreigners. She did not care to go toforeign cities, but loved Milan, and lived in it free and happy asan earwig in a ripe apricot. The circumvallation of Milan gave herelbow-room enough, owing to the absence of forts all round--'which knockone's funny-bone in Verona, signora. ' Beppo presented a pure smile upona simple bow for acceptance. 'The air of Milan, ' he went on, with lessconfidence under Laura's steady gaze, and therefore more forcing of hiscandour--'the sweet air of Milan gave her a deep chestful, so that shecould hold her note as long as five lengths of a fiddle-bow:--by thebody of Sant' Ambrogio, it was true!' Beppo stretched out his arm, and chopped his hand edgeways five testificatory times on theshoulder-ridge. 'Ay, a hawk might fly from St. Luke's head (on theDuomo) to the stone on San Primo over Como, while the signorina heldon her note! You listened, you gasped--you thought of a poet in hisdungeon, and suddenly, behold, his chains are struck off!--youthought of a gold-shelled tortoise making his pilgrimage to a beatificshrine!--you thought--you knew not what you thought!'

Here Beppo sank into a short silence of ecstasy, and wakening from it, as with an ardent liveliness: 'The signora has heard her sing? How todescribe it! Tomorrow night will be a feast for Milan. '

'You think that the dilettanti of Milan will have a delight to-morrownight?' said Laura; but seeing that the man's keen ear had caught noteof the ironic reptile under the flower, and unwilling to lose furthertime, she interdicted his reply. 

'Beppo, my good friend, you are a complete Italian--you wasteyour cleverness. You will gratify me by remembering that I am yourcountrywoman. I have already done you a similar favour by allowing youto air your utmost ingenuity. The reflection that it has been to nopurpose will neither scare you nor instruct you. Of that I am quiteassured. I speak solely to suit the present occasion. Now, don't seekto elude me. If you are a snake with friends as well as enemies, you arenothing but a snake. I ask you--you are not compelled to answer, butI forbid you to lie--has your mistress seen, or conversed and hadcorrespondence with any one receiving the Tedeschi's gold, man or woman?Can any one, man or woman, call her a traitress?'

'Not twice!' thundered Beppo, with a furrowed red forehead. 

There was a noble look about the fellow as he stood with stiff legs ina posture, frowning--theatrical, but noble also; partly the look of aFigaro defending his honour in extremity, yet much like a statue of aFrench Marshal of the Empire. 

'That will do, ' said Laura, rising. She was about to leave him, whenthe Duchess of Graatli's chasseur was ushered in, bearing a missive fromAmalia, her friend. She opened it and read:--

 'BEST BELOVED, --Am I soon to be reminded bitterly that there is a river of steel between my heart and me?

 'Fail not in coming to-night. Your new Bulbul is in danger. The silly thing must have been reading Roman history. Say not no! It intoxicates you all. I watch over her for my Laura's sake: a thousand kisses I shower on you, dark delicious soul that you are! Are you not my pine-grove leading to the evening star? Come, that we may consult how to spirit her away during her season of peril. Gulfs do not close over little female madcaps, my Laura; so we must not let her take the leap. Enter the salle when you arrive: pass down it once and return upon your steps; then to my boudoir. My maid Aennchen will conduct you. Addio. Tell this messenger that you come. Laura mine, I am for ever thy

 'AMALIA. '

Laura signalled to the chasseur that her answer was affirmative. As hewas retiring, his black-plumed hat struck against Beppo, who thrusthim aside and gave the hat a dexterous kick, all the while keeping adecorous front toward the signora. She stood meditating. The enragedchasseur mumbled a word or two for Beppo's ear, in execrable Italian, and went. Beppo then commenced bowing half toward the doorway, and triedto shoot through, out of sight and away, in a final droop of excessiveservility, but the signora stopped him, telling him to consider himselfher servant until the morning; at which he manifested a surprisingreadiness, indicative of nothing short of personal devotion, andremained for two minutes after she had quitted the room. So much timehaving elapsed, he ran bounding down the stairs and found the hall-doorlocked, and that he was a prisoner during the signora's pleasure. The discovery that he was mastered by superior cunning, instead ofdisconcerting, quieted him wonderfully; so he put by the resources ofhis ingenuity for the next opportunity, and returned stealthily to hisstarting-point, where the signora found him awaiting her with composure. The man was in mortal terror lest he might be held guilty of a trustbetrayed, in leaving his mistress for an hour, even in obedience to hercommand, at this crisis: but it was not in his nature to state the caseopenly to the signora, whom he knew to be his mistress's friend, or tothink of practising other than shrewd evasion to accomplish his duty andsatisfy his conscience. 

Laura said, without smiling, 'The street-door opens with a key, ' andshe placed the key in his hand, also her fan to carry. Once out of thehouse, she was sure that he would not forsake his immediate charge ofthe fan: she walked on, heavily veiled, confident of his following. TheDuchess of Graatli's house neighboured the Corso Francesco; numerouscarriages were disburdening their freights of fair guests, and now andthen an Austrian officer in full uniform ran up the steps, glitteringunder the lamps. 'I go in among them, ' thought Laura. It rejoiced herthat she had come on foot. Forgetting Beppo, and her black fan, as noItalian woman would have done but she who paced in an acute quivering ofthe anguish of hopeless remembrances and hopeless thirst of vengeance, she suffered herself to be conducted in the midst of the guests, andshuddered like one who has taken a fever-chill as she fulfilled theduchess's directions; she passed down the length of the saloon, througha light of visages that were not human to her sensations. 

Meantime Beppo, oppressed by his custody of the fan, and expecting thatmost serviceable lady's instrument to be sent for at any minute, stoodamong a strange body of semi-feudal retainers below, where he was soonsingled out by the duchess's chasseur, a Styrian, who, masking his furyunder jest, in the South-German manner, endeavoured to lead him up toan altercation. But Beppo was much too supple to be entrapped. Heapologized for any possible offences that he might have committed, assuring the chasseur that he considered one hat as good as another, and some hats better than others: in proof of extreme cordiality, heaccepted the task of repeating the chasseur's name, which was 'JacobBaumwalder Feckelwitz, ' a tolerable mouthful for an Italian; and it waswith remarkable delicacy that Beppo contrived to take upon himself thewhole ridicule of his vile pronunciation of the unwieldy name. JacobBaumwalder Feckelwitz offered him beer to refresh him after the effort. While Beppo was drinking, he seized the fan. 'Good; good; a thousandthanks, ' said Beppo, relinquishing it; 'convey it aloft, I beseech you. 'He displayed such alacrity and lightness of limb at getting rid of it, that Jacob thrust it between the buttons of his shirtfront, returningit to his possession by that aperture. Beppo's head sank. A handful ofblack lace and cedarwood chained him to the spot! He entreated the menin livery to take the fan upstairs and deliver it to the Signora LauraPiaveni; but they, being advised by Jacob, refused. 'Go yourself, 'said Jacob, laughing, and little prepared to see the victim, on whom hethought that for another hour at least he had got his great paw firmly, take him at his word. Beppo sprang into the hall and up the stairs. Theduchess's maid, ivory-faced Aennchen, was flying past him. She saw avery taking dark countenance making eyes at her, leaned her ear shyly, and pretending to understand all that was said by the rapid foreigntongue, acted from the suggestion of the sole thing which she didunderstand. Beppo had mentioned the name of the Signora Piaveni. 'Thisway, ' she indicated with her finger, supposing that of course he wantedto see the signora very urgently. 

Beppo tried hard to get her to carry the fan; but she lifted her fingersin a perfect Susannah horror of it, though still bidding him to follow. Naturally she did not go fast through the dark passages, where thegame of the fan was once more played out, and with accompaniments. Theaccompaniments she objected to no further than a fish is agitated inescaping from the hook; but 'Nein, nein!' in her own language, and 'No, no!' in his, burst from her lips whenever he attempted to transfer thefan to her keeping. 'These white women are most wonderful!' thoughtBeppo, ready to stagger between perplexity and impatience. 

'There; in there!' said Aennchen, pointing to a light that camethrough the folds of a curtain. Beppo kissed her fingers as they tuggedunreluctantly in his clutch, and knew by a little pause that the casewas hopeful for higher privileges. What to do? He had not an instantto spare; yet he dared not offend a woman's vanity. He gave an ecstaticpressure of her hand upon his breastbone, to let her be sure she wasadored, albeit not embraced. After this act of prudence he went towardthe curtain, while the fair Austrian soubrette flew on her previouserrand. 

It was enough that Beppo found himself in a dark antechamber for him tobe instantly scrupulous in his footing and breathing. As he touched thecurtain, a door opened on the other side of the interior, and a tendergabble of fresh feminine voices broke the stillness and ran on like abrook coming from leaps to a level, and again leaping and making noiseof joy. The Duchess of Graatli had clasped the Signora Laura's two handsand drawn her to an ottoman, and between kissings and warmer claspings, was questioning of the little ones, Giacomo and her goddaughter Amalia. 

'When, when did I see you last?' she exclaimed. 'Oh! not since we metthat morning to lay our immortelles upon his tomb. My soul's sister!kiss me, remembering it. I saw you in the gateway--it seemed to me, as in a vision, that we had both had one warning to come for him, andknock, and the door would be opened, and our beloved would come forth!That was many days back. It is to me like a day locked up forever in acasket of pearl. Was it not an unstained morning, my own! If I weep, itis with pleasure. But, ' she added with precipitation, 'weeping of anykind will not do for these eyelids of mine. ' And drawing forth a tinygold-framed pocket-mirror she perceived convincingly that it would notdo. 

'They will think it is for the absence of my husband, ' she said, as onlya woman can say it who deplores nothing so little as that. 

'When does he return from Vienna?' Laura inquired in the fallen voice ofher thoughtfulness. 

'I receive two couriers a week; I know not any more, my Laura. I believehe is pushing some connubial complaint against me at the Court. We havebeen married seventeen months. I submitted to the marriage because Icould get no proper freedom without, and now I am expected to abstainfrom the very thing I sacrificed myself to get! Can he hear that inVienna?' She snapped her fingers. 'If not, let him come and behold it inMilan. Besides, he is harmless. The Archduchess is all ears for the veryman of whom he is jealous. This is my reply: You told me to marry:I obeyed. My heart 's in the earth, and I must have distractions. Mypresent distraction is De Pyrmont, a good Catholic and a good Austriansoldier, though a Frenchman. I grieve to say--it's horrible--that itsometimes tickles me when I reflect that De Pyrmont is keen with thesword. But remember, Laura, it was not until after our marriage myhusband told me he could have saved Giacomo by the lifting of a finger. Away with the man!--if it amuses me to punish him, I do so. '

The duchess kissed Laura's cheek, and continued:--'Now to the pointwhere we stand enemies! I am for Austria, you are for Italy. Good. But Iam always for Laura. So, there's a river between us and a bridge acrossit. My darling, do you know that we are much too strong for you, if youmean anything serious tomorrow night?'

'Are you?' Laura said calmly. 

'I know, you see, that something is meant to happen to-morrow night. '

Laura said, 'Do you?'

'We have positive evidence of it. More than that: Your Vittoria--butdo you care to have her warned? She will certainly find herself in apitfall if she insists on carrying out her design. Tell me, do youcare to have her warned and shielded? A year of fortress-life is notagreeable, is not beneficial for the voice. Speak, my Laura. '

Laura looked up in the face of her friend mildly with her large darkeyes, replying, 'Do you think of sending Major de Pyrmont to her to warnher?'

'Are you not wicked?' cried the duchess, feeling that she blushed, andthat Laura had thrown her off the straight road of her interrogation. 'But, play cards with open hands, my darling, to-night. Look:--She is indanger. I know it; so do you. She will be imprisoned perhaps before shesteps on the boards--who knows? Now, I--are not my very dreams all swornin a regiment to serve my Laura?--I have a scheme. Truth, it ishardly mine. It belongs to the Greek, the Signor Antonio PericlesAgriolopoulos. It is simply'--the duchess dropped her voice out ofBeppo's hearing--'a scheme to rescue her: speed her away to my chateaunear Meran in Tyrol. ' 'Tyrol' was heard by Beppo. In his frenzy at theloss of the context he indulged in a yawn, and a grimace, and a dance ofdisgust all in one; which lost him the next sentence likewise. 'Therewe purpose keeping her till all is quiet and her revolutionary feverhas passed. Have you heard of this Signor Antonio? He could buy up thekingdom of Greece, all Tyrol, half Lombardy. The man has a passion foryour Vittoria; for her voice solely, I believe. He is considered, nodoubt truly, a great connoisseur. He could have a passion for nothingelse, or alas!' (the duchess shook her head with doleful drollery)'would he insist on written securities and mortgages of my privateproperty when he lends me money? How different the world is from theromances, my Laura! But for De Pyrmont, I might fancy my smile wasreally incapable of ransoming an empire; I mean an emperor. Speak; theman is waiting to come; shall I summon him?'

Laura gave an acquiescent nod. 

By this time Beppo had taken root to the floor. 'I am in the best placeafter all, ' he said, thinking of the duties of his service. He wasperfectly well acquainted with the features of the Signor Antonio. Heknew that Luigi was the Signor Antonio's spy upon Vittoria, and that nopersonal harm was intended toward his mistress; but Beppo's heart was inthe revolt of which Vittoria was to give the signal; so, without a touchof animosity, determined to thwart him, Beppo waited to hear the SignorAntonio's scheme. 

The Greek was introduced by Aennchen. She glanced at the signora's lap, and seeing her still without her fan, her eye shot slyly up with hershining temple, inspecting the narrow opening in the curtain furtively. A short hush of preluding ceremonies passed. 

Presently Beppo heard them speaking; he was aghast to find that hehad no comprehension of what they were uttering. 'Oh, accursed Frenchdialect!' he groaned; discovering the talk to be in that tongue. The Signor Antonio warmed rapidly from the frigid politeness of hisintroductory manner. A consummate acquaintance with French was requiredto understand him. He held out the fingers of one hand in regimentalorder, and with the others, which alternately screwed his moustache fromits constitutional droop over the corners of his mouth, he touched theuplifted digits one by one, buzzing over them: flashing his white eyes, and shrugging in a way sufficient to madden a surreptitious listenerwho was aware that a wealth of meaning escaped him and mocked at him. Attimes the Signor Antonio pitched a note compounded half of cursing, halfof crying, it seemed: both pathetic and objurgative, as if he whimperedanathemas and had inexpressible bitter things in his mind. But therewas a remedy! He displayed the specific on a third finger. It was there. This being done (number three on the fingers), matters might still bewell. So much his electric French and gesticulations plainly asserted. Beppo strained all his attention for names, in despair at the riddle ofthe signs. Names were pillars of light in the dark unintelligible waste. The signora put a question. It was replied to with the name of theMaestro Rocco Ricci. Following that, the Signor Antonio accompanied hisvoluble delivery with pantomimic action which seemed to indicate theshutting of a door and an instantaneous galloping of horses--a flightinto air, any-whither. He whipped the visionary steeds with enthusiasticglee, and appeared to be off skyward like a mad poet, when the signoraagain put a question, and at once he struck his hand flat across hismouth, and sat postured to answer what she pleased with a glare ofpolite vexation. She spoke; he echoed her, and the duchess took up thesame phrase. Beppo was assisted by the triangular recurrence of thewords and their partial relationship to Italian to interpret them:'This night. ' Then the signora questioned further. The Greek replied:'Mademoiselle Irma di Karski. '

'La Lazzeruola, ' she said. 

The Signor Antonio flashed a bit of sarcastic mimicry, as if acquiescingin the justice of the opprobrious term from the high point of view: butmademoiselle might pass, she was good enough for the public. 

Beppo heard and saw no more. A tug from behind recalled him to hissituation. He put out his arms and gathered Aennchen all dark in them:and first kissing her so heartily as to set her trembling on the vergeof a betrayal, before she could collect her wits he struck the fan downthe pretty hollow of her back, between her shoulder-blades, and boundedaway. It was not his intention to rush into the embrace of JacobBaumwalder Feckelwitz, but that perambulating chasseur received him ina semi-darkness where all were shadows, and exclaimed, 'Aennchen!' Beppogave an endearing tenderness to the few words of German known to him:'Gottschaf-donner-dummer!' and slipped from the hold of the astonishedJacob, sheer under his arm-pit. He was soon in the street, excitedhe knew not by what, or for what object. He shuffled the names heremembered to have just heard--'Rocco Ricci, and 'la Lazzeruola. ' Whydid the name of la Lazzeruola come in advance of la Vittoria? And whatwas the thing meant by 'this night, ' which all three had uttered as inan agreement?--ay! and the Tyrol! The Tyrol--this night-Rocco Ricci laLazzeruola!

Beppo's legs were carrying him toward the house of the Maestro RoccoRicci ere he had arrived at any mental decision upon these imminentmysteries. 

CHAPTER XIV

AT THE MAESTRO'S DOOR

The house of the Maestro Rocco Ricci turned off the Borgo della Stella. Carlo Ammiani conducted Vittoria to the maestro's door. They conversedvery little on the way. 

'You are a good swordsman?' she asked him abruptly. 

'I have as much skill as belongs to a perfect intimacy with the weapon, 'he answered. 

'Your father was a soldier, Signor Carlo. '

'He was a General officer in what he believed to be the army of Italy. We used to fence together every day for two hours. '

'I love the fathers who do that, ' said Vittoria. 

After such speaking Ammiani was not capable of the attempt to preachpeace and safety to her. He postponed it to the next minute and thenext. 

Vittoria's spirit was in one of those angry knots which are half of theintellect, half of the will, and are much under the domination of one orother of the passions in the ascendant. She was resolved to go forward;she felt justified in going forward; but the divine afflatus ofenthusiasm buoyed her no longer, and she required the support of allthat accuracy of insight and that senseless stubbornness which theremight be in her nature. The feeling that it was she to whom it was givento lift the torch and plant the standard of Italy, had swept her asthrough the strings of a harp. Laura, and the horrible little bronzebutterfly, and the 'Sei sospetta, ' now made her duty seem dry andmiserably fleshless, imaging itself to her as if a skeleton had beentold to arise and walk:--say, the thing obeys, and fills a ghastlydistension of men's eyelids for a space, and again lies down, and menget their breath: but who is the rosier for it? where is the glory ofit? what is the good? This Milan, and Verona, Padua, Vicenza, Brescia, Venice, Florence, the whole Venetian, Tuscan, and Lombardic lands, downto far Sicily, and that Rome which always lay under the crown of a deadsunset in her idea--they too might rise; but she thought of them asskeletons likewise. Even the shadowy vision of Italy Free had nobloom on it, and stood fronting the blown trumpets of resurrectionLazarus-like. 

At these moments young hearts, though full of sap and fire, cannot docommon nursing labour for the little suckling sentiments and hopes, the dreams, the languors and the energies hanging about them fornourishment. Vittoria's horizon was within five feet of her. She sawneither splendid earth nor ancient heaven; nothing save a breach tobe stepped over in defiance of foes and (what was harder to brave) offriends. Some wayward activity of old associations set her humming aquaint English tune, by which she was brought to her consciousness. 

'Dear friend, ' she said, becoming aware that there might be a moretroubled depth in Ammiani's absence of speech than in her own. 

'Yes?' said he, quickly, as for a sentence to follow. None came, and hecontinued, 'The Signora Laura is also your friend. '

She rejoined coldly, 'I am not thinking of her. '

Vittoria had tried to utter what might be a word of comfort for him, andshe found she had not a thought or an emotion. Here she differed fromLaura, who, if the mood to heal a favourite's little sore at any seasoncame upon her, would shower out lively tendernesses and all cajoleriespossible to the tongue of woman. Yet the irritation of action narrowedLaura more than it did Vittoria; fevered her and distracted hersympathies. Being herself a plaything at the time, she could easily playa part for others. Vittoria had not grown, probably never would grow, tobe so plastic off the stage. She was stringing her hand to strike a blowas men strike, and women when they do that cannot be quite feminine. 

'How dull the streets are, ' she remarked. 

'They are, just now, ' said Ammiani, thinking of them on the night tocome convulsed with strife, and of her, tossed perhaps like a weed alongthe torrent of bloody deluge waters. Her step was so firm, her face soassured, that he could not fancy she realized any prospect of the sort, and it filled him with pity and a wretched quailing. 

If I speak now I shall be talking like a coward, he said to himself:and he was happily too prudent to talk to her in that strain. So he saidnothing of peace and safety. She was almost at liberty to believe thathe approved the wisdom of her resolution. At the maestro's door shethanked him for his escort, and begged for it further within an hour. 'And do bring me some chocolate. ' She struck her teeth together champingin a pretty hunger for it. 'I have no chocolate in my pocket, and Ihardly know myself. '

'What will your Signor Antonio say?'

Vittoria filliped her fingers. 'His rule is over, and he is my slave: Iam not his. I will not eat much; but some some I must have. '

Ammiani laughed and promised to obtain it. 'That is, if there's any tobe had. '

'Break open doors to get it for me, ' she said, stamping with fun toinspirit him. 

No sooner was she standing alone, than her elbow was gently plucked aton the other side: a voice was sibilating: 'S-s-signorina. ' She allowedherself to be drawn out of the light of the open doorway, having nosuspicion and no fear. 'Signorina, here is chocolate. ' She beheld twohands in cup-shape, surcharged with packets of Turin chocolate. 

'Lugi, it is you?'

The Motterone spy screwed his eyelids to an expression of the shrewdestsecresy. 

'Hist! signorina. Take some. You shall have all, but wait:--by-and-by. Aha! you look at my eyes as you did on the Monterone, because oneof them takes the shoulder-view; but, the truth is, my father was acontrabandist, and had his eye in his ear when the frontier guard senta bullet through his back, cotton-bags and cutleries, and all! I inheritfrom him, and have been wry-eyed ever since. How does that touch aman's honesty, signorina? Not at all. Don't even suspect that you won'tappreciate Luigi by-and-by. So, you won't ask me a word, signorina, but up you go to the maestro:--signorina, I swear I am your faithfulservant--up to the maestro, and down first. Come down first notlast:--first. Let the other one come down after you; and you come downfirst. Leave her behind, la Lazzeruola; and here, 'Luigi displayed ablack veil, the common head-dress of the Milanese women, and twisted hisfingers round and round on his forehead to personate the horns of theveil; 'take it, signorina; you know how to wear it. Luigi and the saintswatch over you. ' Vittoria found herself left in possession of the veiland a packet of chocolate. 

'If I am watched over by the saints and Luigi, ' she thought, and bit atthe chocolate. 

When the door had closed upon her, Luigi resumed his station nearit, warily casting his glances along the house-fronts, and moving hisspringy little legs like a heath-cock alert. They carried him sharp toan opposite corner of the street at a noise of some one running exposedto all eyes right down the middle of the road, straight to the house: inwhich foolish person he discerned Beppo, all of whose proceedingsLuigi observed and commented on from the safe obscurity under eaves andstarlight, while Beppo was in the light of the lamps. 'You thunderat the door, my Beppo. You are a fire-balloon: you are going to burnyourself up with what you carry. You think you can do something, becauseyou read books and frequent the talking theatres--fourteen syllablesto a word. Mother of heaven! will you never learn anything from naturalintelligence? There you are, in at the door. And now you will disturbthe signorina, and you will do nothing but make la Lazzeruola's earslively. Bounce! you are up the stairs. Bounce! you are on the landing. Thrum! you drum at the door, and they are singing; they don't hear you. And now you're meek as a mouse. That's it--if you don't hit the markwhen you go like a bullet, you 're stupid as lead. And they call you aclever fellow! Luigi's day is to come. When all have paid him all round, they will acknowledge Luigi's worth. You are honest enough, my Beppo;but you might as well be a countryman. You are the signorina's servant, but I know the turnings, said the rat to the cavaliere weazel. '

In a few minutes Beppo stepped from the house, and flung himself withhis back against the lintel of the doorway. 

'That looks like determination to stop on guard, ' said Luigi. 

He knew the exact feeling expressed by it, when one has come violentlyon an errand and has done no good. 

'A flea, my feathery lad, will set you flying again. '

As it was imperative in Luigi's schemes that Beppo should be set flyingagain, he slipped away stealthily, and sped fast into the neighbouringCorso, where a light English closed carriage, drawn by a pair of theisland horses, moved at a slow pace. Two men were on the driver's seat, one of whom Luigi hailed to come down then he laid a strip of paper onhis knee, and after thumping on the side of his nose to get a notion ofEnglish-Italian, he wrote with a pencil, dancing upon one leg all thewhile for a balance:--

 'Come, Beppo, daughter sake, now, at once, immediate, Beppo, signor. '

'That's to the very extremity how the little signora Inglese wouldwrite, ' said Luigi; yet cogitating profoundly in a dubitative twinkleof a second as to whether it might not be the English habit to wind up ahasty missive with an expediting oath. He had heard the oath of emphasisin that island: but he decided to let it go as it stood. The man he hadsummoned was directed to take it straightway and deliver it to one whowould be found at the house-door of the Maestro Rocco Ricci. 

'Thus, like a drunken sentinel, ' said Luigi, folding his arms, crossinghis legs, and leaning back. 'Forward, Matteo, my cherub. '

'All goes right?' the coachman addressed Luigi. 

'As honey, as butter, as a mulberry leaf with a score of worms on it!The wine and the bread and the cream-cheeses are inside, my dainty one, are they? She must not starve, nor must I. Are our hampers fastened outside? Good. We shall be among the Germans in a day and a night. I've got the route, and I pronounce the name of the chateau veryperfectly--"Schloss Sonnenberg. " Do that if you can. '

The unpractised Italian coachman declined to attempt it. He and Luigicompared time by their watches. In three-quarters of an hour he was tobe within hail of the maestro's house. Thither Luigi quietly returned. 

Beppo's place there was vacant. 

'That's better than a draught of Asti, ' said Luigi. 

The lighted windows of the maestro's house, and the piano strikingcorrective notes, assured him that the special rehearsal was still goingon; and as he might now calculate on two or three minutes to spare, hethrew back his coat-collar, lifted his head, and distended his chest, apparently to chime in with the singing, but simply to listen to it. For him, it was imperative that he should act the thing, in order toapprehend and appreciate it. 

A hurried footing told of the approach of one whom he expected. 

'Luigi!'

'Here, padrone. '

'You have the chocolate?'

'Signor Antonio, I have deposited it in the carriage. '

'She is in up there?'

'I beheld her entering. '

'Good; that is fixed fact. ' The Signor Antonio drove at his moustacheright and left. 'I give you, see, Italian money and German money: Germanmoney in paper; and a paper written out by me to explain the value ofthe German paper-money. Silence, engine that you are, and not a man! Iam preventive of stupidity, I am? Do I not know that, hein? Am I inneed of the acclamation of you, my friend? On to the ChateauSonnenberg:--drive on, drive on, and one who stops you, you drive overhim: the gendarmes in white will peruse this paper, if there is anyquestion, and will pass you and the cage, bowing; you hear? It is apass; the military pass you when you show this paper. My good friend, Captain Weisspriess, on the staff of General Pierson, gives it, signed, and it is effectual. But you lose not the paper: put it away with thepaper-money, quite safe. For yourself, this is half your pay--I giveyou napoleons; ten. Count. And now--once at the Chateau Sonnenberg, I repeat, you leave her in charge of two persons, one a woman, at thegate, and then back--frrrrr.... '

Antonio-Pericles smacked on the flat of his hand, and sounded a rapidcourse of wheels. 

'Back, and drop not a crumb upon the road. You have your map. It is, after Roveredo, straight up the Adige, by Bolzano... Say "Botzen. "'

'"Botz, "' said Luigi, submissively. 

'"Botz"--"Botz"--ass! fool! double idiot! "Botzon!"' Antonio-Periclescorrected him furiously, exclaiming to the sovereign skies, 'Though Ipay for brains, can I get them! No. But make a fiasco, Luigi, and not asecond ten for you, my friend: and away, out of my sight, show yourselfno more!'

Luigi humbly said that he was not the instrument of a fiasco. 

Half spurning him, Antonio-Pericles snarled an end both to his advicesand his prophetic disgust of the miserable tools furnished unto masterlyminds upon this earth. He paced forward and back, murmuring in French, 'Mon Dieu! was there ever such a folly as in the head of this girl? Itis her occasion:--Shall I be a Star? Shall I be a Cinder? It is tomorrownight her moment of Birth! No; she prefers to be extinguished. For what?For this thing she calls her country. It is infamous. Yes, vile littlecheat! But, do you know Antonio-Pericles? Not yet. I will nourish you, I will imprison you: I will have you tortured by love, by the very devilof love, by the red-hot pincers of love, till you scream a music, anddie to melt him with your voice, and kick your country to the gutter, and know your Italy for a birthplace and a cradle of Song, and no more, and enough! Bah!'

Having thus delivered himself of the effervescence of his internalagitation, he turned sharply round upon Luigi, with a military stamp ofthe foot and shout of the man's name. 

'It is love she wants, ' Antonio-Pericles resumed his savage soliloquy. 'She wants to be kindled on fire. Too much Government of brain; notsufficient Insurrection of heart! There it is. There it lies. But, little fool! you shall find people with arms and shots and cannonrunning all up and down your body, firing and crying out "Victory forLove!" till you are beaten, till you gasp "Love! love! love!" and thencomes a beatific--oh! a heaven and a hell to your voice. I will pay, 'the excited connoisseur pursued more deliberately: 'I will pay half myfortune to bring this about. I am fortified, for I know such a voice wassent to be sublime. ' He exclaimed in an ecstasy: 'It opens the skies!'and immediately appended: 'It is destined to suffocate the theatres!'

Pausing as before a splendid vision: 'Money--let it go like dust! I havean object. Sandra Belloni--you stupid Vittoria Campa!--I have millionsand the whole Austrian Government to back me, and you to be wilful, little rebel! I could laugh. It is only Love you want. Your voice isnow in a marble chamber. I will put it in a palace of cedarwood. ThisAmmiani I let visit you in the hope that he would touch you. 

Bah! he is a patriot--not a man! He cannot make you wince and pine, andbe cold and be hot, and--Bah! I give a chance to some one else who isnot a patriot. He has done mischief with the inflammable little Anna vonLenkenstein--I know it. Your proper lovers, you women, are the broad, the business lovers, and Weisspriess is your man. '

Antonio-Pericles glanced up at the maestro's windows. 'Hark! it isher voice, ' he said, and drew up his clenched fists with rage, as ifpumping. 'Cold as ice! Not a flaw. She is a lantern with no light init--crystal, if you like. Hark now at Irma, the stork-neck. Aie! whata long way it is from your throat to your head, Mademoiselle Irma!You were reared upon lemons. The split hair of your mural crown is notthinner than that voice of yours. It is a mockery to hear you; but youare good enough for the people, my dear, and you do work, running up anddown that ladder of wires between your throat and your head;--you work, it is true, you puss! sleek as a puss, bony as a puss, musical as apuss. But you are good enough for the people. Hola!'

This exclamation was addressed to a cavalier who was dismounting fromhis horse about fifty yards down the street, and who, giving the reinsto a mounted servant, advanced to meet the Signor Antonio. 

'It is you, Herr Captain von Weisspriess!'

'When he makes an appointment you see him, as a rule, my dear Pericles, 'returned the captain. 

'You are out of uniform--good. We will go up. Remember, you are aconnoisseur, from Bonn--from Berlin--from Leipsic: not of the K. K. Army!Abjure it, or you make no way with this mad thing. You shall see her andhear her, and judge if she is worth your visit to Schloss Sonnenberg anda short siege. Good: we go aloft. You bow to the maestro respectfullytwice, as in duty; then a third time, as from a whisper of your soul. Vanitas, vanitatis! You speak of the 'UT de poitrine. ' You remark:"Albrechtsberger has said---, " and you slap your head and stop. Theythink, "He is polite, and will not quote a German authority to us": andthey think, "He will not continue his quotation; in truth, he scornfullyconsiders it superfluous to talk of counterpoint to us poor Italians. "Your Christian name is Johann?--you are Herr Johannes. Look at her well. I shall not expose you longer than ten minutes to their observation. Frown meditative; the elbow propped and two fingers in the left cheek;and walk into the room with a stoop: touch a note of the piano, leaningyour ear to it as in detection of five-fifteenths of a shade of discord. Frown in trouble as of a tooth. So, when you smile, it is immense praiseto them, and easy for you. '

The names of the Signor Antonio-Pericles and Herr Johannes were taken upto the maestro. 

Tormented with curiosity, Luigi saw them enter the house. The face andthe martial or sanguinary reputation of Captain Weisspriess were notunknown to him. 'What has he to do with this affair?' thought Luigi, andsauntered down to the captain's servant, who accepted a cigar from him, but was rendered incorruptible by ignorance of his language. He observedthat the horses were fresh, and were furnished with saddle-bags as foran expedition. What expedition? To serve as escort to the carriage?--anonsensical idea. But the discovery that an idea is nonsensical is nota satisfactory solution of a difficulty. Luigi squatted on his haunchesbeside the doorstep, a little under one of the lower windows of RoccoRicci's house. Earlier than he expected, the captain and Signor Antoniocame out; and as soon as the door had closed behind them, the captainexclaimed, 'I give you my hand on it, my brave Pericles. You have doneme many services, but this is finest of all. She's superb. She's a nicelittle wild woman to tame. I shall go to the Sonnenberg immediately. I have only to tell General Pierson that his nephew is to be preventedfrom playing the fool, and I get leave at once, if there's no activework. '

'His nephew, Lieutenant Pierson, or Pole--hein?' interposed the Greek. 

'That 's the man. He 's on the Marshal's staff. He 's engaged to theCountess Lena von Lenkenstein. She has fire enough, my Pericles. '

'The Countess Anna, you say?' The Greek stretched forward his ear, andwas never so near getting it vigorously cuffed. 

'Deafness is an unpardonable offence, my dear Pericles. '

Antonio-Pericles sniffed, and assented, 'It is the stupidity of theear. '

'I said, the Countess Lena. '

'Von Lenkenstein; but I choose to be further deaf. '

'To the devil, sir. Do you pretend to be angry?' cried Weisspriess. 

'The devil, sir, with your recommendation, is too black for me to visithim, ' Antonio-Pericles rejoined. 

'By heaven, Pericles, for less than what you allow yourself to say, I'vesent men to him howling!'

They faced one another, pulling at their moustachios. Weisspriesslaughed. 

'You're not a fighting man, Pericles. '

The Greek nodded affably. 'One is in my way, I have him put out of myway. It is easiest. '

'Ah! easiest, is it?' Captain Weisspriess 'frowned meditative' over thisremarkable statement of a system. 'Well, it certainly saves trouble. Besides, my good Pericles, none but an ass would quarrel with you. I wasobserving that General Pierson wants his nephew to marry the CountessLena immediately; and if, as you tell me, this girl Belloni, who iscalled la Vittoria--the precious little woman!--has such power over him, it's quite as well, from the General's point of view, that she shouldbe out of the way at Sonnenberg. I have my footing at the Duchess ofGraath's. I believe she hopes that I shall some day challenge and killher husband; and as I am supposed to have saved Major de Pyrmont'slife, I am also an object of present gratitude. Do you imagine that yourlittle brown-eyed Belloni scented one of her enemies in me?'

'I know nothing of imagination, ' the Signor Antonio observed frigidly. 

'Till we meet!' Captain Weisspriess kissed his fingers, half as uptoward the windows, and half to the Greek. 'Save me from having to teachlove to your Irma!'

He ran to join his servant. 

Luigi had heard much of the conversation, as well as the last sentence. 

'It shall be to la Irma if it is to anybody, ' Luigi muttered. 

'Let Weisspriess--he will not awake love in her--let him kindle hate, it will do, ' said the Signor Antonio. 'She has seen him, and if he meetsher on the route to Meran, she will think it her fascination. '

Looking at his watch and at the lighted windows, he repeated his specialinjunctions to Luigi. 'It is near the time. I go to sleep. I am gettingold: I grow nervous. Ten-twenty in addition, you shall have, if allis done right. Your weekly pay runs on. Twenty--you shall have thirty!Thirty napoleons additional!'

Ten fingers were flashed thrice. 

Luigi gave a jump. 'Padrone, they are mine. '

'Animal, that shake your belly-bag and brain-box, stand!' cried theGreek, who desired to see Luigi standing firm that he might inspirehimself with confidence in his integrity. When Luigi's posture hadsatisfied him, he turned and went off at great strides. 

'He does pay, ' Luigi reflected, seeing that immense virtue in hispatron. 'Yes, he pays; but what is he about? It is this question forme--"Do I serve my hand? or, Do I serve my heart?" My hand takes themoney, and it is not German money. My heart gives the affection, and thesignorina has my heart. She reached me that cigarette on the Motteronelike the Madonna: it is never to be forgotten! I serve my heart! Now, Beppo, you may come; come quick for her. I see the carriage, and thereare three stout fellows in it who could trip and muzzle you at a signalfrom me before you could count the letters of your father's baptismalname. Oh! but if the signorina disobeys me and comes out last!--theSignor Antonio will ask the maestro, who will say, "Yes, la Vittoria washere with me last of the two"; and I lose my ten, my twenty, my thirtynapoleons. '

Luigi's chest expanded largely with a melancholy draught of air. 

The carriage meantime had become visible at the head of the street, where it remained within hearing of a whistle. One of the Milanese hiredvehicles drove up to the maestro's door shortly after, and Luigicursed it. His worst fears for the future of the thirty napoleons wereconfirmed; the door opened and the Maestro Rocco Ricci, bareheaded andin his black silk dressing-gown, led out Irma di Karski, by some calledrival to la Vittoria; a tall Slavic damsel, whose laughter was not softand smooth, whose cheeks were bright, and whose eyes were deep in thehead and dull. But she had vivacity both of lips and shoulders. Theshoulders were bony; the lips were sharp and red, like winter-berries inthe morning-time. Freshness was not absent from her aspect. The criticalobjection was that it seemed a plastered freshness and not true bloom;or rather it was a savage and a hard, not a sweet freshness. Henceperhaps the name which distinguished her la Lazzeruola (crab apple). Itwas a freshness that did not invite the bite; sour to Italian taste. 

She was apparently in vast delight. 'There will be a perfect inundationto-morrow night from Prague and Vienna to see me even in so miserable apart as Michiella, ' she said. 'Here I am supposed to be a beginner; I amno debutante there. '

'I can believe it, I can believe it, ' responded Rocco, bowing for herspeedy departure. 

'You are not satisfied with my singing of Michiella's score! Now, tellme, kind, good, harsh old master! you think that Miss Vittoria wouldsing it better. So do I. And I can sing another part better. You do notknow my capacities. '

'I am sure there is nothing you would not attempt, ' said Rocco, bowingresignedly. 

'There never was question of my courage. '

'Yes, but courage, courage! away with your courage!' Rocco was spurredby his personal grievances against her in a manner to make him forgethis desire to be rid of her. 'Your courage sets you flying at once atevery fioritura and bravura passage, to subdue, not to learn: not toaccomplish, but to conquer it. And the ability, let me say, is not inproportion to the courage, which is probably too great to be easilyequalled; but you have the opportunity to make your part celebratedto-morrow night, if, as you tell me, the house is to be packed withViennese, and, signorina, you let your hair down. '

The hair of Irma di Karski was of singular beauty, and so dear to herthat the allusion to the triumphant feature of her person passed offRocco's irony in sugar. 

'Addio! I shall astonish you before many hours have gone by, ' shesaid; and this time they bowed together, and the maestro tripped backhurriedly, and shut his door. 

Luigi's astonishment eclipsed his chagrin when he beheld the lady stepfrom her place, bidding the driver move away as if he carried a freight, and indicating a position for him at the end of the street, with animperative sway and deflection of her hand. Luigi heard the clear thinsound of a key dropped to her from one of the upper windows. She wasquick to seize it; the door opened stealthily to her, and she passedout of sight without casting a look behind. 'That's a woman going todiscover a secret, if she can, ' remarked the observer; meaning thathe considered the sex bad Generals, save when they have occasion topreserve themselves secret; then they look behind them carefully enough. The situation was one of stringent torment to a professional and naturalspy. Luigi lost count of minutes in his irritation at the mystery, whichhe took as a personal offence. Some suspicion or wariness existed inthe lighted room, for the maestro threw up a window, and inspected thestreet to right and left. Apparently satisfied he withdrew his head, andthe window was closed. 

In a little while Vittoria's voice rose audible out of the stillness, though she restrained its volume. 

Its effect upon Luigi was to make him protest to her, whimpering withpathos as if she heard and must be melted: 'Signorina! signorina, mostdear! for charity's sake! I am one of you; I am a patriot. Every man tohis trade, but my heart is all with you. ' And so on, louder by fits, ina running murmur, like one having his conscience ransacked, from whichhe was diverted by a side-thought of Irma di Karski, la Lazzeruola, listening, taking poison in at her ears; for Luigi had no hesitation inascribing her behaviour to jealousy. 'Does not that note drive throughyour bosom, excellent lady? I can fancy the tremble going all down yourlegs. You are poisoned with honey. How you hate it! If you only had adagger!'

Vittoria sang but for a short space. Simultaneously with the cessationof her song Ammiani reached the door, but had scarcely taken hisstand there when, catching sight of Luigi, he crossed the street, andrecognizing him, questioned him sternly as to his business opposite themaestro's house. Luigi pointed to a female figure emerging. 'See! takeher home, ' he said. Ammiani released him and crossed back hurriedly, when, smiting his forehead, Luigi cried in despair, 'Thirty napoleonsand my professional reputation lost!' He blew a whistle; the carriagedashed down from the head of the street. While Ammiani was following theswiftly-stepping figure in wonderment (knowing it could not be Vittoria, yet supposing it must be, without any clear aim of his wits), thecarriage drew up a little in advance of her; three men--men of bulk andsinew jumped from it; one threw himself upon Ammiani, the othersgrasped the affrighted lady, tightening a veil over her face, and thecarriage-door shut sharp upon her. Ammiani's assailant then fell away:Luigi flung himself on the box and shouted, 'The signorina is behindyou!' And Ammiani beheld Vittoria standing in alarm, too joyful to knowthat it was she. In the spasm of joy he kissed her hands. Before theycould intercommunicate intelligibly the carriage was out of their sight, going at a gallop along the eastern strada of the circumvallation of thecity. 

CHAPTER XV

AMMIANI THROUGH THE MIDNIGHT

Ammiani hurried Vittoria out of the street to make safety sure. 'Home, 'she said, ashamed of her excitement, and not daring to speak more words, lest the heart in her throat should betray itself. He saw what thefright had done for her. Perhaps also he guessed that she was trying toconceal her fancied cowardice from him. 'I have kissed her hands, ' hethought, and the memory of it was a song of tenderness in his blood bythe way. 

Vittoria's dwelling-place was near the Duomo, in a narrow thoroughfareleading from the Duomo to the Piazza of La Scala, where a confectionerof local fame conferred upon the happier members of the population mostpiquant bocconi and tartlets, and offered by placard to give an emotionto the nobility, the literati, and the epicures of Milan, and to allforeigners, if the aforesaid would adventure upon a trial of hisart. Meanwhile he let lodgings. It was in the house of this famousconfectioner Zotti that Vittoria and her mother had lived after leavingEngland for Italy. As Vittoria came under the fretted shadow ofthe cathedral, she perceived her mother standing with Zotti at thehouse-door, though the night was far advanced. She laughed, and walkedless hurriedly. Ammiani now asked her if she had been alarmed. 'Notalarmed, ' she said, 'but a little more nervous than I thought I shouldbe. '

He was spared from putting any further question by her telling him thatLuigi, the Motterone spy, had in all probability done her a servicein turning one or other f the machinations of the Signor Antonio. 'Mymadman, ' she called this latter. 'He has got his Irma instead of me. Weshall have to supply her place tomorrow; she is travelling rapidly, andon my behalf! I think, Signor Carlo, you would do well by going to themaestro when you leave me, and telling him that Irma has beencaught into the skies. Say, "Jealous that earth should possess suchoverpowering loveliness, " or "Attracted in spite of themselves by thatcombination of genius and beauty which is found united nowhere but inIrma, the spirits of heaven determined to rob earth of her Lazzeruola. "Only tell it to him seriously, for my dear Rocco will have to work withone of the singers all day, and I ought to be at hand by them to helpher, if I dared stir out. What do you think?'

Ammiani pronounced his opinion that it would be perilous for her to goabroad. 

'I shall in truth, I fear, have a difficulty in getting to La Scalaunseen, ' she said; 'except that we are cunning people in our house. Wenot only practise singing and invent wonderful confectionery, but wedo conjuring tricks. We profess to be able to deceive anybody whom weplease. '

'Do the dupes enlist in a regiment?' said Ammiani, with an intonationthat professed his readiness to serve as a recruit. His humour strikingwith hers, they smiled together in the bright fashion of young peoplewho can lose themselves in a ray of fancy at any season. 

Vittoria heard her mother's wailful voice. 'Twenty gnats in one, ' shesaid. 

Ammiani whispered quickly to know whether she had decided for themorrow. She nodded, and ran up to her mother, who cried:

'At this hour! And Beppo has been here after you, and he told me Iwrote for him, in Italian, when not a word can I put to paper: Iwouldn't!--and you are threatened by dreadful dangers, he declares. Hisbehaviour was mad; they are all mad over in this country, I believe. I have put the last stitch to your dress. There is a letter or twoupstairs for you. Always letters!'

'My dear good Zotti, ' Vittoria turned to the artist in condiments, 'youmust insist upon my mother going to bed at her proper time when I amout. '

'Signorina, ' rejoined Zotti, a fat little round-headed man, withvivacious starting brown eyes, 'I have only to tell her to do a thing--Ipull a dog by the collar; be it said with reverence. '

'However, I am very glad to see you both such good friends. '

'Yes, signorina, we are good friends till we quarrel again. I regretto observe to you that the respectable lady is incurably suspicious. Ofme--Zotti! Mother of heaven!'

'It is you that are suspicious of me, sir, ' retorted madame. 'Of me, ofall persons! It's "tell me this, tell me that, " all day with you; andbecause I can't answer, you are angry. '

'Behold! the signora speaks English; we have quarrelled again, ' saidZotti. 

'My mother thinks him a perfect web of plots, ' Vittoria explained thecase between them, laughing, to Ammiani; 'and Zotti is persuaded thatshe is an inveterate schemer. They are both entirely innocent, only theyare both excessively timid. Out of that it grows. '

The pair dramatized her outline on the instant:

'"Did I not see him speak to an English lady, and he will not tell me aword about it, though she's my own countrywoman?"'

'"Is it not true that she received two letters this afternoon, and stilldoes she pretend to be ignorant of what is going on?"'

'Happily, ' said Vittoria, 'my mother is not a widow, or these quarrelsmight some day end in a fearful reconciliation. '

'My child, ' her mother whimpered, 'you know what these autumn nights arein this country; as sure as you live, Emilia, you will catch cold, andthen you're like a shop with shutters up for the dead. '

At the same time Zotti whispered: 'Signorina, I have kept the minestrahot for your supper; come in, come in. And, little things, little daintybits!--do you live in Zotti's house for nothing? Sweetest delicaciesthat make the tongue run a stream!--just notions of a taste--the palatesmacks and forgets; the soul seizes and remembers!'

'Oh, such seductions!' Vittoria exclaimed. 

'It is, ' Zotti pursued his idea, with fingers picturesquely twirling ina spider-like distension; 'it is like the damned, and they have but acrumb of a chance of Paradise, and down swoops St. Peter and has themin the gates fast! You are worthy of all that a man can do for you, signorina. Let him study, let him work, let him invent, --you are worthyof all. '

'I hope I am not too hungry to discriminate! Zotti I see Monte Rosa. '

'Signorina, you are pleased to say so when you are famishing. It isbecause--' the enthusiastic confectioner looked deep and oblique, as onewho combined a remarkable subtlety of insight with profound reflection;'it is because the lighter you get the higher you mount; up like aneagle of the peaks! But we'll give that hungry fellow a fall. A dish ofhot minestra shoots him dead. Then, a tart of pistachios and chocolateand cream--and my head to him who shall reveal to me the flavouring!'

'When I wake in the morning, I shall have lived a month or two inArabia, Zotti. Tell me no more; I will come in, ' said Vittoria. 

'Then, signorina, a little crisp filbert--biscuit--a composition! Youcrack it, and a surprise! And then, and then my dish; Zotti's dish, that is not yet christened. Signorina, let Italy rise first; the greatinventor of the dish winked and nodded temperately. 'Let her rise. Abattle or a treaty will do. I have two or three original conceptions, compositions, that only wait for some brilliant feat of arms, or adiplomatic triumph, and I send them forth baptized. '

Vittoria threw large eyes upon Ammiani, and set the underlids humorouslyquivering. She kissed her fingers: 'Addio; a rivederla. ' He bowedformally: he was startled to find the golden thread of theircompanionship cut with such cruel abruptness. But it was cut; thedoor had closed on her. The moment it had closed she passed into hisimagination. By what charm had she allayed the fever of his anxiety? Hernaturalness had perforce given him assurance that peace must surroundone in whom it shone so steadily, and smiling at the thought of Zotti'srepast and her twinkle of subdued humour, he walked away comforted;which, for a lover in the season of peril means exalted, as in a suddenconflagration of the dry stock of his intelligence. 'She must havesome great faith in her heart, ' he thought, no longer attributing hisexclusion from it to a lover's rivalry, which will show that more thanimagination was on fire within him. For when the soul of a youth can beheated above common heat, the vices of passion shrivel up and aid thepurer flame. It was well for Ammiani that he did perceive (dimly thoughit was perceived) the force of idealistic inspiration by which Vittoriawas supported. He saw it at this one moment, and it struck a light tolight him in many subsequent perplexities; it was something he had neverseen before. He had read Tuscan poetry to her in old Agostino's rooms;he had spoken of secret preparations for the revolt; he had declaimedupon Italy, --the poetry was good though the declamation may have beenbad, --but she had always been singularly irresponsive, with a practicalturn for ciphers. A quick reckoning, a sharp display of figures inItaly's cause, kindled her cheeks and took her breath. Ammiani nowunderstood that there lay an unspoken depth in her, distinct from hervisible nature. 

He had first an interview with Rocco Ricci, whom he prepared to replaceIrma. 

His way was then to the office of his Journal, where he expected to begreeted by two members of the Polizia, who would desire him to marchbefore the central bureau, and exhibit proofs of articles and the itemsof news for inspection, for correction haply, and possibly for approval. There is a partial delight in the contemplated submission to an act ofservitude for the last time. Ammiani stepped in with combative gaiety, but his stiff glance encountered no enemy. This astonished him. Heturned back into the street and meditated. The Pope's Mouth might, hethought, hold the key to the riddle. It is not always most comfortablefor a conspirator to find himself unsuspected: he reads the blanksignificantly. It looked ill that the authorities should allow anythingwhatsoever to be printed on such a morrow: especially ill, if they wereon the alert. The neighbourhood by the Pope's Mouth was desolate underdark starlight. Ammiani got his fingers into the opening behind therubbish of brick, and tore them on six teeth of a saw that had beenfixed therein. Those teeth were as voluble to him as loud tongues. TheMouth was empty of any shred of paper. They meant that the enemy wasready to bite, and that the conspiracy had ceased to be active. Heperceived that a stripped ivy-twig, with the leaves scattered around it, stretched at his feet. That was another and corroborative sign, clearerto him than printed capitals. The reading of it declared that the Revolthad collapsed. He wound and unwound his handkerchief about his fingersmechanically: great curses were in his throat. 'I would start for SouthAmerica at dawn, but for her!' he said. The country of Bolivar still hadits attractions for Italian youth. For a certain space Ammiani's soulwas black with passion. He was the son of that fiery Paolo Ammiani whohad cast his glove at Eugene's feet, and bade the viceroy deliver it tohis French master. (The General was preparing to break his sword on hisknee when Eugene rushed up to him and kissed him. ) Carlo was of thisblood. Englishmen will hardly forgive him for having tears in his eyes, but Italians follow the Greek classical prescription for the emotions, while we take example by the Roman. There is no sneer due from us. Hesobbed. It seemed that a country was lost. 

Ammiani had moved away slowly: he was accidentally the witness of acurious scene. There came into the irregular triangle, and walking upto where the fruitstalls stood by day, a woman and a man. The man was anAustrian soldier. It was an Italian woman by his side. The sight of thecouple was just then like an incestuous horror to Ammiani. She led thesoldier straight up to the Mouth, directing his hand to it, and, whatwas far more wonderful, directing it so that he drew forth a packet ofpapers from where Ammiani had found none. Ammiani could see the light ofthem in his hand. The Austrian snatched an embrace and ran. Ammiani wasmoving over to her to seize and denounce the traitress, when he beheldanother figure like an apparition by her side; but this one was not awhitecoat. Had it risen from the earth? It was earthy, for a cloud ofdust was about it, and the woman gave a stifled scream. 'Barto! Barto!'she cried, pressing upon her eyelids. A strong husky laugh came fromhim. He tapped her shoulder heartily, and his 'Ha! ha!' rang in thenight air. 

'You never trust me, ' she whimpered from shaken nerves. 

He called her, 'Brave little woman! rare girl!'

'But you never trust me!'

'Do I not lay traps to praise you?'

'You make a woman try to deceive you. ' If she could! If only she could!'

Ammiani was up with them. 

'You are Barto Rizzo, ' he spoke, half leaning over the man in hisimpetuosity. 

Barto stole a defensive rearward step. The thin light of dawn had in amoment divided the extreme starry darkness, and Ammiani, who knew hisface, had not to ask a second time. It was scored by a recent sword-cut. He glanced at the woman: saw that she was handsome. It was enough; heknew she must be Barto's wife, and, if not more cunning than Barto, hisaccomplice, his instrument, his slave. 

'Five minutes ago I would have sworn you were a traitress he said toher. 

She was expressionless, as if she had heard nothing; which fact, considering that she was very handsome, seemed remarkable to the youngman. Youth will not believe that stupidity and beauty can go together. 

'She is the favourite pupil of Bartolommeo Rizzo, Signor Carlo Ammiani, 'quoth Barto, having quite regained his composure. 'She is my prettypuppet-patriot. I am not in the habit of exhibiting her; but since yousee her, there she is. '

Barto had fallen into the Southern habit of assuming ease inquasi-rhetorical sentences, but with wary eyes over them. The peculiar, contracting, owl-like twinkle defied Ammiani's efforts to penetrate hislook; so he took counsel of his anger, and spoke bluntly. 

'She does your work?'

'Much of it, Signor Carlo: as the bullet does the work of the rifle. '

'Beast! was it your wife who pinned the butterfly to the SignorinaVittoria's dress?'

'Signor Carlo Ammiani, you are the son of Paolo, the General: you callme beast? I have dandled you in my arms, my little lad, while the bandsplayed "There's yet a heart in Italy!" Do you remember it?' Barto sangout half-a-dozen bars. 'You call me beast? I'm the one man in Milan whocan sing you that. '

'Beast or man, devil or whatever you are!' cried Ammiani, feelingnevertheless oddly unnerved, 'you have committed a shameful offence:you, or the woman, your wife, who serves you, as I see. You havethwarted the best of plots; you have dared to act in defiance of yourChief--'

'Eyes to him!' Barto interposed, touching over his eyeballs. 

'And you have thrown your accursed stupid suspicions on the SignorinaVittoria. You are a mad fool. If I had the power, I would order you tobe shot at five this morning; and that 's the last rising of the lightyou should behold. Why did you do it? Don't turn your hellish eyes inupon one another, but answer at once! Why did you do it?'

'The Signorina Vittoria, ' returned Barto--his articulation came forthserpent-like--'she is not a spy, you think. She has been in England: Ihave been in England. She writes; I can read. She is a thing of whims. Shall she hold the goblet of Italy in her hand till it overflows? Shewrites love-letters to an English whitecoat. I have read them. Whobids her write? Her whim! She warns her friends not to enter Milan. She--whose puppet is she? Not yours; not mine. She is the puppet of anEnglish Austrian!'

Barto drew back, for Ammiani was advancing. 

'What is it you mean?' he cried. 

'I mean, ' said Ammiani, still moving on him, 'I mean to drag you firstbefore Count Medole, and next before the signorina; and you shall abjureyour slander in her presence. After that I shall deal with you. Mark me!I have you: I am swifter on foot, and I am stronger. Come quietly. '

Barto smiled in grim contempt. 

'Keep your foot fast on that stone, you're a prisoner, ' he replied, and seeing Ammiani coming, 'Net him, my sling-stone! my serpent!'he signalled to his wife, who threw herself right round Ammiani in atortuous twist hard as wire-rope. Stung with irritation, and a sense ofdisgrace and ridicule and pitifulness in one, Ammiani, after a struggle, ceased the attempt to disentwine her arms, and dragged her clingingto him. He was much struck by hearing her count deliberately, in herdesperation, numbers from somewhere about twenty to one hundred. Onehundred was evidently the number she had to complete, for when she hadreached it she threw her arms apart. Barto was out of sight. Ammianiwaved her on to follow in his steps: he was sick of her presence, andhad the sensations of a shame-faced boy whom a girl has kissed. She wentwithout uttering a word. 

The dawn had now traversed the length of the streets, and thrown openthe wide spaces of the city. Ammiani found himself singing, 'There's yeta heart in Italy!' but it was hardly the song of his own heart. He sleptthat night on a chair in the private room of his office, preferring notto go to his mother's house. 'There 's yet a heart in Italy!' was on hislips when he awoke with scattered sensations, all of which collectedin revulsion against the song. 'There's a very poor heart in Italy!' hesaid, while getting his person into decent order; 'it's like the bell inthe lunatic's tower between Venice and the Lido: it beats now and thenfor meals: hangs like a carrion-lump in the vulture's beak meanwhile!'

These and some other similar sentiments, and a heat about the browswhenever he set them frowning over what Barto had communicatedconcerning an English Austrian, assured Ammiani that he had no propercommand of himself: or was, as the doctors would have told him, bilious. It seemed to him that he must have dreamed of meeting the dark andsubtle Barto Rizzo overnight; on realizing that fact he could notrealize how the man had escaped him, except that when he thought overit, he breathed deep and shook his shoulders. The mind will, as youmay know, sometimes refuse to work when the sensations are shamefuland astonished. He despatched a messenger with a 'good morrow' to hismother, and then went to a fencing-saloon that was fitted up in thehouse of Count Medole, where, among two or three, there was the ordinaryshrugging talk of the collapse of the projected outbreak, bitter tohear. Luciano Romara came in, and Ammiani challenged him to small-swordand broadsword. Both being ireful to boiling point, and mad to strikeat something, they attacked one another furiously, though they were dearfriends, and the helmet-wires and the padding rattled and smoked to thethumps. For half an hour they held on to it, when, their blood being up, they flashed upon the men present, including the count, crying shame tothem for letting a woman alone be faithful to her task that night. The blood forsook Count Medole's cheeks, leaving its dead hue, as whenblotting-paper is laid on running-ink. He deliberately took a pair offoils, and offering the handle of one to Ammiani, broke the button offthe end of his own, and stood to face an adversary. Ammiani followed theexample: a streak of crimson was on his shirt-sleeve, and his eyeshad got their hard black look, as of the flint-stone, before Romara inamazement discovered the couple to be at it in all purity of intention, on the sharp edge of the abyss. He knocked up their weapons and stoodbetween them, puffing his cigarette leisurely. 

'I fine you both, ' he said. 

He touched Ammiani's sword-arm, nodded with satisfaction to find thatthere was no hurt, and cried, 'You have an Austrian out on the ground bythis time tomorrow morning. So, according to the decree!'

'Captain Weisspriess is in the city, ' was remarked. 

'There are a dozen on the list, ' said little Pietro Cardi, drawing out apaper. 

'If you are to be doing nothing else to-morrow morning, ' added LeoneRufo, 'we may as well march out the whole dozen. '

These two were boys under twenty. 

'Shall it be the first hit for Captain Weisspriess?' Count Medole saidthis while handing a fresh and fairly-buttoned foil to Ammiani. 

Romara laughed: 'You will require to fence the round of Milan city, mydear count, to win a claim to Captain Weisspriess. In the first place, Iyield him to no man who does not show himself a better man than I. It'sthe point upon which I don't pay compliments. '

Count Medole bowed. 

'But, if you want occupation, ' added Luciano, closing his speech with amerely interrogative tone. 

'I scarcely want that, as those who know me will tell you, ' said Medole, so humbly, that those who knew him felt that he had risen to his highseat of intellectual contempt. He could indulge himself, having shownhis courage. 

'Certainly not; if you are devising means of subsistence for thewidows and orphans of the men who will straggle out to be slaughteredto-night, ' said Luciano; 'you have occupation in that case. '

'I will do my best to provide for them, '--the count persisted in his airof humility, 'though it is a question with some whether idiotsshould live. ' He paused effectively, and sucked in a soft smile ofself-approbation at the stroke. Then he pursued: 'We meet the day afterto-morrow. The Pope's Mouth is closed. We meet here at nine in themorning. The next day at eleven at Farugino's, the barber's, in Monza. The day following at Camerlata, at eleven likewise. Those who attendwill be made aware of the dispositions for the week, and the day weshall name for the rising. It is known to you all, that without affixinga stigma on our new prima-donna, we exclude her from any share in thisbusiness. All the Heads have been warned that we yield this night tothe Austrians. Gentlemen, I cannot be more explicit. I wish that I couldplease you better. '

'Oh, by all means, ' said Pietro Cardi: 'but patience is the pestilence;I shall roam in quest of adventure. Another quiet week is a tremendoustrial. '

He crossed foils with Leone Rufo, but finding no stop to the drawn'swish' of the steel, he examined the end of his weapon with alengthening visage, for it was buttonless. Ammiani burst into laughterat the spontaneous boyishness in the faces of the pair of ambitiouslads. They both offered him one of the rapiers upon equal terms. CountMedole's example of intemperate vanity was spoiling them. 

'You know my opinion, ' Ammiani said to the count. 'I told you lastnight, and I tell you again to-day, that Barto Rizzo is guilty of grossmisconduct, and that you must plead the same to a sort of excuseabletreason. Count Medole, you cannot wind and unwind a conspiracy like awatch. Who is the head of this one? It is the man Barto Rizzo. He tookproceedings before he got you to sanction them. You may be the vessel, but he commands, or at least, he steers it. '

The count waited undemonstratively until Ammiani had come to an end. 'You speak, my good Ammiani, with an energy that does you credit, ' hesaid, 'considering that it is not in your own interest, but anotherperson's. Remember, I can bear to have such a word as treason ascribedto my acts. '

Fresh visitors, more or less mixed, in the conspiracy, and generallywilling to leave the management of it to Count Medole, now entered thesaloon. These were Count Rasati, Angelo Dovili, a Piedmontese General, a Tuscan duke, and one or two aristocratic notabilities and historicnobodies. They were hostile to the Chief whom Luciano and Carlo reveredand obeyed. The former lit a cigarette, and saying to his friend, 'Doyou breakfast with your mother? I will come too, ' slipped his hand onAmmiani's arm; they walked out indolently together, with the smallestshade of an appearance of tolerating scorn for those whom they leftbehind. 

'Medole has money and rank and influence, and a kind ofI-don't-know-what womanishness, that makes him push like a needle forthe lead, and he will have the lead and when he has got the lead, there's the last chapter of him, ' said Luciano. 'His point of ambition is theperch of the weather-cock. Why did he set upon you, my Carlo? I saw thebig V running up your forehead when you faced him. If you had finishedhim no great harm would have been done. '

'I saw him for a short time last night, and spoke to him in my father'sstyle, ' said Carlo. 'The reason was, that he defended Barto Rizzo forputting the ring about the Signorina Vittoria's name, and causing theblack butterfly to be pinned to her dress. '

Luciano's brows stood up. 

'If she sings to-night, depend upon it there will be a disturbance, ' hesaid. 'There may be a rising in spite of Medole and such poor sparks, who're afraid to drop on powder, and twirl and dance till the wind blowsthem out. And mind, the chance rising is commonly the luckiest. If I geta command I march to the Alps. We must have the passes of the Tyrol. Itseems to me that whoever holds the Alps must ride the Lombard mare. Youspring booted and spurred into the saddle from the Alps. '

Carlo was hurt by his friend's indifference to the base injury done toVittoria. 

'I have told Medole that she will sing to-night in spite of him, ' he wassaying, with the intention of bringing round some reproach upon Lucianofor his want of noble sympathy, when the crash of an Austrian regimentalband was heard coming up the Corso. It stirred him to love his friendwith all his warmth. 'At any rate, for my sake, Luciano, you willrespect and uphold her. '

'Yes, while she's true, ' said Luciano, unsatisfactorily. The regiment, in review uniform, followed by two pieces of artillery, passed by. Thencame a squadron of hussars and one of Uhlans, and another foot regiment, more artillery, fresh cavalry. 

'Carlo, if three generations of us pour out our blood to fertilizeItalian ground, it's not too much to pay to chase those drilled curs. 'Luciano spoke in vehement undertone. 

'We 'll breakfast and have a look at them in the Piazza d'Armi, and showthat we Milanese are impressed with a proper idea of their power, ' saidCarlo, brightening as he felt the correction of his morbid lover's angerin Luciano's reaching view of their duties as Italian citizens. Theheat and whirl of the hour struck his head, for to-morrow they might bewrestling with that living engine which had marched past, and surelyall the hate he could muster should be turned upon the outer enemy. Hegained his mother's residence with clearer feelings. 

CHAPTER XVI

COUNTESS AMMIANI

Countess Ammiani was a Venetian lady of a famous House, the name ofwhich is as a trumpet sounding from the inner pages of the Republic. Her face was like a leaf torn from an antique volume; the hereditaryfeatures told the story of her days. The face was sallow and fireless;life had faded like a painted cloth upon the imperishable moulding. She had neither fire in her eyes nor colour on her skin. The thin closemultitudinous wrinkles ran up accurately ruled from the chin to theforehead's centre, and touched faintly once or twice beyond, as youobserve the ocean ripples run in threads confused to smoothness within aspace of the grey horizon sky. But the chin was firm, the mouth and nosewere firm, the forehead sat calmly above these shows of decay. It was amost noble face; a fortress face; strong and massive, and honourable inruin, though stripped of every flower. 

This lady in her girlhood had been the one lamb of the family dedicatedto heaven. Paolo, the General, her lover, had wrenched her from thatfate to share with him a life of turbulent sorrows till she shouldbehold the blood upon his grave. She, like Laura Fiaveni, had bent herhead above a slaughtered husband, but, unlike Laura, Marcellina Ammianihad not buried her heart with him. Her heart and all her energies hadbeen his while he lived; from the visage of death it turned to her son. She had accepted the passion for Italy from Paolo; she shared it withCarlo. Italian girls of that period had as little passion of their ownas flowers kept out of sunlight have hues. She had given her son to hercountry with that intensely apprehensive foresight of a mother's lovewhich runs quick as Eastern light from the fervour of the devotion tothe remote realization of the hour of the sacrifice, seeing both in one. Other forms of love, devotion in other bosoms, may be deluded, but herswill not be. She sees the sunset in the breast of the springing dawn. Often her son Carlo stood a ghost in her sight. With this hauntingprophetic vision, it was only a mother, who was at the same time asupremely noble woman, that could feel all human to him notwithstanding. Her heart beat thick and fast when Carlo and Luciano entered themorning-room where she sat, and stopped to salute her in turn. 

'Well?' she said without betraying anxiety or playing at carelessness. 

Carlo answered, 'Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die. I thinkthat's the language of peaceful men. '

'You are to be peaceful men to-morrow, my Carlo?'

'The thing is in Count Medole's hands, ' said Luciano; 'and he isconstitutionally of our Agostino's opinion that we are bound to waittill the Gods kick us into action; and, as Agostino says, Medole hasraised himself upon our shoulders so as to be the more susceptible totheir wishes when they blow a gale. '

He informed her of the momentary thwarting of the conspiracy, and wonCarlo's gratitude by not speaking of the suspicion which had fallen onVittoria. 

'Medole, ' he said, 'has the principal conduct of the business in Milan, as you know, countess. Our Chief cannot be everywhere at once; so Medoleundertakes to decide for him here in old Milan. He decided yesterdayafternoon to put off our holiday for what he calls a week. Checco, theidiot, in whom he confides, gave me the paper signifying the fact atfour o'clock. There was no appeal; for we can get no place of generalmeeting under Medole's prudent management. He fears our being swallowedin a body if we all meet. '

The news sent her heart sinking in short throbs down to a deliciousrest; but Countess Ammiani disdained to be servile to the pleasure, evenas she had strengthened herself to endure the shocks of pain. It was aconquered heart that she and every Venetian and Lombard mother had tocarry; one that played its tune according to its nature, shaping noaction, sporting no mask. If you know what is meant by that phrase, aconquered heart, you will at least respect them whom you call weak womenfor having gone through the harshest schooling which this world can showexample of. In such mothers Italy revived. The pangs and the martyrdomwere theirs. Fathers could march to the field or to the grey glacis withtheir boys; there was no intoxication of hot blood to cheer those whosat at home watching the rise and fall of trembling scales which saidlife or death for their dearest. Their least shadowy hope could be but ashrouded contentment in prospect; a shrouded submission in feeling. Whatbloom of hope was there when Austria stood like an iron wall, and theirown ones dashing against it were as little feeble waves that left a redmark and no more? But, duty to their country had become their religion;sacrifice they accepted as their portion; when the last stern evilbefell them they clad themselves in a veil and walked upon an earth theyhad passed from for all purposes save service of hands. Italy revived inthese mothers. Their torture was that of the re-animation of her framefrom the death-trance. 

Carlo and Luciano fell hungrily upon dishes of herb-flavoured cutlets, and Neapolitan maccaroni, green figs, green and red slices of melon, chocolate, and a dry red Florentine wine. The countess let them eat, andthen gave her son a letter that been delivered at her door an hour backby the confectioner Zotti. It proved to be an enclosure of a letteraddressed to Vittoria by the Chief. Genoa was its superscription. Fromthat place it was forwarded by running relays of volunteer messengers. There were points of Italy which the Chief could reach four-and-twentyhours in advance of the Government with all its aids and machinery. Vittoria had simply put her initials at the foot of the letter. Carloread it eagerly and cast it aside. It dealt in ideas and abstractphraseology; he could get nothing of it between his impatient teeth;he was reduced to a blank wonder at the reason for her sending it on tohim. It said indeed--and so far it seemed to have a meaning for her:

'No backward step. We can bear to fall; we cannot afford to draw back. '

And again:

'Remember that these uprisings are the manifested pulsations of theheart of your country, so that none shall say she is a corpse, andknowing that she lives, none shall say that she deserves not freedom. Itis the protest of her immortal being against her impious violator. '

Evidently the Chief had heard nothing of the counterstroke of BartoRizzo, and of Count Medole's miserable weakness: but how, thoughtCarlo, how can a mind like Vittoria's find matter to suit her in suchsentences? He asked himself the question, forgetting that a little timegone by, while he was aloof from the tumult and dreaming of it, thisairy cloudy language and every symbolism, had been strong sustainingfood, a vital atmosphere, to him. He did not for the moment (though bydegrees he recovered his last night's conception of her) understand thatamong the noble order of women there is, when they plunge into strife, a craving for idealistic truths, which men are apt, under the heat andhurry of their energies, to put aside as stars that are meant merely forshining. 

His mother perused the letter--holding it out at arm's length--and laidit by; Luciano likewise. Countess Ammiani was an aristocrat: the toneand style of the writing were distasteful to her. She allowed her son'sjudgement of the writer to stand for her own, feeling that she couldsurrender little prejudices in favour of one who appeared to hate theAustrians so mortally. On the other hand, she defended Count Medole. Her soul shrank at the thought of the revolution being yielded up totheorists and men calling themselves men of the people--a class of mento whom Paolo her soldier-husband's aversion had always been formidablypronounced. It was an old and a wearisome task for Carlo to explainto her that the times were changed and the necessities of the hourdifferent since the day when his father conspired and fought forfreedom. Yet he could not gainsay her when she urged that the noblesshould be elected to lead, if they consented to lead; for if they didnot lead, were they not excluded from the movement?

'I fancy you have defined their patriotism, ' said Carlo. 

'Nay, my son; but you are one of them. '

'Indeed, my dearest mother, that is not what they will tell you. '

'Because you have chosen to throw yourself into the opposite ranks. '

'You perceive that you divide our camp, madame my mother. For me thereis no natural opposition of ranks. What are we? We are slaves: all areslaves. While I am a slave, shall I boast that I am of noble birth?"Proud of a coronet with gems of paste!" some one writes. Save me fromthat sort of pride! I am content to take my patent of nobility for goodconduct in the revolution. Then I will be count, or marquis, or duke;I am not a Republican pure blood;--but not till then. And in themeantime--'

'Carlo is composing for his newspaper, ' the countess said to Luciano. 

'Those are the leaders who can lead, ' the latter replied. 'Give the menwho are born to it the first chance. Old Agostino is right--the peopleowe them their vantage ground. But when they have been tried andthey have failed, decapitate them. Medole looks upon revolution as adescription of conjuring trick. He shuffles cards and arranges them fora solemn performance, but he refuses to cut them if you look too seriousor I look too eager; for that gives him a suspicion that you know whatis going to turn up; and his object is above all things to produce asurprise. '

'You are both of you unjust to Count Medole, ' said the countess. 'Heimperils more than all of you. '

'Magnificent estates, it is true; but of head or of heart not quiteso much as some of us, ' said Luciano, stroking his thick black pendentmoustache and chin-tuft. 'Ah, pardon me; yes! he does imperil a finercock's comb. 

'When he sinks, and his vanity is cut in two, Medole will bleed so as toflood his Lombard flats. It will be worse than death to him. '

Carlo said: 'Do you know what our Agostino says of Count Medole?'

'Oh, for ever Agostino with you young men!' the countess exclaimed. 'Ibelieve he laughs at you. '

'To be sure he does: he laughs at all. But, what he says of Count Medoleholds the truth of the thing, and may make you easier concerningthe count's estates. He says that Medole is vaccine matter which theAustrians apply to this generation of Italians to spare us the terribledisease. They will or they won't deal gently with Medole, by-and-by;but for the present he will be handled tenderly. He is useful. I wishI could say that we thought so too. And now, ' Carlo stooped to her andtook her hand, 'shall we see you at La Scala to-night?'

The countess, with her hands lying in his, replied: 'I have received anintimation from the authorities that my box is wanted. '

'So you claim your right to occupy it!'

'That is my very humble protest for personal liberty. '

'Good: I shall be there, and shall much enjoy an introduction to thegentleman who disputes it with you. Besides, mother, if the SignorinaVittoria sings... '

Countess Ammiani's gaze fixed upon her son with a level steadiness. Hisvoice threatened to be unequal. All the pleading force of his eyes wasthrown into it, as he said: 'She will sing: and she gives the signal;that is certain. We may have to rescue her. If I can place her underyour charge, I shall feel that she is safe, and is really protected. '

The countess looked at Luciano before she answered:

'Yes, Carlo, whatever I can do. But you know I have not a scrap ofinfluence. '

'Let her lie on your bosom, my mother. '

'Is this to be another Violetta?'

'Her name is Vittoria, ' said Carlo, colouring deeply. A certain Violettahad been his boy's passion. 

Further distracting Austrian band-music was going by. This time it wasa regiment of Italians in the white and blue uniform. Carlo and Lucianoleaned over the balcony, smoking, and scanned the marching of theirfellow-countrymen in the livery of servitude. 

'They don't step badly, ' said one; and the other, with a smile ofmelancholy derision, said, 'We are all brothers!'

Following the Italians came a regiment of Hungarian grenadiers, tall, swam-faced, and particularly light-limbed men, looking brilliant in theclean tight military array of Austria. Then a squadron of blue hussars, and Croat regiment; after which, in the midst of Czech dragoons andGerman Uhlans and blue Magyar light horsemen, with General officers andaides about him, the veteran Austrian Field-Marshal rode, his easy handand erect figure and good-humoured smile belying both his age and hisreputation among Italians. Artillery, and some bravely-clad horse ofthe Eastern frontier, possibly Serb, wound up the procession. It gleameddown the length of the Corso in a blinding sunlight; brass helmets andhussar feathers, white and violet surcoats, green plumes, maroon capes, bright steel scabbards, bayonet-points, --as gallant a show as someportentously-magnified summer field, flowing with the wind, mightbe; and over all the banner of Austria--the black double-headed eagleramping on a yellow ground. This was the flower of iron meaning on sucha field. 

The two young men held their peace. Countess Ammiani had pushed herchair back into a dark corner of the room, and was sitting there whenthey looked back, like a sombre figure of black marble. 

CHAPTER XVII

IN THE PIAZZA D'ARMI

Carlo and Luciano followed the regiments to the Piazza d'Armi, drawnafter them by that irresistible attraction to youths who have as yethad no shroud of grief woven for them--desire to observe the aspect of abrilliant foe. 

The Piazza d'Armi was the field of Mars of Milan, and an Austrian reviewof arms there used to be a tropical pageant. The place was too narrowfor broad manoeuvres, or for much more than to furnish an inspectionof all arms to the General, and a display (with its meaning) to thepopulace. An unusually large concourse of spectators lined the square, like a black border to a vast bed of flowers, nodding now this way, now that. Carlo and Luciano passed among the groups, presenting theperfectly smooth faces of young men of fashion, according to theuniversal aristocratic pattern handed down to querulous mortals fromOlympus--the secret of which is to show a triumphant inaction ofthe heart and the brain, that are rendered positively subservient toelegance of limb. They knew the chances were in favour of their beingarrested at any instant. None of the higher members of the Milanesearistocracy were visible; the people looked sullen. Carlo was attractedby the tall figure of the Signor Antonio-Pericles, whom he beheld inconverse with the commandant of the citadel, out in the square, amongchatting and laughing General officers. At Carlo's elbow there came aburst of English tongues; he heard Vittoria's English name spoken withanimation. 'Admire those faces, ' he said to Luciano, but the latter wasinterchanging quiet recognitions among various heads of the crowd; alanguage of the eyelids and the eyebrows. When he did look round headmired the fair island faces with an Italian's ardour: 'Their women aresplendid!' and he no longer pushed upon Carlo's arm to make way ahead. In the English group were two sunny-haired girls and a blue-eyed ladywith the famous English curls, full, and rounding richly. This ladytalked of her brother, and pointed him out as he rode down the line inthe Marshal's staff. The young officer indicated presently broke awayand galloped up to her, bending over his horse's neck to join theconversation. Emilia Belloni's name was mentioned. He stared, andappeared to insist upon a contrary statement. 

Carlo scrutinized his features. While doing so he was accosted, andbeheld his former adversary of the Motter--one, with whom he hadyesterday shaken hands in the Piazza of La Scala. The ceremony wascordially renewed. Luciano unlinked his arm from Carlo and left him. 

'It appears that you are mistaken with reference to MademoiselleBelloni, ' said Captain Gambier. 'We hear on positive authority that shewill not appear at La Scala to-night. It's a disappointment; though, from what you did me the honour to hint to me, I cannot allow myself toregret it. '

Carlo had a passionate inward prompting to trust this Englishman withthe secret. It was a weakness that he checked. When one really takes toforeigners, there is a peculiar impulse (I speak of the people who areaccessible to impulse) to make brothers of them. He bowed, and said, 'She does not appear?'

'She has in fact quitted Milan. Not willingly. I would have stopped thebusiness if I had known anything of it; but she is better out of theway, and will be carefully looked after, where she is. By this time sheis in the Tyrol. '

'And where?' asked Carlo, with friendly interest. 

'At a schloss near Meran. Or she will be there in a very few hours. Ifeared--I may inform you that we were very good friends in England--Ifeared that when she once came to Italy she would get into politicalscrapes. I dare say you agree with me that women have nothing to dowith politics. Observe: you see the lady who is speaking to the Austrianofficer?--he is her brother. Like Mademoiselle Belloni he has adopteda fresh name; it's the name of his uncle, a General Pierson in theAustrian service. I knew him in England: he has been in our service. Mademoiselle Belloni lived with his sisters for some years two or three. As you may suppose, they are all anxious to see her. Shall I introduceyou? They will be glad to know one of her Italian friends. '

Carlo hesitated; he longed to hear those ladies talk of Vittoria. 'Dothey speak French?'

'Oh, dear, yes. That is, as we luckless English people speak it. Perhapsyou will more easily pardon their seminary Italian. See there, ' CaptainGambier pointed at some trotting squadrons; 'these Austrians havecertainly a matchless cavalry. The artillery seems good. The infantryare fine men--very fine men. They have a "woodeny" movement; but that'sin the nature of the case: tremendous discipline alone gives homogeneityto all those nationalities. Somehow they get beaten. I doubt whetheranything will beat their cavalry. '

'They are useless in street-fighting, ' said Carlo. 

'Oh, street-fighting!' Captain Gambier vented a soldier's disgust at thenotion. 'They're not in Paris. Will you step forward?'

Just then the tall Greek approached the party of English. Theintroduction was delayed. 

He was addressed by the fair lady, in the island tongue, as 'Mr. Pericles. ' She thanked him for his extreme condescension in deigning tonotice them. But whatever his condescension had been, it did not extendto an admitted acquaintance with the poor speech of the land of fogs. Anexhibition of aching deafness was presented to her so resolutely, thatat last she faltered, 'What! have you forgotten English, Mr. Pericles?You spoke it the other day. '

'It is ze language of necessity--of commerce, ' he replied. 

'But, surely, Mr. Pericles, you dare not presume to tell me you chooseto be ignorant of it whenever you please?'

'I do not take grits into ze teeth, madame; no more. ' 'But you speak itperfectly. '

'Perfect it may be, for ze transactions of commerce. I wish to keep myteez. '

'Alas!' said the lady, compelled, 'I must endeavour to swim in French. '

'At your service, madame, ' quoth the Greek, with an immediate doublingof the length of his body. 

Carlo heard little more than he knew; but the confirmation of whatwe know will sometimes instigate us like fresh intelligence, and thelover's heart was quick to apprehend far more than he knew in onedirection. He divined instantaneously that the English-Austrianspoken of by Barto Rizzo was the officer sitting on horseback withinhalf-a-dozen yards of him. The certainty of the thought cramped hismuscles. For the rest, it became clear to him that the attempt of themillionaire connoisseur to carry off Vittoria had received the tacitsanction of the Austrian authorities; for reasons quite explicable, Mr. Pericles, as the English lady called him, distinctly hinted it, whileaffirming with vehement self-laudation that his scheme had succeeded forthe vindication of Art. 

'The opera you will hear zis night, ' he said, 'will be hissed. You willhear a chorus of screech-owls to each song of that poor Irma, whom theItalian people call "crabapple. " Well; she pleases German ears, and ifthey can support her, it is well. But la Vittoria--your Belloni--youwill not hear; and why? She has been false to her Art, false! She hasbecome a little devil in politics. It is a Guy Fawkes femelle! She hasbeen guilty of the immense crime of ingratitude. She is dismissed tostudy, to penitence, and to the society of her old friends, if they willvisit her. '

'Of course we will, ' said the English lady; 'either before or after ourvisit to Venice--delicious Venice!'

'Which you have not seen--hein?' Mr. Pericles snarled; 'and have notsmelt. There is no music in Venice! But you have nothing but streettinkle-tinkle! A place to live in! mon Dieu!'

The lady smiled. 'My husband insists upon trying the baths of Bormio, and then we are to go over a pass for him to try the grape-cure atMeran. If I can get him to promise me one whole year in Italy, our visitto Venice may be deferred. Our doctor, monsieur, indicates our route. Ifmy brother can get leave of absence, we shall go to Bormio and to Meranwith him. He is naturally astonished that Emilia refused to see him;and she refused to see us too! She wrote a letter, dated from theConservatorio to him, he had it in his saddlebag, and was robbed of itand other precious documents, when the wretched, odious people set uponhim in Verona-poor boy! She said in the letter that she would see him ina few days after the fifteenth, which is to-day!

'Ah! a few days after the fifteenth, which is to-day, ' Mr. Periclesrepeated. 'I saw you but the day before yesterday, madame, or I couldhave brought you together. 

She is now away-off--out of sight--the perfule! Ah false that she is;speak not of her. You remember her in England. There it was trouble, trouble; but here, we are a pot on a fire with her; speak not of her. She has used me ill, madame. I am sick. '

His violent gesticulation drooped. In a temporary abandonment tochagrin, he wiped the moisture from his forehead, unwilling or heedlessof the mild ironical mouthing of the ladies, and looked about; for Carlohad made a movement to retire, --he had heard enough for discomfort. 

'Ah! my dear Ammiani, the youngest editor in Europe! how goes it withyou?' the Greek called out with revived affability. 

Captain Gambier perceived that it was time to present his Italianacquaintance to the ladies by name, as a friend of Mademoiselle Belloni. 

'My most dear Ammiani, ' Antonio-Pericles resumed; he barely attemptedto conceal his acrid delight in casting a mysterious shadow of comingvexation over the youth; 'I am afraid you will not like the operaCamilla, or perhaps it is the Camilla you will not like. But, shoulderarms, march!' (a foot regiment in motion suggested the form of therecommendation) 'what is not for to-day may be for to-morrow. Let uswait. I think, my Ammiani, you are to have a lemon and not an orange. Never mind. Let us wait. '

Carlo got his forehead into a show of smoothness, and said, 'Suppose, mydear Signor Antonio, the prophet of dark things were to say to himself, "Let us wait?"'

'Hein-it is deep. ' Antonio-Pericles affected to sound the sentence, eye upon earth, as a sparrow spies worm or crumb. 'Permit me, ' headded rapidly; an idea had struck him from his malicious reservestores, --'Here is Lieutenant Pierson, of the staff of the Field-Marshalof Austria, unattached, an old friend of Mademoiselle EmiliaBelloni, --permit me, --here is Count Ammiani, of the Lombardia Milanesejournal, a new friend of the Signorina Vittoria Campa-MademoiselleBelloni the Signorina Campa--it is the same person, messieurs; permit meto introduce you. '

Antonio-Pericles waved his arm between the two young men. 

Their plain perplexity caused him to dash his fingers down each side ofhis moustachios in tugs of enjoyment. 

For Lieutenant Pierson, who displayed a certain readiness to bow, hadcaught a sight of the repellent stare on Ammiani's face; a still andflat look, not aggressive, yet anything but inviting; like a shield. 

Nevertheless, the lieutenant's head produced a stiff nod. Carlo's didnot respond; but he lifted his hat and bowed humbly in retirement to theladies. 

Captain Gambier stepped aside with him. 

'Inform Lieutenant Pierson, I beg you, ' said Ammiani, 'that I am at hisorders, if he should consider that I have insulted him. '

'By all means, ' said Gambier; 'only, you know, it's impossible for me toguess what is the matter; and I don't think he knows. '

Luciano happened to be coming near. Carlo went up to him, and stoodtalking for half a minute. He then returned to Captain Gambier, andsaid, 'I put myself in the hands of a man of honour. You are aware thatItalian gentlemen are not on terms with Austrian officers. If I am seenexchanging salutes with any one of them, I offend my countrymen; andthey have enough to bear already. '

Perceiving that there was more in the background, Gambier simply bowed. He had heard of Italian gentlemen incurring the suspicion of theirfellows by merely being seen in proximity to an Austrian officer. 

As they were parting, Carlo said to him, with a very direct meaning inhis eyes, 'Go to the opera tonight. '

'Yes, I suppose so, ' the Englishman answered, and digested the look andthe recommendation subsequently. 

Lieutenant Pierson had ridden off. The war-machine was in motion fromend to end: the field of flowers was a streaming flood; regiment byregiment, the crash of bands went by. Outwardly the Italians conductedthemselves with the air of ordinary heedless citizens, in whose bosomsthe music set no hell-broth boiling. Patrician and plebeian, they werechiefly boys; though here and there a middle-aged workman cast a lookof intelligence upon Carlo and Luciano, when these two passed along thecrowd. A gloom of hoarded hatred was visible in the mass of faces, readyto spring fierily. 

Arms were in the city. With hatred to prompt the blow, with arms tostrike, so much dishonour to avenge, we need not wonder that theseyouths beheld the bit of liberty in prospect magnified by their mightyobfuscating ardour, like a lantern in a fog. Reason did not act. Theywere in such a state when just to say 'Italia! Italia!' gave them nerveto match an athlete. So, the parading of Austria, the towering athlete, failed of its complete lesson of intimidation, and only ruffled thesurface of insurgent hearts. It seemed, and it was, an insult to thetrodden people, who read it as a lesson for cravens: their instinctcommonly hits the bell. They felt that a secure supremacy would not haveparaded itself: so they divined indistinctly that there was weaknesssomewhere in the councils of the enemy. When the show had vanished, their spirits hung pausing, like the hollow air emptied of big sound, and reacted. Austria had gained little more by her display than theconscientious satisfaction of the pedagogue who lifts the rod to adviseintending juvenile culprits how richly it can be merited and how poorwill be their future grounds of complaint. 

But before Austria herself had been taught a lesson she conceived thatshe had but one man and his feeble instruments, and occasional frenzies, opposed to her, him whom we saw on the Motterone, which was ceasing tobe true; though it was true that the whole popular movement flowed fromthat one man. She observed travelling sparks in the embers of Italy, andcrushed them under her heel, without reflecting that a vital heat mustbe gathering where the spots of fire run with such a swiftness. Itwas her belief that if she could seize that one man, whom many of theyounger nobles and all the people acknowledged as their Chief--forhe stood then without a rival in his task--she would have the neck ofconspiracy in her angry grasp. Had she caught him, the conspiracy forItalian freedom would not have crowed for many long seasons; the torchwould have been ready, but not the magazine. He prepared it; it was hewho preached to the Italians that opportunity is a mocking devil when welook for it to be revealed; or, in other words, wait for chance; as itis God's angel when it is created within us, the ripe fruit of virtueand devotion. He cried out to Italians to wait for no inspiration buttheir own; that they should never subdue their minds to follow any alienexample; nor let a foreign city of fire be their beacon. Watching overhis Italy; her wrist in his meditative clasp year by year; he stood likea mystic leech by the couch of a fair and hopeless frame, pledged torevive it by the inspired assurance, shared by none, that life had notforsaken it. A body given over to death and vultures-he stood by it inthe desert. Is it a marvel to you that when the carrion-wings swoopedlow, and the claws fixed, and the beak plucked and savoured its morsel, he raised his arm, and urged the half-resuscitated frame to somevindicating show of existence? Arise! he said, even in what appearedmost fatal hours of darkness. The slack limbs moved; the body rose andfell. The cost of the effort was the breaking out of innumerable wounds, old and new; the gain was the display of the miracle that Italy lived. She tasted her own blood, and herself knew that she lived. 

Then she felt her chains. The time was coming for her to prove, by thevirtues within her, that she was worthy to live, when others of hersons, subtle and adept, intricate as serpents, bold, unquestioning aswell-bestridden steeds, should grapple and play deep for her in the gameof worldly strife. Now--at this hour of which I speak--when Austriansmarched like a merry flame down Milan streets, and Italians stood likethe burnt-out cinders of the fire-grate, Italy's faint wrist was stillin the clutch of her grave leech, who counted the beating of her pulsebetween long pauses, that would have made another think life to beheaving its last, not beginning. 

The Piazza d'Armi was empty of its glittering show. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE NIGHT OF THE FIFTEENTH

We quit the Piazza d'Armi. Rumour had its home in Milan. On their way tothe caffe La Scala, Luciano and Carlo (who held together, determinedto be taken together if the arrest should come) heard it said that theChief was in Milan. A man passed by and uttered it, going. They stoppeda second man, who was known to them, and he confirmed the rumour. Gladas sunlight once more, they hurried to Count Medole forgivingly. Thecount's servant assured them that his master had left the city forMonza. 'Is Medole a coward?' cried Luciano, almost in the servant'shearing. The fleeing of so important a man looked vile, now that theywere sharpened by new eagerness. Forthwith they were off to Agostino, believing that he would know the truth. They found him in bed. 'Well, and what?' said Agostino, replying to their laughter. 'I am old; too oldto stride across a day and night, like you giants of youth. I take myrest when I can, for I must have it. '

'But, you know, O conscript father, ' said Carlo, willing to fall alittle into his mood, 'you know that nothing will be done to-night. '

'Do I know so much?' Agostino murmured at full length. 

'Do you know that the Chief is in the city?' said Luciano. 

'A man who is lying in bed knows this, ' returned Agostino, 'that heknows less than those who are up, though what he does know he perhapsdigests better. 'Tis you who are the fountains, my boys, while I am thepool into which you play. Say on. '

They spoke of the rumour. He smiled at it. They saw at once that therumour was false, for the Chief trusted Agostino. 

'Proceed to Barto, the mole, ' he said, 'Barto the miner; he is thefather of daylight in the city: of the daylight of knowledge, youunderstand, for which men must dig deep. Proceed to him;--if you canfind him. '

But Carlo brought flame into Agostino's eyes. 

'The accursed beast! he has pinned the black butterfly to thesignorina's dress. '

Agostino rose on his elbow. He gazed at them. 'We are followers ofa blind mole, ' he uttered with an inner voices while still gazingwrathfully, and then burst out in grief, '"Patria o mea creatrix, patriao mea genetrix!"'

'The signorina takes none of his warnings, nor do we. She escaped a plotlast night, and to-night she sings. '

'She must not, ' said Agostino imperiously. 

'She does. '

'I must stop that. ' Agostino jumped out of bed. 

The young men beset him with entreaties to leave the option to her. 

'Fools!' he cried, plunging a rageing leg into his garments. 'Here, Iris! Mercury! fly to Jupiter and say we are all old men and boys inItaly, and are ready to accept a few middleaged mortals as Gods, if theywill come and help us. Young fools! Do you know that when you conspireyou are in harness, and yoke-fellows, every one?'

'Yoked to that Barto Rizzo!'

'Yes; and the worse horse of the two. Listen, you pair of Nurembergpuppet-heads! If the Chief were here, I would lie still in my bed. Medole has stopped the outbreak. Right or wrong, he moves a mass; we aresubordinates--particles. The Chief can't be everywhere. Milan is too hotfor him. Two men are here, concealed--Rinaldo and Angelo Guidascarpi. The rumour springs from that. They have slain Count Paul Lenkenstein, and rushed to old Milan for work, with the blood on their swords. Oh, the tragedy!--when I have time to write it. Let me now go to my girl, tomy daughter! The blood of the Lenkenstein must rust on the steel. Angeloslew him: Rinaldo gave him the cross to kiss. You shall have the wholestory by-and-by; but this will be a lesson to Germans not to court ourItalian damsels. Lift not that curtain, you Pannonian burglars! Muchdo we pardon; but bow and viol meet not, save that they be of one wood;especially not when signor bow is from yonderside the Rhoetian Alps, anddonzella Viol is a growth of warm Lombardy. Witness to it, Angelo andRinaldo Guidascarpi! bravo! You boys there--you stand like two Tyrolesesalad-spoons! I say that my girl, my daughter, shall never help to fireblank shot. I sent my paternal commands to her yesterday evening. Doesthe wanton disobey her father and look up to a pair of rocket-headedrascals like you? Apes! if she sings that song to-night, the ear ofItaly will be deaf to her for ever after. There's no engine to stirto-night; all the locks are on it; she will send half-a-dozen milkingslike you to perdition, and there will be a circle of black blood abouther name in the traditions of the insurrection--do you hear? Have Icherished her for that purpose? to have her dedicated to a brawl!'

Agostino fumed up and down the room in a confusion of apparel, savouringhis epithets and imaginative peeps while he stormed, to get a relishout of something, as beseems the poetic temperament. The youths weresilenced by him; Carlo gladly. 

'Troop!' said the old man, affecting to contrast his attire with theirs;'two graces and a satyr never yet went together, and we'll not frightenthe classic Government of Milan. I go out alone. No, Signor Luciano, Iam not sworn to Count Medole. I see your sneer contain it. Ah! what athing is hurry to a mind like mine. It tears up the trees by the roots, floods the land, darkens utterly my poor quiet universe. I was composinga pastoral when you came in. Observe what you have done with my "LovelyAge of Gold!"'

Agostino's transfigurement from lymphatic poet to fiery man of action, lasted till his breath was short, when the necessity for taking a deepdraught of air induced him to fall back upon his idle irony. 'Heads, you illustrious young gentlemen!--heads, not legs and arms, move aconspiracy. Now, you--think what you will of it--are only legs and armsin this business. And if you are insubordinate, you present the shockingfabular spirit of the members of the body in revolt; which is not therevolt we desire to see. I go to my daughter immediately, and we shallall have a fat sleep for a week, while the Tedeschi hunt and stew andexhaust their naughty suspicions. Do you know that the Pope's Mouth isclosed? We made it tell a big lie before it shut tight on its teeth--abad omen, I admit; but the idea was rapturously neat. Barto, thesinner--be sure I throttle him for putting that blot on my swan; only, not yet, not yet: he's a blind mole, a mad patriot; but, as I say, ourbeast Barto drew an Austrian to the Mouth last night, and led the dogto take a letter out of it, detailing the whole plot of tonight, andhow men will be stationed at the vicolo here, ready to burst out onthe Corso, and at the vicolo there, and elsewhere, all over the city, carrying fire and sword; a systematic map of the plot. It was addressedto Count Serabiglione--my boys! my boys! what do you think of it? Bravo!though Barto is a deadly beast if he--'Agostino paused. 'Yes, he wenttoo far! too far!'

'Has he only gone too far, do you say?'

Carlo spoke sternly. His elder was provoked enough by his deadness ofenthusiasm, and that the boy should dare to stalk on a bare egoisticallover's sentiment to be critical of him, Agostino, struck him asmonstrous. With the treachery of controlled rage, Agostino drew nearhim, and whispered some sentences in his ear. 

Agostino then called him his good Spartan boy for keeping bravecountenance. 'Wait till you comprehend women philosophically. All'strouble with them till then. At La Scala tonight, my sons! We haverehearsed the fiasco; the Tedeschi perform it. Off with you, that I maygo out alone!'

He seemed to think it an indubitable matter that he would find Vittoriaand bend her will. 

Agostino had betrayed his weakness to the young men, who read him withthe keen eyes of a particular disapprobation. He delighted in the darkweb of intrigue, and believed himself to be no ordinary weaver of thatsunless work. It captured his imagination, filling his pride with amounting gas. Thus he had become allied to Medole on the one hand, and to Barto Rizzo on the other. The young men read him shrewdly, butspeaking was useless. 

Before Carlo parted from Luciano, he told him the burden of the whisper, which had confirmed what he had heard on the Piazzi d'Armi. It was this:Barto Rizzo, aware that Lieutenant Pierson was the bearer of despatchesfrom the Archduke in Milan to the marshal, then in Verona, had followed, and by extraordinary effort reached Verona in advance; had there trickedand waylaid him, and obtained, instead of despatches, a letter ofrecent date, addressed to him by Vittoria, which compromised theinsurrectionary project. 

'If that's the case, my Carlo!' said his friend, and shrugged, and spokein a very worldly fashion of the fair sex. 

Carlo shook him off. For the rest of the day he was alone, shut up withhis journalistic pen. The pen traversed seas and continents like an oldhack to whom his master has thrown the reins. Apart from the desperateperturbation of his soul, he thought of the Guidascarpi, whom he knew, and was allied to, and of the Lenkensteins, whom he knew likewise, or had known in the days when Giacomo Piaveni lived, and Bianca vonLenkenstein, Laura's sister, visited among the people of her country. Countess Anna and Countess Lena von Lenkenstein were the German beautiesof Milan, lively little women, and sweet. Between himself and CountessLena there had been tender dealings about the age when sweetmeats havelost their attraction, and the charm has to be supplied. She was rich, passionate for Austria, romantic concerning Italy, a vixen in temper, but with a pearly light about her temples that kept her picture in hismemory. And besides, during those days when women are bountiful to usas Goddesses, give they never so little, she had deigned to fondlehands with him; had set the universe rocking with a visible heave ofher bosom; jingled all the keys of mystery; and had once (as to embalmherself in his recollection), once had surrendered her lips to him. Countess Lena would have espoused Ammiani, believing in her power tomake an Austrian out of such Italian material. The Piaveni revolt hadstopped that and all their intercourse by the division of the WhiteHand, as it was called; otherwise, the hand of the corpse. Ammiani hadknown also Count Paul von Lenkenstein. To his mind, death did not meanmuch, however pleasant life might be: his father and his friend hadgone to it gaily; and he himself stood ready for the summons: but thecontemplation of a domestic judicial execution, which the Guidascarpiseemed to have done upon Count Paul, affrighted him, and put an endto his temporary capacity for labour. He felt as if a spent shot werestriking on his ribs; it was the unknown sensation of fear. Changeing, it became pity. 'Horrible deaths these Austrians die!' he said. 

For a while he regarded their lot as the hardest. A shaft of sunlightlike blazing brass warned him that the day dropped. He sent to hismother's stables, and rode at a gallop round Milan, dining alone in oneof the common hotel gardens, where he was a stranger. A man may havegood nerve to face the scene which he is certain will be enacted, whoshrinks from an hour that is suspended in doubt. He was aware of thepallor and chill of his looks, and it was no marvel to him when twosbirri in mufti, foreign to Milan, set their eyes on him as they passedby to a vacant table on the farther side of the pattering gold-fishpool, where he sat. He divined that they might be in pursuit of theGuidascarpi, and alive to read a troubled visage. 'Yet neither Rinaldonor Angelo would look as I do now, ' he thought, perceiving that thesemen were judging by such signs, and had their ideas. Democrat as heimagined himself to be, he despised with a nobleman's contempt creatureswho were so dead to the character of men of birth as to suppose thatthey were pale and remorseful after dealing a righteous blow, and thatthey trembled! Ammiani looked at his hand: no force of his will couldarrest its palsy. The Guidascarpi were sons of Bologna. The stupidityof Italian sbirri is proverbial, or a Milanese cavalier would have beenastonished to conceive himself mistaken for a Bolognese. He beckoned tothe waiter, and said, 'Tell me what place has bred those two fellows onthe other side of the fountain. ' After a side-glance of scrutiny, thereply was, 'Neapolitans. ' The waiter was ready to make an additionalremark, but Ammiani nodded and communed with a toothpick. He was surethat those Neapolitans were recruits of the Bolognese Polizia; onthe track of the Guidascarpi, possibly. As he was not unlike AngeloGuidascarpi in figure, he became uneasy lest they should blunder 'twixthim and La Scala; and the notion of any human power stopping him shortof that destination, made Ammiani's hand perfectly firm. He drew on hisgloves, and named the place whither he was going, aloud. 'Excellency, 'said the waiter, while taking up and pretending to reckon the money forthe bill: 'they have asked me whether there are two Counts Ammiani inMilan. ' Carlo's eyebrows started. 'Can they be after me?' he thought, and said: 'Certainly; there is twice anything in this world, and Milanis the epitome of it. '

Acting a part gave him Agostino's catching manner of speech. The waiter, who knew him now, took this for an order to say 'Yes. ' He had evidentlya respect for Ammiani's name: Carlo supposed that he was one of Milan'sfighting men. A sort of answer leading to 'Yes' by a circuit and theassistance of the hearer, was conveyed to the sbirri. They were trueNeapolitans quick to suspect, irresolute upon their suspicions. He wassoon aware that they were not to be feared more than are the generalrace of bunglers, whom the Gods sometimes strangely favour. Theyperplexed him: for why were they after him? and what had made them askwhether he had a brother? He was followed, but not molested, on his wayto La Scala. 

Ammiani's heart was in full play as he looked at the curtain of thestage. The Night of the Fifteenth had come. For the first few momentshis strong excitement fronting the curtain, amid a great host of heartsthumping and quivering up in the smaller measures like his own, togetherwith the predisposing belief that this was to be a night of events, stopped his consciousness that all had been thwarted; that therewas nothing but plot, plot, counterplot and tangle, disunion, sillysubtlety, jealousy, vanity, a direful congregation of antagonisticelements; threads all loose, tongues wagging, pressure here, pressurethere, like an uncertain rage in the entrails of the undirected earth, and no master hand on the spot to fuse and point the intense distractedforces. 

The curtain, therefore, hung like any common opera-screen; big only withthe fate of the new prima donna. He was robbed even of the certaintythat Vittoria would appear. From the blank aspect of the curtain heturned to the house, which was crowding fast, and was not like listlessMilan about to criticize an untried voice. The commonly empty boxesof the aristocracy were full of occupants, and for a wonder the whiteuniforms were not in excess, though they were to be seen. The firstperson whom Ammiani met was Agostino, who spoke gruffly. Vittoria hadbeen invisible to him. Neither the maestro, nor the impresario, nor thewaiting-woman had heard of her. Uncertainty was behind the curtain, aswell as in front; but in front it was the uncertainty which is tippedwith expectation, hushing the usual noisy chatter, and setting adaylight of eyes forward. Ammiani spied about the house, and caughtsight of Laura Piaveni with Colonel Corte by her side. The Lenkensteinswere in the Archduke's box. Antonio-Pericles, and the English lady andCaptain Gambier, were next to them. The appearance of a white uniform inhis mother's box over the stage caused Ammiani to shut up his glass. Hewas making his way thither for the purpose of commencing the hostilitiesof the night, when Countess Ammiani entered the lobby, and took herson's arm with a grave face and a trembling touch. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE PRIMA DONNA

'Whover is in my box is my guest, ' said the countess, adding aconvulsive imperative pressure on Carlo's arm, to aid the meaning of herdeep underbreath. She was a woman who rarely exacted obedience, and shewas spontaneously obeyed. No questions could be put, no explanationsgiven in the crash, and they threaded on amid numerous greetings in aplace where Milanese society had habitually ceased to gather, and founditself now in assembly with unconcealed sensations of strangeness. Acard lay on the table of the countess's private retiring-room: it borethe name of General Pierson. She threw off her black lace scarf. 'Angelo Guidascarpi is in Milan, ' she said. 'He has killed one of theLenkensteins, sword to sword. He came to me an hour after you left;the sbirri were on his track; he passed for my son. He is now under thecharge of Barto Rizzo, disguised; probably in this house. His brotheris in the city. Keep the cowl on your head as long as possible; if thesehounds see and identify you, there will be mischief. ' She said no more, satisfied that she was understood, but opening the door of the box, passed in, and returned a stately acknowledgement of the salutations oftwo military officers. Carlo likewise bent his head to them; it was likebending his knee, for in the younger of the two intruders he recognizedLieutenant Pierson. The countess accepted a vacated seat; the cavity ofher ear accepted the General's apologies. He informed her that he deeplyregretted the intrusion; he was under orders to be present at theopera, and to be as near the stage as possible, the countess's box beingdesignated. Her face had the unalterable composure of a painted headupon an old canvas. The General persisted in tendering excuses. Shereplied, 'It is best, when one is too weak to resist, to submit to anoutrage quietly. ' General Pierson at once took the position assigned tohim; it was not an agreeable one. Between Carlo and the lieutenant noattempt at conversation was made. 

The General addressed his nephew in English. 'Did you see the girlbehind the scenes, Wilfrid?'

The answer was 'No. '

'Pericles has her fast shut up in the Tyrol: the best habitat for her ifshe objects to a whipping. Did you see Irma?'

'No; she has disappeared too. '

'Then I suppose we must make up our minds to an opera without head ortail. As Pat said of the sack of potatoes, "'twould be a mighty finebeast if it had them. "'

The officers had taken refuge in their opera-glasses, and spoke whilegazing round the house. 

'If neither this girl nor Irma is going to appear, there is no positivenecessity for my presence here, ' said the General, reduced to excusehimself to himself. 'I'll sit through the first scene and then beat aretreat. I might be off at once; the affair looks harmless enough only, you know, when there's nothing to see, you must report that you haveseen it, or your superiors are not satisfied. '

The lieutenant was less able to cover the irksomeness of his situationwith easy talk. His glance rested on Countess Len a von Lenkenstein, aquick motion of whose hand made him say that he should go over to her. 

'Very well, ' said the General; 'be careful that you give no hint ofthis horrible business. They will hear of it when they get home: timeenough!'

Lieutenant Pierson touched at his sister's box on the way. She was veryexcited, asked innumerable things, --whether there was danger? whether hehad a whole regiment at hand to protect peaceable persons? 'Otherwise, 'she said, 'I shall not be able to keep that man (her husband) in Italyanother week. He refused to stir out to-night, though we know thatnothing can happen. Your prima donna celestissima is out of harm's way. '

'Oh, she is safe, --ze minx'; cried Antonio-Pericles, laughing andsaluting the Duchess of Graatli, who presented herself at the front ofher box. Major de Pyrmont was behind her, and it delighted the Greekto point them out to the English lady, with a simple intimation of thecharacter of their relationship, at which her curls shook sadly. 

'Pardon, madame, ' said Pericles. 'In Italy, a husband away, ze friendtakes title: it is no more. '

'It is very disgraceful, ' she said. 

'Ze morales, madame, suit ze sun. '

Captain Gambier left the box with Wilfrid, expressing in one sentencehis desire to fling Pericles over to the pit, and in another his beliefthat an English friend, named Merthyr Powys, was in the house. 

'He won't be in the city four-and-twenty hours, ' said Wilfrid. 

'Well; you'll keep your tongue silent. '

'By heavens! Gambier, if you knew the insults we have to submit to! Thetemper of angels couldn't stand it. I'm sorry enough for these fellows, with their confounded country, but it's desperate work to be civil tothem; upon my honour, it is! I wish they would stand up and let us haveit over. We have to bear more from the women than the men. '

'I leave you to cool, ' said Gambier. 

The delayed absence of the maestro from his post at the head of theorchestra, where the musicians sat awaiting him, seemed to confirm arumour that was now circling among the audience, warning all to preparefor a disappointment. His baton was brought in and laid on the book ofthe new overture. When at last he was seen bearing onward through themusic-stands, a low murmur ran round. Rocco paid no heed to it. Hisdemeanour produced such satisfaction in the breast of Antonio-Periclesthat he rose, and was guilty of the barbarism of clapping his hands. Meeting Ammiani in the lobby, he said, 'Come, my good friend, you shallhelp me to pull Irma through to-night. She is vinegar--we will mix herwith oil. It is only for to-night, to save that poor Rocco's opera. '

'Irma!' said Ammiani; 'she is by this time in Tyrol. Your Irma will havesome difficulty in showing herself here within sixty hours. '

'How!' cried Pericles, amazed, and plucking after Carlo to stop him. 'Ibet you--'

'How much?'

'I bet you a thousand florins you do not see la Vittoria to-night. '

'Good. I bet you a thousand florins you do not see Irma. '

'No Vittoria, I say!'

'And I say, no Lazzeruola!'

Agostino, who was pacing the lobby, sent Pericles distraught with thesame tale of the rape of Irma. He rushed to Signora Piaveni's box andheard it repeated. There he beheld, sitting in the background, an oldEnglish acquaintance, with whom Captain Gambier was conversing. 

'My dear Powys, you have come all the way from England to see yourfavourite's first night. You will be shocked, sir. She has neglectedher Art. She is exiled, banished, sent away to study and to compose hermind. '

'I think you are mistaken, ' said Laura. 'You will see her almostimmediately. '

'Signora, pardon me; do I not know best?'

'You may have contrived badly. '

Pericles blinked and gnawed his moustache as if it were food forpatience. 

'I would wager a milliard of francs, ' he muttered. With absolute pathoshe related to Mr. Powys the aberrations of the divinely-gifted voice, the wreck which Vittoria strove to become, and from which he alonewas striving to rescue her. He used abundant illustrations, coarse andquaint, and was half hysterical; flashing a white fist and thumpingthe long projection of his knee with a wolfish aspect. His grotesquesincerity was little short of the shedding of tears. 

'And your sister, my dear Powys?' he asked, as one returning to theconsideration of shadows. 

'My sister accompanies me, but not to the opera. '

'For another campaign--hein?'

'To winter in Italy, at all events. '

Carlo Ammiani entered and embraced Merthyr Powys warmly. The Englishmanwas at home among Italians: Pericles, feeling that he was not so, andregarding them all as a community of fever-patients without hospital, retired. To his mind it was the vilest treason, the grossestselfishness, to conspire or to wink at the sacrifice of a voicelike Vittoria's to such a temporal matter as this, which they calledpatriotism. He looked on it as one might look on the Hindoo drama of aSuttee. He saw in it just that stupid action of a whole body of fanaticscombined to precipitate the devotion of a precious thing to extinction. And worse; for life was common, and women and Hindoo widows were common;but a Vittorian voice was but one in a generation--in a cycle ofyears. The religious belief of the connoisseur extended to the devoutconception that her voice was a spiritual endowment, the casting ofwhich priceless jewel into the bloody ditch of patriots was far moretragic and lamentable than any disastrous concourse of dedicated lives. He shook the lobby with his tread, thinking of the great night thismight have been but for Vittoria's madness. The overture was coming toan end. By tightening his arms across his chest he gained some outwardcomposure, and fixed his eyes upon the stage. 

While sitting with Laura Piaveni and Merthyr Powys, Ammiani saw theapparition of Captain Weisspriess in his mother's box. He forgot herinjunction, and hurried to her side, leaving the doors open. His passionof anger spurned her admonishing grasp of his arm, and with his glovehe smote the Austrian officer on the face. Weisspriess plucked his swordout; the house rose; there was a moment like that of a wild beast'sshow of teeth. It passed: Captain Weisspriess withdrew in obedience toGeneral Pierson's command. The latter wrote on a slip of paper that twopieces of artillery should be placed in position, and a squad of menabout the doors: he handed it out to Weisspriess. 

'I hope, ' the General said to Carlo, 'we shall be able to arrange thingsfor you without the interposition of the authorities. '

Carlo rejoined, 'General, he has the blood of our family on his hands. Iam ready. '

The General bowed. He glanced at the countess for a sign of maternalweakness, saw none, and understood that a duel was down in the morrow'sbill of entertainments, as well as a riot possibly before dawn. Thehouse had revealed its temper in that short outburst, as a quivering ofquick lightning-flame betrays the forehead of the storm. 

Countess Ammiani bade her son make fast the outer door. Her sedateenergies could barely control her agitation. In helping AngeloGuidascarpi to evade the law, she had imperilled her son and herself. Many of the Bolognese sbirri were in pursuit of Angelo. Some knew hisperson; some did not; but if those two before whom she had identifiedAngelo as being her son Carlo chanced now to be in the house, and tohave seen him, and heard his name, the risks were great and various. 

'Do you know that handsome young Count Ammiani?' Countess Lena said toWilfrid. 'Perhaps you do not think him handsome? He was for a short timea play-fellow of mine. He is more passionate than I am, and that doesnot say a little; I warn you! Look how excited he is. No wonder. Heis--everybody knows it--he is la Vittoria's lover. '

Countess Lena uttered that sentence in Italian. The soft tongue sent itlike a coiling serpent through Wilfrid's veins. In English or in Germanit would not have possessed the deadly meaning. 

She may have done it purposely, for she and her sister Countess Annastudied his face. The lifting of the curtain drew all eyes to the stage. 

Rocco Ricci's baton struck for the opening of one of his spiritedchoruses; a chorus of villagers, who sing to the burden that Happiness, the aim of all humanity, has promised to visit the earth this day, thatshe may witness the union of the noble lovers, Camillo and Camilla. Thena shepherd sings a verse, with his hand stretched out to the impendingcastle. There lives Count Orso: will he permit their festivities to passundisturbed? The puling voice is crushed by the chorus, which proteststhat the heavens are above Count Orso. But another villager tells ofOrso's power, and hints at his misdeeds. The chorus rises in reply, warning all that Count Orso has ears wherever three are congregated; thevillagers break apart and eye one another distrustfully, reunitingto the song of Happiness before they disperse. Camillo enters solus. Montini, as Camillo, enjoyed a warm reception; but as he advanced todeliver his canzone, it was seen that he and Rocco interchanged glancesof desperate resignation. Camillo has had love passages with Michiella, Count Orso's daughter, and does not hesitate to declare that he dreadsher. The orphan Camilla, who has been reared in yonder castle with her, as her sister, is in danger during all these last minutes which stillretain her from his arms. 

'If I should never see her--I who, like a poor ghost upon the shores ofthe dead river, have been flattered with the thought that she would fallupon my breast like a ray of the light of Elysium--if I should never seeher more!' The famous tenore threw his whole force into that outcry ofprojected despair, and the house was moved by it: there were many in thehouse who shared his apprehension of a foul mischance. 

Thenceforward the opera and the Italian audience were as one. All thatwas uttered had a meaning, and was sympathetically translated. Camilla they perceived to be a grave burlesque with a core to it. Thequick-witted Italians caught up the interpretation in a flash. 'CountOrso' Austria; 'Michiella' is Austria's spirit of intrigue; 'Camillo' isindolent Italy, amorous Italy, Italy aimless; 'Camilla' is YOUNG ITALY!

Their eagerness for sight of Vittoria was now red-hot, and when Camilloexclaimed 'She comes!' many rose from their seats. 

A scrap of paper was handed to Antonio-Pericles from CaptainWeisspriess, saying briefly that he had found Irma in the carriageinstead of the little 'v, ' thanked him for the joke, and had brought herback. Pericles was therefore not surprised when Irma, as Michiella, cameon, breathless, and looking in an excitement of anger; he knew that hehad been tricked. 

Between Camillo and Michiella a scene of some vivacityensued--reproaches, threats of calamity, offers of returning endearmentupon her part; a display of courtly scorn upon his. Irma made her voiceclaw at her quondam lover very finely; it was a voice with claws, thatentered the hearing sharp-edged, and left it plucking at its repose. She was applauded relishingly when, after vainly wooing him, she turnedaside and said--

 'What change is this in one who like a reed Bent to my twisting hands? Does he recoil? Is this the hound whom I have used to feed With sops of vinegar and sops of oil?'

Michiella's further communications to the audience make it known thatshe has allowed the progress toward the ceremonies of espousal betweenCamillo and Camilla, in order, at the last moment, to show her powerover the youth and to plunge the detested Camilla into shame andwretchedness. 

Camillo retires: Count Orso appears. There is a duet between father anddaughter: she confesses her passion for Camillo, and entreats her fatherto stop the ceremony; and here the justice of the feelings of Italians, even in their heat of blood, was noteworthy. Count Orso says that hewould willingly gratify his daughter, as it would gratify himself, butthat he must respect the law. 'The law is of your own making, ' saysMichiella. 'Then, the more must I respect it, ' Count Orso replies. 

The audience gave Austria credit for that much in a short murmur. 

Michiella's aside, 'Till anger seizes him I wait!' created laughter; itcame in contrast with an extraordinary pomposity of self-satisfactionexhibited by Count Orso--the flower-faced, tun-bellied basso, Lebruno. It was irresistible. He stood swollen out like a morning cock. To makeit further telling, he took off his yellow bonnet with a black-glovedhand, and thumped the significant colours prominently on his immensechest--an idea, not of Agostino's, but Lebruno's own; and Agostinocursed with fury. Both he and Rocco knew that their joint labour wouldprobably have only one night's display of existence in the Austriandominions, but they grudged to Lebruno the chief merit of despatching itto the Shades. 

The villagers are heard approaching. 'My father!' cries Michiella, distractedly; 'the hour is near: it will be death to your daughter!Imprison Camillo: I can bring twenty witnesses to prove that he hassworn you are illegally the lord of this country. You will rue themarriage. Do as you once did. Be bold in time. The arrow-head is on thestring-cut the string!'

'As I once did?' replies Orso with frown terrific, like a black crest. He turns broadly and receives the chorus of countrymen in paternalfashion--an admirably acted bit of grave burlesque. 

By this time the German portion of the audience had, by one or otherof the senses, dimly divined that the opera was a shadow of somethingconcealed--thanks to the buffo-basso Lebruno. Doubtless they wouldhave seen this before, but that the Austrian censorship had seemed soabsolute a safeguard. 

'My children! all are my children in this my gladsome realm!' Count Orsosays, and marches forth, after receiving the compliment of a choric songin honour of his paternal government. Michiella follows him. 

Then came the deep suspension of breath. For, as upon the midnight youcount bell-note after bell-note of the toiling hour, and know not in thedarkness whether there shall be one beyond it, so that you hang overan abysm until Twelve is sounded, audience and actors gazed with equalexpectation at the path winding round from the castle, waiting for thevoice of the new prima donna. 

'Mia madre!' It issued tremblingly faint. None could say who was toappear. 

Rocco Ricci struck twice with his baton, flung a radiant glance acrosshis shoulders for all friends, and there was joy in the house. Vittoriastood before them. 

CHAPTER XX

THE OPERA OF CAMILLA

She was dressed like a noble damsel from the hands of Titian. An Italianaudience cannot but be critical in their first glance at a prima donna, for they are asked to do homage to a queen who is to be taken on hermerits: all that they have heard and have been taught to expect ofher is compared swiftly with the observation of her appearance andher manner. She is crucially examined to discover defects. There isno boisterous loyalty at the outset. And as it was now evident thatVittoria had chosen to impersonate a significant character, herindications of method were jealously watched for a sign of inequality, either in her, motion, or the force of her eyes. So silent a receptionmight have seemed cruel in any other case; though in all cases thecandidate for laurels must, in common with the criminal, go through theordeal of justification. Men do not heartily bow their heads untilthey have subjected the aspirant to some personal contest, and findthemselves overmatched. The senses, ready to become so slavish inadulation and delight, are at the beginning more exacting than thejudgement, more imperious than the will. A figure in amber and pale bluesilk was seen, such as the great Venetian might have sketched from hiswindows on a day when the Doge went forth to wed the Adriatic a superbItalian head, with dark banded hair-braid, and dark strong eyes underunabashed soft eyelids! She moved as, after long gazing at a paintingof a fair woman, we may have the vision of her moving from the frame. It was an animated picture of ideal Italia. The sea of heads right up tothe highest walls fronted her glistening, and she was mute as moonrise. A virgin who loosens a dove from her bosom does it with no greatereffort than Vittoria gave out her voice. The white bird fluttersrapidly; it circles and takes its flight. The voice seemed to be aslittle the singer's own. 

The theme was as follows:--Camilla has dreamed overnight that her lostmother came to her bedside to bless her nuptials. Her mother was foldedin a black shroud, looking formless as death, like very death, savethat death sheds no tears. She wept, without change of voice, or mortalshuddering, like one whose nature weeps: 'And with the forth-flowing ofher tears the knowledge of her features was revealed to me. ' Behold theAdige, the Mincio, Tiber, and the Po!--such great rivers were the tearspouring from her eyes. She threw apart the shroud: her breasts and herlimbs were smooth and firm as those of an immortal Goddess: but breastsand limbs showed the cruel handwriting of base men upon the body ofa martyred saint. The blood from those deep gashes sprang out atintervals, mingling with her tears. She said:

'My child! were I a Goddess, my wounds would heal. Were I a Saint, Ishould be in Paradise. I am no Goddess, and no Saint: yet I cannotdie. My wounds flow and my tears. My tears flow because of no fleshlyanguish: I pardon my enemies. My blood flows from my body, my tears frommy soul. They flow to wash out my shame. I have to expiate my soul'sshame by my body's shame. Oh! how shall I tell you what it is to walkamong my children unknown of them, though each day I bear the sun abroadlike my beating heart; each night the moon, like a heart with no bloodin it. Sun and moon they see, but not me! They know not their mother. Icry to God. The answer of our God is this:--"Give to thy children one byone to drink of thy mingled tears and blood:--then, if there is virtuein them, they shall revive, thou shaft revive. If virtue is not in them, they and thou shall continue prostrate, and the ox shall walk over you. "From heaven's high altar, O Camilla, my child, this silver sacramentalcup was reached to me. Gather my tears in it, fill it with my blood, anddrink. '

The song had been massive in monotones, almost Gregorian in its severityup to this point. 

'I took the cup. I looked my mother in the face. I filled the cup fromthe flowing of her tears, the flowing of her blood; and I drank!'

Vittoria sent this last phrase ringing out forcefully. From theinveterate contralto of the interview, she rose to pure soprano indescribing her own action. 'And I drank, ' was given on a descent of thevoice: the last note was in the minor key--it held the ear as ifmore must follow: like a wail after a triumph of resolve. It wasa masterpiece of audacious dramatic musical genius addressed withsagacious cunning and courage to the sympathizing audience present. Thesupposed incompleteness kept them listening; the intentness sent thatlast falling (as it were, broken) note travelling awakeningly throughtheir minds. It is the effect of the minor key to stir the hearts ofmen with this particular suggestiveness. The house rose, Italians--andGermans together. Genius, music, and enthusiasm break the line ofnationalities. A rain of nosegays fell about Vittoria; evvivas, bravas, shouts--all the outcries of delirious men surrounded her. Men and women, even among the hardened chorus, shook together and sobbed. 'Agostino!'and 'Rocco!' were called; 'Vittoria!' 'Vittoria!' above all, withincreasing thunder, like a storm rushing down a valley, striking inbroad volume from rock to rock, humming remote, and bursting up againin the face of the vale. Her name was sung over and over--'Vittoria!Vittoria!' as if the mouths were enamoured of it. 

'Evviva la Vittoria a d' Italia!' was sung out from the body of thehouse. 

An echo replied--'"Italia a il premio della VITTORIA!"' a well-knownsaying gloriously adapted, gloriously rescued from disgrace. 

But the object and source of the tremendous frenzy stood like one frozenby the revelation of the magic the secret of which she has studiouslymastered. A nosegay, the last of the tributary shower, discharged froma distance, fell at her feet. She gave it unconsciously preference overthe rest, and picked it up. A little paper was fixed in the centre. She opened it with a mechanical hand, thinking there might be patrioticorders enclosed for her. It was a cheque for one thousand guineas, drawnupon an English banker by the hand of Antonio-Pericles Agriolopoulos;freshly drawn; the ink was only half dried, showing signs of thedictates of a furious impulse. This dash of solid prose, and itsconvincing proof that her Art had been successful, restored Vittoria'scomposure, though not her early statuesque simplicity. Rocco gave aninquiring look to see if she would repeat the song. She shook her headresolutely. Her opening of the paper in the bouquet had quieted thegeneral ebullition, and the expression of her wish being seen, thechorus was permitted to usurp her place. Agostino paced up and down thelobby, fearful that he had been guilty of leading her to anticlimax. 

He met Antonio-Pericles, and told him so; adding (for now the mask hadbeen seen through, and was useless any further) that he had not had theheart to put back that vision of Camilla's mother to a later scene, lestan interruption should come which would altogether preclude its beingheard. Pericles affected disdain of any success which Vittoria hadyet achieved. 'Wait for Act the Third, ' he said; but his irritableanxiousness to hold intercourse with every one, patriot or critic, German, English, or Italian, betrayed what agitation of exultationcoursed in his veins. 'Aha!' was his commencement of a greeting; 'wasAntonio-Pericles wrong when he told you that he had a prima donna foryou to amaze all Christendom, and whose notes were safe and firm as thefooting of the angels up and down Jacob's ladder, my friends? Aha!'

'Do you see that your uncle is signalling to you?' Countess Lena said toWilfrid. He answered like a man in a mist, and looked neither at hernor at the General, who, in default of his obedience to gestures, camegood-humouredly to the box, bringing Captain Weisspriess with him. 

'We 're assisting at a pretty show, ' he said. 

'I am in love with her voice, ' said Countess Anna. 

'Ay; if it were only a matter of voices, countess. '

'I think that these good people require a trouncing, ' said CaptainWeisspriess. 

'Lieutenant Pierson is not of your opinion, ' Countess Anna remarked. Hearing his own name, Wilfrid turned to them with a weariness wellacted, but insufficiently to a jealous observation, for his eyes werequick under the carelessly-dropped eyelids, and ranged keenly over thestage while they were affecting to assist his fluent tongue. 

Countess Lena levelled her opera-glass at Carlo Ammiani, and then placedthe glass in her sister's hand. Wilfrid drank deep of bitterness. 'Thatis Vittoria's lover, ' he thought; 'the lover of the Emilia who onceloved me!'

General Pierson may have noticed this by-play: he said to his nephew inthe brief military tone: 'Go out; see that the whole regiment is handyabout the house; station a dozen men, with a serjeant, at each of thebackdoors, and remain below. I very much mistake, or we shall have tomake a capture of this little woman to-night. '

'How on earth, ' he resumed, while Wilfrid rose savagely and went outwith his stiffest bow, 'this opera was permitted to appear, I can'tguess! A child could see through it. The stupidity of our civilauthorities passes my understanding--it's a miracle! We have stringentorders not to take any initiative, or I would stop the Fraulein Camillafrom uttering another note. '

'If you did that, I should be angry with you, General, ' said CountessAnna. 

'And I also think the Government cannot do wrong, ' Countess Lena joinedin. 

The General contented himself by saying: 'Well, we shall see. '

Countess Lena talked to Captain Weisspriess in an undertone, referringto what she called his dispute with Carlo Ammiani. The captain wasextremely playful in rejoinders. 

'You iron man!' she exclaimed. 

'Man of steel would be the better phrase, ' her sister whispered. 

'It will be an assassination, if it happens. '

'No officer can bear with an open insult, Lena. '

'I shall not sit and see harm done to my old playmate, Anna. '

'Beware of betraying yourself for one who detests you. '

A grand duo between Montini and Vittoria silenced all converse. Camillatells Camillo of her dream. He pledges his oath to discover her mother, if alive; if dead, to avenge her. Camilla says she believes her motheris in the dungeons of Count Orso's castle. The duo tasked Vittoria'sexecution of florid passages; it gave evidence of her sound artisticpowers. 

'I was a fool, ' thought Antonio-Pericles; 'I flung my bouquet with theherd. I was a fool! I lost my head!'

He tapped angrily at the little ink-flask in his coat-pocket. The firstact, after scenes between false Camillo and Michiella, ends withthe marriage of Camillo and Camilla;--a quatuor composed of Montini, Vittoria, Irma, and Lebruno. Michiella is in despair; Count Orso isprofoundly sonorous with paternity and devotion to the law. He hasrestored to Camilla a portion of her mother's sequestrated estates. A portion of the remainder will be handed over to her when he hashad experience of her husband's good behaviour. The rest he considerslegally his own by right of (Treaties), and by right of possession anddocuments his sword. Yonder castle he must keep. It is the key ofall his other territories. Without it, his position will be insecure. (Allusion to the Austrian argument that the plains of Lombardy are thestrategic defensive lines of the Alps. )

Agostino, pursued by his terror of anticlimax, ran from the sight ofVittoria when she was called, after the fall of the curtain. He made hisway to Rocco Ricci (who had given his bow to the public from hisperch), and found the maestro drinking Asti to counteract his naturalexcitement. Rocco told Agostino, that up to the last moment, neither henor any soul behind the scenes knew Vittoria would be able to appear, except that she had sent a note to him with a pledge to be in readinessfor the call. Irma had come flying in late, enraged, and in disorder, praying to take Camilla's part; but Montini refused to act withthe seconda donna as prima donna. They had commenced the opera inuncertainty whether it could go on beyond the situation where Camillapresents herself. 'I was prepared to throw up my baton, ' said Rocco, 'and publicly to charge the Government with the rape of our prima donna. Irma I was ready to replace. I could have filled that gap. ' He spoke ofVittoria's triumph. Agostino's face darkened. 'Ha!' said he, 'providedwe don't fall flat, like your Asti with the cork out. I should havepreferred an enthusiasm a trifle more progressive. The notion oftravelling backwards is upon me forcibly, after that tempest ofacclamation. '

'Or do you think that you have put your best poetry in the first Act?'Rocco suggested with malice. 

'Not a bit of it!' Agostino repudiated the idea very angrily, and puffedand puffed. Yet he said, 'I should not be lamenting if the opera werestopped at once. '

'No!' cried Rocco; 'let us have our one night. I bargain for that. Medole has played us false, but we go on. We are victims already, myAgostino. '

'But I do stipulate, ' said Agostino, 'that my jewel is not to meltherself in the cup to-night. I must see her. As it is, she is inevitablydown in the list for a week's or a month's incarceration. '

Antonio-Pericles had this, in his case, singular piece of delicacy, thathe refrained from the attempt to see Vittoria immediately after hehad flung his magnificent bouquet of treasure at her feet. In hisintoxication with the success which he had foreseen and cradled to itsapogee, he was now reckless of any consequences. He felt ready to takepatriotic Italy in his arms, provided that it would succeed as Vittoriahad done, and on the spot. Her singing of the severe phrases of theopening chant, or hymn, had turned the man, and for a time had put a newheart in him. The consolation was his also, that he had rewarded it themost splendidly--as it were, in golden italics of praise; so thather forgiveness of his disinterested endeavour to transplant her wascertain, and perhaps her future implicit obedience or allegiance bought. Meeting General Pierson, the latter rallied him. 

'Why, my fine Pericles, your scheme to get this girl out of the waywas capitally concerted. My only fear is that on another occasion theGovernment will take another view of it and you. '

Pericles shrugged. 'The Gods, my dear General, decree. I did my best tolay a case before them; that is all. '

'Ah, well! I am of opinion you will not lay many other cases before theGods who rule in Milan. '

'I have helped them to a good opera. '

'Are you aware that this opera consists entirely of politicalallusions?'

General Pierson spoke offensively, as the urbane Austrian militarypermitted themselves to do upon occasion when addressing the conqueredor civilians. 

'To me, ' returned Pericles, 'an opera--it is music. I know no more. '

'You are responsible for it, ' said the General, harshly. 'It was takenupon trust from you. '

'Brutal Austrians!' Pericles murmured. 'And you do not think much of hervoice, General?'

'Pretty fair, sir. '

'What wonder she does not care to open her throat to these swine!'thought the changed Greek. 

Vittoria's door was shut to Agostino. No voice within gave answer. Hetried the lock of the door, and departed. She sat in a stupor. It washarder for her to make a second appearance than it was to make thefirst, when the shameful suspicion cruelly attached to her had helped tobalance her steps with rebellious pride; and more, the great collectedwave of her ambitious years of girlhood had cast her forward to thespot, as in a last effort for consummation. Now that she had won thepublic voice (love, her heart called it) her eyes looked inward; shemeditated upon what she had to do, and coughed nervously. She frightenedherself with her coughing, and shivered at the prospect of again goingforward in the great nakedness of stagelights and thirsting eyes. And, moreover, she was not strengthened by the character of the music and thepoetry of the second Act:--a knowledge of its somewhat inferior qualitymay possibly have been at the root of Agostino's dread of an anticlimax. The seconda donna had the chief part in it--notably an aria (Rocco hadgiven it to her in compassion) that suited Irma's pure shrieks and thetragic skeleton she could be. Vittoria knew how low she was sinking whenshe found her soul in the shallows of a sort of jealousy of Irma. For alittle space she lost all intimacy with herself; she looked at her facein the glass and swallowed water, thinking that she had strained a dreamand confused her brain with it. The silence of her solitary room comingupon the blaze of light the colour and clamour of the house, and thestrange remembrance of the recent impersonation of an ideal character, smote her with the sense of her having fallen from a mighty eminence, and that she lay in the dust. All those incense-breathing flowers heapedon her table seemed poisonous, and reproached her as a delusion. She satcrouching alone till her tirewomen called; horrible talkative things!her own familiar maid Giacinta being the worst to bear with. 

Now, Michiella, by making love to Leonardo, Camillo's associate, discovers that Camillo is conspiring against her father. She utters toLeonardo very pleasant promises indeed, if he will betray his friend. Leonardo, a wavering baritono, complains that love should ask forany return save in the coin of the empire of love. He is seduced, andinvokes a malediction upon his head should he accomplish what he hassworn to perform. Camilla reposes perfect confidence in this wretch, andbrings her more doubtful husband to be of her mind. 

Camillo and Camilla agree to wear the mask of a dissipated couple. They throw their mansion open; dicing, betting, intriguing, revellings, maskings, commence. Michiella is courted ardently by Camillo; Camillatrifles with Leonardo and with Count Orso alternately. Jealous againof Camilla, Michiella warns and threatens Leonardo; but she becomesCamillo's dupe, partly from returning love, partly from desire forvengeance on her rival. Camilla persuades Orso to discard Michiella. Theinfatuated count waxes as the personification of portentous burlesque;he is having everything his own way. The acting throughout--owing tothe real gravity of the vast basso Lebruno's burlesque, and Vittoria'sarchness--was that of high comedy with a lurid background. Vittoriashowed an enchanting spirit of humour. She sang one bewitching barcarolethat set the house in rocking motion. There was such melancholy in herheart that she cast herself into all the flippancy with abandonment. The Act was weak in too distinctly revealing the finger of the poeticpolitical squib at a point here and there. The temptation to do it ofan Agostino, who had no other outlet, had been irresistible, and he satmoaning over his artistic depravity, now that it stared him in the face. Applause scarcely consoled him, and it was with humiliation of mind thathe acknowledged his debt to the music and the singers, and how littlethey owed to him. 

Now Camillo is pleased to receive the ardent passion of his wife, andthe masking suits his taste, but it is the vice of his character thathe cannot act to any degree subordinately in concert; he insists uponpositive headship!--(allusion to an Italian weakness for sovereignties;it passed unobserved, and chuckled bitterly over his excess ofsubtlety). Camillo cannot leave the scheming to her. He pursuesMichiella to subdue her with blandishments. Reproaches cease upon herpart. There is a duo between them. They exchange the silver keys, whichexpress absolute intimacy, and give mutual freedom of access. Camillocan now secrete his followers in the castle; Michiella can enterCamilla's blue-room, and ravage her caskets for treasonablecorrespondence. Artfully she bids him reflect on what she is forfeitingfor him; and so helps him to put aside the thought of that which he alsomay be imperilling. 

Irma's shrill crescendos and octave-leaps, assisted by her peculiarattitudes of strangulation, came out well in this scene. The murmursconcerning the sour privileges to be granted by a Lazzeruola wereinaudible. But there has been a witness to the stipulation. Theever-shifting baritono, from behind a pillar, has joined in with anaside phrase here and there. Leonardo discovers that his fealty toCamilla is reviving. He determines to watch over her. Camillo now tossesa perfumed handkerchief under his nose, and inhales the coxcombicalincense of the idea that he will do all without Camilla's aid, tosurprise her; thereby teaching her to know him to be somewhat a hero. She has played her part so thoroughly that he can choose to fancy hera giddy person; he remarks upon the frequent instances of girls who intheir girlhood were wild dreamers becoming after marriage wild wives. His followers assemble, that he may take advantage of the exchangedkey of silver. He is moved to seek one embrace of Camilla before theconflict:--she is beautiful! There was never such beauty as hers! Hegoes to her in the fittest preparation for the pangs of jealousy. But hehas not been foremost in practising the uses of silver keys. Michiella, having first arranged with her father to be before Camillo's doors at acertain hour with men-at-arms, is in Camilla's private chamber, with herhand upon a pregnant box of ebony wood, when she is startled by a noise, and slips into concealment. Leonardo bursts through the casement window. Camilla then appears. Leonardo stretches the tips of his fingers out toher; on his knees confesses his guilt and warns her. Camillo comes in. Thrusting herself before him, Michiella points to the stricken couple'See! it is to show you this that I am here. ' Behold occasion for agrand quatuor!

While confessing his guilt to Camilla, Leonardo has excused it by anemphatic delineation of Michiella's magic sway over him. (Leonardo, infact, is your small modern Italian Machiavelli, overmatched in cunning, for the reason that he is always at a last moment the victim of hispoor bit of heart or honesty: he is devoid of the inspiration of greatpatriotic aims. ) If Michiella (Austrian intrigue) has any love, it isfor such a tool. She cannot afford to lose him. She pleads for him; and, as Camilla is silent on his account, the cynical magnanimity of Camillois predisposed to spare a fangless snake. Michiella withdraws him fromthe naked sword to the back of the stage. The terrible repudiation sceneensues, in which Camillo casts off his wife. If it was a puzzle to oneItalian half of the audience, the other comprehended it perfectly, andwith rapture. It was thus that YOUNG ITALY had too often been treatedby the compromising, merely discontented, dallying aristocracy. Camillacries to him, 'Have faith in me! have faith in me! have faith in me!'That is the sole answer to his accusations, his threats of eternalloathing, and generally blustering sublimities. She cannot defendherself; she only knows her innocence. He is inexorable, being theguilty one of the two. Turning from him with crossed arms, Camillasings:

'Mother! it is my fate that I should know Thy miseries, and in thyfootprints go. Grief treads the starry places of the earth: In thy longtrack I feel who gave me birth. I am alone; a wife without a lord; Myhome is with the stranger--home abhorr'd!--But that I trust to meet thyspirit there. Mother of Sorrows! joy thou canst not share: So let mewander in among the tombs, Among the cypresses and the withered blooms. Thy soul is with dead suns: there let me be; A silent thing that sharesthy veil with thee. '

The wonderful viol-like trembling of the contralto tones thrilledthrough the house. It was the highest homage to Vittoria that no longerany shouts arose nothing but a prolonged murmur, as when one tellsanother a tale of deep emotion, and all exclamations, all ulteriorthoughts, all gathered tenderness of sensibility, are reserved for theclose, are seen heaping for the close, like waters above a dam. The flattery of beholding a great assembly of human creatures boundglittering in wizard subservience to the voice of one soul, belongs tothe artist, and is the cantatrice's glory, pre-eminent over whateverpoor glory this world gives. She felt it, but she felt it as somethingapart. Within her was the struggle of Italy calling to Italy: Italy'sshame, her sadness, her tortures, her quenchless hope, and the view ofFreedom. It sent her blood about her body in rebellious volumes. Once itcompletely strangled her notes. She dropped the ball of her chin in herthroat; paused without ceremony; and recovered herself. Vittoria had toosevere an artistic instinct to court reality; and as much as she couldshe from that moment corrected the underlinings of Agostino's libretto. 

On the other hand, Irma fell into all his traps, and painted herAustrian heart with a prodigal waste of colour and frank energy:

 'Now Leonardo is my tool: Camilla is my slave: And she I hate goes forth to cool Her rage beyond the wave. Joy! joy! Paid am I in full coin for my caressing; I take, but give nought, ere the priestly blessing. '

A subtle distinction. She insists upon her reverence for the priestly(papistical) blessing, while she confides her determination to haveit dispensed with in Camilla's case. Irma's known sympathies with theAustrian uniform seasoned the ludicrousness of many of the double-edgedverses which she sang or declaimed in recitative. The irony ofapplauding her vehemently was irresistible. 

Camilla is charged with conspiracy, and proved guilty by her ownadmission. 

The Act ends with the entry of Count Orso and his force; conspiratorsoverawed; Camilla repudiated; Count Orso imperially just; Leonardochagrined; Camillo pardoned; Michiella triumphant. Camillo sacrificeshis wife for safety. He holds her estates; and therefore Count Orso, whose respect for law causes him to have a keen eye for matrimonialalliances, is now paternally willing, and even anxious to bestowMichiella upon him when the Pontifical divorce can be obtained; so thatthe long-coveted fruitful acres may be in the family. The chorus singsa song of praise to Hymen, the 'builder of great Houses. ' Camilla goesforth into exile. The word was not spoken, but the mention of 'bread ofstrangers, strange faces, cold climes, ' said sufficient. 

'It is a question whether we ought to sit still and see a firebrandflashed in our faces, ' General Pierson remarked as the curtain fell. Hewas talking to Major de Pyrmont outside the Duchess of Graatli's box. Two General officers joined them, and presently Count Serabiglione, withhis courtly semi-ironical smile, on whom they straightway turned theirbacks. The insult was happily unseen, and the count caressed his shavenchin and smiled himself onward. The point for the officers to decidewas, whether they dared offend an enthusiastic house--the fiery coreof the population of Milan--by putting a stop to the opera before worseshould come. 

Their own views were entirely military; but they were paralyzed by therecent pseudo-liberalistic despatches from Vienna; and agreed, withsome malice in their shrugs, that the odium might as well be left on theshoulders of the bureau which had examined the libretto. In fact, theysaw that there would be rank peril in attempting to arrest the course ofthings within the walls of the house. 

'The temper this people is changeing oddly, ' said General Pierson. Majorde Pyrmont listened awhile to what they had to say, and returned to theduchess. Amalia wrote these lines to Laura:--'If she sings that song sheis to be seized on the wings of the stage. I order my carriage to be inreadiness to take her whither she should have gone last night. Do youcontrive only her escape from the house. Georges de P. Will aid you. Iadore the naughty rebel!'

Major de Pyrmont delivered the missive at Laura's box. He went down tothe duchess's chasseur, and gave him certain commands and money for ajourney. Looking about, he beheld Wilfrid, who implored him to take hisplace for two minutes. De Pyrmont laughed. 'She is superb, my friend. Come up with me. I am going behind the scenes. The unfortunateimpresario is a ruined man; let us both condole with him. It is possiblethat he has children, and children like bread. '

Wilfrid was linking his arm to De Pyrmont's, when, with a vividrecollection of old times, he glanced at his uniform with Vittoria'seyes. 'She would spit at me!' he muttered, and dropped behind. 

Up in her room Vittoria held council with Rocco, Agostino, and theimpresario, Salvolo, who was partly their dupe. Salvolo had laid afreshly-written injunction from General Pierson before her, biddinghim to exclude the chief solo parts from the Third Act, and to bringit speedily to a termination. His case was, that he had been readyto forfeit much if a rising followed; but that simply to beard theauthorities was madness. He stated his case by no means as a pleader, although the impression made on him by the prima donna's success causedhis urgency to be civil. 

'Strike out what you please, ' said Vittoria. 

Agostino smote her with a forefinger. 'Rogue! you deserve an imperialcrown. You have been educated for monarchy. You are ready enough todispense with what you don't care for, and what is not your own. '

Much of the time was lost by Agostino's dispute with Salvolo. Theyhaggled and wrangled laughingly over this and that printed aria, butit was a deplorable deception of the unhappy man; and with Vittoria'sstronger resolve to sing the incendiary song, the more necessary it wasfor her to have her soul clear of deceit. She said, 'Signor Salvolo, you have been very kind to me, and I would do nothing to hurt yourinterests. I suppose you must suffer for being an Italian, like the restof us. The song I mean to sing is not written or printed. What is inthe book cannot harm you, for the censorship has passed it; and surelyI alone am responsible for singing what is not in the book--I and themaestro. He supports me. We have both taken precautions' (she smiled)'to secure our property. If you are despoiled, we will share with you. And believe, oh! in God's name, believe that you will not suffer to nopurpose!'

Salvolo started from her in a horror of amazement. He declared that hehad been miserably deceived and entrapped. He threatened to send thecompany to their homes forthwith. 'Dare to!' said Agostino; and to judgeby the temper of the house, it was only too certain, that if he did so, La Scala would be a wrecked tenement in the eye of morning. But Agostinobacked his entreaty to her to abjure that song; Rocco gave way, andhalf shyly requested her to think of prudence. She remembered Laura, andCarlo, and her poor little frightened foreign mother. Her intenseideal conception of her duty sank and danced within her brain as thepilot-star dances on the bows of a tossing vessel. All were against her, as the tempest is against the ship. Even light above (by which I wouldimage that which she could appeal to pleading in behalf of the wisdomof her obstinate will) was dyed black in the sweeping obscuration; shefailed to recollect a sentence that was to be said to vindicate hersettled course. Her sole idea was her holding her country by an unseenthread, and of the everlasting welfare of Italy being jeopardized if sherelaxed her hold. Simple obstinacy of will sustained her. 

You mariners batten down the hatchways when the heavens are dark andseas are angry. Vittoria, with the same faith in her instinct, shut theavenues to her senses--would see nothing, hear nothing. The impresario'sfigure of despair touched her later. Giacinta drove him forth in the actof smiting his forehead with both hands. She did the same for Agostinoand Rocco, who were not demonstrative. 

They knew that by this time the agents of the Government were in allprobability ransacking their rooms, and confiscating their goods. 

'Is your piano hired?' quoth the former. 

'No, ' said the latter, 'are your slippers?'

They went their separate ways, laughing. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE THIRD ACT

The libretto of the Third Act was steeped in the sentiment of YoungItaly. I wish that I could pipe to your mind's hearing any notion of thefine music of Rocco Ricci, and touch you to feel the revelations whichwere in this new voice. Rocco and Vittoria gave the verses a life thatcannot belong to them now; yet, as they contain much of the vital spiritof the revolt, they may assist you to some idea of the faith animatingits heads, and may serve to justify this history. 

Rocco's music in the opera of Camilla had been sprung from a freshItalian well; neither the elegiac-melodious, nor the sensuous-lyrical, nor the joyous buffo; it was severe as an old masterpiece, with veinsof buoyant liveliness threading it, and with sufficient distinctness ofmelody to enrapture those who like to suck the sugarplums of sound. He would indeed have favoured the public with more sweet things, butVittoria, for whom the opera was composed, and who had been at hiselbow, was young, and stern in her devotion to an ideal of classicalmusic that should elevate and never stoop to seduce or to flatterthoughtless hearers. Her taste had directed as her voice had inspiredthe opera. Her voice belonged to the order of the simply great voices, and was a royal voice among them. Pure without attenuation, passionatewithout contortion, when once heard it exacted absolute confidence. On this night her theme and her impersonation were adventitiousintroductions, but there were passages when her artistic pre-eminenceand the sovereign fulness and fire of her singing struck a note ofgrateful remembered delight. This is what the great voice does for us. It rarely astonishes our ears. It illumines our souls, as you seethe lightning make the unintelligible craving darkness leap into longmountain ridges, and twisting vales, and spires of cities, and innerrecesses of light within light, rose-like, toward a central core ofviolet heat. 

At the rising of the curtain the knights of the plains, Rudolfo, Romualdo, Arnoldo, and others, who were conspiring to overthrow CountOrso at the time when Camillo's folly ruined all, assemble to deploreCamilla's banishment, and show, bereft of her, their helplessnessand indecision. They utter contempt of Camillo, who is this day to bePontifically divorced from his wife to espouse the detested Michiella. His taste is not admired. 

They pass off. Camillo appears. He is, as he knows, little better thana pensioner in Count Orso's household. He holds his lands on sufferance. His faculties are paralyzed. He is on the first smooth shoulder-slopeof the cataract. He knows that not only was his jealousy of his wifegroundless, but it was forced by a spleenful pride. What is there todo? Nothing, save resignedly to prepare for his divorce from theconspiratrix Camilla and espousals with Michiella. The cup is bitter, and his song is mournful. He does the rarest thing a man will do in sucha predicament--he acknowledges that he is going to get his deserts. Thefaithfulness and purity of Camilla have struck his inner consciousness. He knows not where she may be. He has secretly sent messengers in alldirections to seek her, and recover her, and obtain her pardon: in vain. It is as well, perhaps, that he should never see her more. Accursed, hehas cast off his sweetest friend. The craven heart could never beat inunison with hers. 

'She is in the darkness: I am in the light. I am a blot upon the light;she is light in the darkness. '

Montini poured this out with so fine a sentiment that the impatienceof the house for sight of its heroine was quieted. But Irma and Lebrunocame forward barely under tolerance. 

'We might as well be thumping a tambourine, ' said Lebruno, during acaress. Irma bit her underlip with mortification. Their notes fell flatas bullets against a wall. 

This circumstance aroused the ire of Antonio-Pericles against thelibretto and revolutionists. 'I perceive, ' he said, grinning savagely, 'it has come to be a concert, not an opera; it is a musical harangue inthe marketplace. Illusion goes: it is politics here!'

Carlo Ammiani was sitting with his mother and Luciano breathlesslyawaiting the entrance of Vittoria. The inner box-door was rudely shaken:beneath it a slip of paper had been thrust. He read a warning to himto quit the house instantly. Luciano and his mother both counselled hisdeparture. The detestable initials 'B. R. , ' and the one word 'Sbirri, 'revealed who had warned, and what was the danger. His friend's adviceand the commands of his mother failed to move him. 'When I have seen hersafe; not before, ' he said. 

Countess Ammiani addressed Luciano: 'This is a young man's love for awoman. '

'The woman is worth it, ' Luciano replied. 

'No woman is worth the sacrifice of a mother and of a relative. '

'Dearest countess, ' said Luciano, 'look at the pit; it's a cauldron. We shall get him out presently, have no fear: there will soon be hubbubenough to let Lucifer escape unseen. If nothing is done to-night, heand I will be off to the Lago di Garda to-morrow morning, and fish andshoot, and talk with Catullus. '

The countess gazed on her son with sorrowful sternness. His eyes hadtaken that bright glazed look which is an indication of frozen brain andturbulent heart--madness that sane men enamoured can be struck by. Sheknew there was no appeal to it. 

A very dull continuous sound, like that of an angry swarm, or more likea rapid mufed thrumming of wires, was heard. The audience had caughtview of a brown-coated soldier at one of the wings. The curious Croathad merely gratified a desire to have a glance at the semicircle ofcrowded heads; he withdrew his own, but not before he had awakened thewild beast in the throng. Yet a little while and the roar of the beastswould have burst out. It was thought that Vittoria had been seizedor interdicted from appearing. Conspirators--the knights of theplains--meet: Rudolfos, Romualdos, Arnoldos, and others, --so that youknow Camilla is not idle. She comes on in the great scene which closesthe opera. 

It is the banqueting hall of the castle. The Pontifical divorce isspread upon the table. Courtly friends, guards, and a choric bridalcompany, form a circle. 

'I have obtained it, ' says Count Orso: 'but at a cost. '

Leonardo, wavering eternally, lets us know that it is weighted with aproviso: IF Camilla shall not present herself within a certain term, this being the last day of it. Camillo comes forward. Too late, he hasperceived his faults and weakness. He has cast his beloved from his armsto clasp them on despair. The choric bridal company gives interveningstrophes. Cavaliers enter. 'Look at them well, ' says Leonardo. Theyare the knights of the plains. 'They have come to mock me, ' Camilloexclaims, and avoids them. 

Leonardo, Michiella, and Camillo now sing a trio that is tricuspidato, or a three-pointed manner of declaring their divergent sentiments inharmony. The fast-gathering cavaliers lend masculine character tothe choric refrains at every interval. Leonardo plucks Michiellaentreatingly by the arm. She spurns him. He has served her; she needshim no more; but she will recommend him in other quarters, and bidshim to seek them. 'I will give thee a collar for thy neck, marked"Faithful. " It is the utmost I can do for thy species. ' Leonardo thinksthat he is insulted, but there is a vestige of doubt in him still. 'Sheis so fair! she dissembles so magnificently ever!' She has previouslytold him that she is acting a part, as Camilla did. Irma had shed allher hair from a golden circlet about her temples, barbarian-wise. SomeHunnish grandeur pertained to her appearance, and partly excused theinfatuated wretch who shivered at her disdain and exulted over herbeauty and artfulness. 

In the midst of the chorus there is one veiled figure and one voicedistinguishable. This voice outlives the rest at every strophe, andcontrives to add a supplemental antiphonic phrase that recalls in turnthe favourite melodies of the opera. Camillo hears it, but takes it asa delusion of impassioned memory and a mere theme for the recurringmelodious utterance of his regrets. Michiella hears it. She chimes withthe third notes of Camillo's solo to inform us of her suspicions thatthey have a serpent among them. Leonardo hears it. The trio is formed. Count Orso, without hearing it, makes a quatuor by inviting the bridalcouple to go through the necessary formalities. The chorus changes itsmeasure to one of hymeneals. The unknown voice closes it ominously withthree bars in the minor key. Michiella stalks close around the ranksingers like an enraged daughter of Attila. Stopping in front of theveiled figure, she says: 'Why is it thou wearest the black veil at mynuptials?'

'Because my time of mourning is not yet ended. '

'Thou standest the shadow in my happiness. '

'The bright sun will have its shadow. '

'I desire that all rejoice this day. '

'My hour of rejoicing approaches. '

'Wilt thou unveil?'

'Dost thou ask to look the storm in the face?'

'Wilt thou unveil?'

'Art thou hungry for the lightning?'

'I bid thee unveil, woman!'

Michiella's ringing shriek of command produces no response. 

'It is she!' cries Michiella, from a contracted bosom; smiting it withclenched hands. 

'Swift to the signatures. O rival! what bitterness hast thou come hitherto taste. '

Camilla sings aside: 'If yet my husband loves me and is true. '

Count Orso exclaims: 'Let trumpets sound for the commencement of thefestivities. The lord of his country may slumber while his people danceand drink!'

Trumpets flourish. Witnesses are called about the table. Camillo, penin hand, prepares for the supreme act. Leonardo at one wing watchesthe eagerness of Michiella. The chorus chants to a muted measure ofsuspense, while Camillo dips pen in ink. 

'She is away from me: she scorns me: she is lost to me. Life withouthonour is the life of swine. Union without love is the yoke of savagebeasts. O me miserable! Can the heavens themselves plumb the depth of mydegradation?'

Count Orso permits a half-tone of paternal severity to point his kindlyhint that time is passing. When he was young, he says, in the broadand benevolently frisky manner, he would have signed ere the eye of themaiden twinkled her affirmative, or the goose had shed its quill. 

Camillo still trifles. Then he dashes the pen to earth. 

'Never! I have but one wife. Our marriage is irrevocable. Thedishonoured man is the everlasting outcast. What are earthly possessionsto me, if within myself shame faces me? Let all go. Though I have lostCamilla, I will be worthy of her. Not a pen no pen; it is the sword thatI must write with. Strike, O count! I am here: I stand alone. By theedge of this sword, I swear that never deed of mine shall rob Camilla ofher heritage; though I die the death, she shall not weep for a craven!'

The multitude break away from Camilla--veiled no more, but radiant;fresh as a star that issues through corrupting vapours, and with hervoice at a starry pitch in its clear ascendency:

 'Tear up the insufferable scroll!-- O thou, my lover and my soul! It is the Sword that reunites; The Pen that our perdition writes. '

She is folded in her husband's arms. 

Michiella fronts them, horrid of aspect:--

 'Accurst divorced one! dost thou dare To lie in shameless fondness there? Abandoned! on thy lying brow Thy name shall be imprinted now. '

Camilla parts from her husband's embrace:

 'My name is one I do not fear; 'Tis one that thou wouldst shrink to hear. Go, cool thy penitential fires, Thou creature, foul with base desires!'

 CAMILLO (facing Count Orso). 

 'The choice is thine!'

 COUNT ORSO (draws). 

 'The choice is made!'

 CHORUS (narrowing its circle). 

 'Familiar is that naked blade. Of others, of himself, the fate How swift 'tis Provocation's mate!'

 MICHIELLA (torn with jealous rage). 

 'Yea; I could smite her on the face. Father, first read the thing's disgrace. I grudge them, honourable death. Put poison in their latest breath!'

 ORSO (his left arm extended). 

 'You twain are sundered: hear with awe The judgement of the Source of Law. '

 CAMILLA (smiling confidently). 

 'Not such, when I was at the Source, It said to me;--but take thy course. '

 ORSO (astounded). 

 'Thither thy steps were bent?'

 MICHIELLA (spurning verbal controversy). 

 'She feigns! A thousand swords are in my veins. Friends! soldiers I strike them down, the pair!'

 CAMILLO (on guard, clasping his wife). 

 ''Tis well! I cry, to all we share. Yea, life or death, 'tis well! 'tis well!'

 MICHIELLA (stamps her foot). 

 'My heart 's a vessel tossed on hell!'

 LEONARDO (aside). 

 'Not in glad nuptials ends the day. '

 ORSO (to Camilla). 

 'What is thy purpose with us?--say!'

 CAMILLA (lowly). 'Unto my Father I have crossed For tidings of my Mother lost. '

 ORSO. 'Thy mother dead!'

 CAMILLA. 'She lives!'

 MICHIELLA. 'Thou liest! The tablets of the tomb defiest! The Fates denounce, the Furies chase The wretch who lies in Reason's face. '

 CAMILLA. 'Fly, then; for we are match'd to try Which is the idiot, thou or I'

 MICHIELLA. Graceless Camilla!'

 ORSO 'Senseless girl! I cherished thee a precious pearl, And almost owned thee child of mine. '

 CAMILLA. 'Thou kept'st me like a gem, to shine, Careless that I of blood am made; No longer be the end delay'd. 'Tis time to prove I have a heart-- Forth from these walls of mine depart! The ghosts within them are disturb'd Go forth, and let thy wrath be curb'd, For I am strong: Camillo's truth Has arm'd the visions of our youth. Our union by the Head Supreme Is blest: our severance was the dream. We who have drunk of blood and tears, Knew nothing of a mortal's fears. Life is as Death until the strife In our just cause makes Death as Life. '

 ORSO ''Tis madness?'

 LEONARDO. 'Is it madness?'

 CAMILLA. 'Men! 'Tis Reason, but beyond your ken. There lives a light that none can view Whose thoughts are brutish:--seen by few, The few have therefore light divine Their visions are God's legions!--sign, I give you; for we stand alone, And you are frozen to the bone. Your palsied hands refuse their swords. A sharper edge is in my words, A deadlier wound is in my cry. Yea, tho' you slay us, do we die? In forcing us to bear the worst, You made of us Immortals first. Away! and trouble not my sight. '

 Chorus of Cavaliers: RUDOLFO, ROMUALDO, ARNOLDO, and others. 

 'She moves us with an angel's might. What if his host outnumber ours! 'Tis heaven that gives victorious powers. '

 [They draw their steel. ORSO, simulating gratitude for their devotion to him, addresses them as to pacify their friendly ardour. ]

 MICHIELLA to LEONARDO (supplicating). 'Ever my friend I shall I appeal In vain to see thy flashing steel?'

 LEONARDO (finally resolved). 'Traitress! pray, rather, it may rest, Or its first home will be thy breast. '

 Chorus of Bridal Company. 'The flowers from bright Aurora's head We pluck'd to strew a happy bed, Shall they be dipp'd in blood ere night? Woe to the nuptials! woe the sight!'

Rudolfo, Romualdo, Arnoldo, and the others, advance toward Camillo. Michiella calls to them encouragingly that it were well for the deed tobe done by their hands. They bid Camillo to direct their lifted swordsupon his enemies. Leonardo joins them. Count Orso, after a burst ofupbraidings, accepts Camillo's offer of peace, and gives his bond toquit the castle. Michiella, gazing savagely at Camilla, entreats her foran utterance of her triumphant scorn. She assures Camilla that she knowsher feelings accurately. 

'Now you think that I am overwhelmed; that I shall have a restlessnight, and lie, after all my crying's over, with my hair spread outon my pillow, on either side my face, like green moss of a witheredwaterfall: you think you will bestow a little serpent of a gift frommy stolen treasures to comfort me. You will comfort me with a lock ofCamillo's hair, that I may have it on my breast to-night, and dream, andwail, and writhe, and curse the air I breathe, and clasp the abominableemptiness like a thousand Camillos. Speak!'

The dagger is seen gleaming up Michiella's wrist; she steps on in a bonytriangle, faced for mischief: a savage Hunnish woman, with the hair of aGoddess--the figure of a cat taking to its forepaws. Close upon Camillashe towers in her whole height, and crying thrice, swift as the assassintrebles his blow, 'Speak, ' to Camilla, who is fronting her mildly, sheraises her arm, and the stilet flashes into Camilla's bosom. 

 'Die then, and outrage me no more. '

Camilla staggers to her husband. Camillo receives her falling. Michiella, seized by Leonardo, presents a stiffened shape of vengeancewith fierce white eyes and dagger aloft. There are many shouts, andthere is silence. 

 CAMILLA, supported by CAMILLO. 'If this is death, it is not hard to bear. Your handkerchief drinks up my blood so fast It seems to love it. Threads of my own hair Are woven in it. 'Tis the one I cast That midnight from my window, when you stood Alone, and heaven seemed to love you so! I did not think to wet it with my blood When next I tossed it to my love below. '

 CAMILLO (cherishing her). 'Camilla, pity! say you will not die. Your voice is like a soul lost in the sky. '

 CAMILLA. 

 'I know not if my soul has flown; I know My body is a weight I cannot raise: My voice between them issues, and I go Upon a journey of uncounted days. Forgetfulness is like a closing sea; But you are very bright above me still. My life I give as it was given to me I enter on a darkness wide and chill. '

 CAMILLO. 'O noble heart! a million fires consume The hateful hand that sends you to your doom. '

 CAMILLA. 'There is an end to joy: there is no end To striving; therefore ever let us strive In purity that shall the toil befriend, And keep our poor mortality alive. I hang upon the boundaries like light Along the hills when downward goes the day I feel the silent creeping up of night. For you, my husband, lies a flaming way. '

 CAMILLO. 'I lose your eyes: I lose your voice: 'tis faint. Ah, Christ! see the fallen eyelids of a saint. '

 CAMILLA. 'Our life is but a little holding, lent To do a mighty labour: we are one With heaven and the stars when it is spent To serve God's aim: else die we with the sun. '

She sinks. Camillo droops his head above her. 

The house was hushed as at a veritable death-scene. It was more like acathedral service than an operatic pageant. Agostino had done his bestto put the heart of the creed of his Chief into these last verses. Rocco's music floated them in solemn measures, and Vittoria had beencareful to articulate throughout the sacred monotony so that their fullmeaning should be taken. 

In the printed book of the libretto a chorus of cavaliers, followed byone harmless verse of Camilla's adieux to them, and to her husband andlife, concluded the opera. 

'Let her stop at that--it's enough!--and she shall be untouched, ' saidGeneral Pierson to Antonio-Pericles. 

'I have information, as you know, that an extremely impudent song iscoming. '

The General saw Wilfrid hanging about the lobby, in flagrantdisobedience to orders. Rebuking his nephew with a frown, he commandedthe lieutenant to make his way round to the stage and see that thecurtain was dropped according to the printed book. 

'Off, mon Dieu! off!' Pericles speeded him; adding in English, 'Shallshe taste prison-damp, zat voice is killed. '

The chorus of cavaliers was a lamentation: the keynote being despair:ordinary libretto verses. 

Camilla's eyes unclose. She struggles to be lifted, and, raised onCamillo's arm, she sings as if with the last pulsation of her voice, softly resonant in its rich contralto. She pardons Michiella. She tellsCount Orso that when he has extinguished his appetite for dominion, he will enjoy an unknown pleasure in the friendship of his neighbours. Repeating that her mother lives, and will some day kneel by herdaughter's grave--not mournfully, but in beatitude--she utters her adieuto all. 

At the moment of her doing so, Montini whispered in Vittoria's ear. She looked up and beheld the downward curl of the curtain. There wasconfusion at the wings: Croats were visible to the audience. CarloAmmiani and Luciano Romara jumped on the stage; a dozen of the nobleyouths of Milan streamed across the boards to either wing, and caughtthe curtain descending. The whole house had risen insurgent with criesof 'Vittoria. ' The curtain-ropes were in the hands of the Croats, butCarlo, Luciano, and their fellows held the curtain aloft at arm's lengthat each side of her. She was seen, and she sang, and the house listened. 

The Italians present, one and all, rose up reverently and murmured therefrain. Many of the aristocracy would, doubtless, have preferred thatthis public declaration of the plain enigma should not have rung forthto carry them on the popular current; and some might have sympathizedwith the insane grin which distorted the features of Antonio-Pericles, when he beheld illusion wantonly destroyed, and the opera reduced to bea mere vehicle for a fulmination of politics. But the general enthusiasmwas too tremendous to permit of individual protestations. To sit, whenthe nation was standing, was to be a German. Nor, indeed, was there anItalian in the house who would willingly have consented to see Vittoriasilenced, now that she had chosen to defy the Tedeschi from the boardsof La Scala. The fascination of her voice extended even over the Germandivision of the audience. They, with the Italians, said: 'Hear her! hearher!' The curtain was agitated at the wings, but in the centre it waskept above Vittoria's head by the uplifted arms of the twelve youngmen:--

 'I cannot count the years, That you will drink, like me, The cup of blood and tears, Ere she to you appears:-- Italia, Italia shall be free!'

So the great name was out, and its enemies had heard it. 

 'You dedicate your lives To her, and you will be The food on which she thrives, Till her great day arrives Italia, Italia shall be free!

 'She asks you but for faith! Your faith in her takes she As draughts of heaven's breath, Amid defeat and death:-- Italia, Italia shall be free!'

The prima donna was not acting exhaustion when sinking lower inMontini's arms. Her bosom rose and sank quickly, and she gave theterminating verse:--

 'I enter the black boat Upon the wide grey sea, Where all her set suns float; Thence hear my voice remote Italia, Italia shall be free!'

The curtain dropped. 

CHAPTER XXII

WILFRID COMES FORWARD

An order for the immediate arrest of Vittoria was brought round to thestage at the fall of the curtain by Captain Weisspriess, and deliveredby him on the stage to the officer commanding, a pothered lieutenant ofCroats, whose first proceeding was dictated by the military instinct toget his men in line, and who was utterly devoid of any subsequent idea. The thunder of the house on the other side of the curtain was enough todisconcert a youngster such as he was; nor have the subalterns ofCroat regiments a very signal reputation for efficiency in the AustrianService. Vittoria stood among her supporters apart; pale, and 'only verythirsty, ' as she told the enthusiastic youths who pressed near her, andimplored her to have no fear. Carlo was on her right hand; Lucianoon her left. They kept her from going off to her room. Montini wasdespatched to fetch her maid Giacinta with cloak and hood for hermistress. The young lieutenant of Croats drew his sword, but hesitated. Weisspriess, Wilfrid, and Major de Pyrmont were at one wing, between theItalian gentlemen and the soldiery. The operatic company had fallen intothe background, or stood crowding the side places of exit. Vittoria'sname was being shouted with that angry, sea-like, horrid monotonyof iteration which is more suggestive of menacing impatience and thepositive will of the people, than varied, sharp, imperative calls. Thepeople had got the lion in their throats. One shriek from her wouldbring them, like a torrent, on the boards, as the officers well knew;and every second's delay in executing the orders of the General added tothe difficulty of their position. The lieutenant of Croats strode upto Weisspriess and Wilfrid, who were discussing a plan of actionvehemently; while, amid hubbub and argument, De Pyrmont studiedVittoria's features through his opera-glass, with an admirable simplelanguor. 

Wilfrid turned back to him, and De Pyrmont, without altering the levelof his glass, said, 'She's as cool as a lemon-ice. That girl will be amother of heroes. To have volcanic fire and the mastery of her nerves atthe same time, is something prodigious. She is magnificent. Take a peepat her. I suspect that the rascal at her right is seizing his occasionto plant a trifle or so in her memory--the animal! It's just the moment, and he knows it. '

De Pyrmont looked at Wilfrid's face. 

'Have I hit you anywhere accidentally?' he asked, for the face had growndead-white. 

'Be my friend, for heaven's sake!' was the choking answer. 'Save her!Get her away! She is an old acquaintance of mine--of mine, in England. Do; or I shall have to break my sword. '

'You know her? and you don't go over to her?' said De Pyrmont. 

'I--yes, she knows me. '

'Then, why not present yourself?'

'Get her away. Talk Weisspriess down. He is for seizing her at allhazards. It 's madness to provoke a conflict. Just listen to the house!I may be broken, but save her I will. De Pyrmont, on my honour, I willstand by you for ever if you will help me to get her away. '

'To suggest my need in the hour of your own is not a bad notion, ' saidthe cool Frenchman. 'What plan have you?'

Wilfrid struck his forehead miserably. 

'Stop Lieutenant Zettlisch. Don't let him go up to her. Don't--'

De Pyrmont beheld in astonishment that a speechlessness such as affectscondemned wretches in the supreme last minutes of existence had comeupon the Englishman. 

'I'm afraid yours is a bad case, ' he said; 'and the worst of it is, it'sjust the case women have no compassion for. Here comes a parlementairefrom the opposite camp. Let's hear him. '

It was Luciano Romara. He stood before them to request that the curtainshould be raised. The officers debated together, and deemed it prudentto yield consent. 

Luciano stipulated further that the soldiers were to be withdrawn. 

'On one wing, or on both wings?' said Captain Weisspriess, twinklingeyes oblique. 

'Out of the house, ' said Luciano. 

The officers laughed. 

'You must confess, ' said De Pyrmont, affably, 'that though the drum doesissue command to the horse, it scarcely thinks of doing so after a rentin the skin has shown its emptiness. Can you suppose that we arelikely to run when we see you empty-handed? These things are matters ofcalculation. '

'It is for you to calculate correctly, ' said Luciano. 

As he spoke, a first surge of the exasperated house broke upon the stageand smote the curtain, which burst into white zigzags, as it were abreast stricken with panic. 

Giacinta came running in to her mistress, and cloaked and hooded herhurriedly. 

Enamoured; impassioned, Ammiani murmured in Vittoria's ear: 'My ownsoul!'

She replied: 'My lover!'

So their first love-speech was interchanged with Italian simplicity, andmade a divine circle about them in the storm. 

Luciano returned to his party to inform them that they held the key ofthe emergency. 

'Stick fast, ' he said. 'None of you move. Whoever takes the first steptakes the false step; I see that. '

'We have no arms, Luciano. '

'We have the people behind us. '

There was a fiercer tempest in the body of the house, and, on asudden, silence. Men who had invaded the stage joined the Italian guardsurrounding Vittoria, telling that the lights had been extinguished;and then came the muffled uproar of universal confusion. Some were forhanding her down into the orchestra, and getting her out through thegeneral vomitorium, but Carlo and Luciano held her firmly by them. Thetheatre was a rageing darkness; and there was barely a light on thestage. 'Santa Maria!' cried Giacinta, 'how dreadful that steel doeslook in the dark! I wish our sweet boys would cry louder. ' Her mistress, almost laughing, bade her keep close, and be still. 'Oh! this must belike being at sea, ' the poor creature whined, stopping her ears andshutting her eyes. Vittoria was in a thick gathering of her defenders;she could just hear that a parley was going on between Luciano and theAustrians. Luciano made his way back to her. 'Quick!' he said; 'nothingcows a mob like darkness. One of these officers tells me he knows you, and gives his word of honour--he's an Englishman--to conduct you out:come. '

Vittoria placed her hands in Carlo's one instant. Luciano cleared aspace for them. She heard a low English voice. 

'You do not recognize me? There is no time to lose. You had another nameonce, and I have had the honour to call you by it. '

'Are you an Austrian?' she exclaimed, and Carlo felt that she wasshrinking back. 

'I am the Wilfrid Pole whom you knew. You are entrusted to my charge; Ihave sworn to conduct you to the doors in safety, whatever it may costme. '

Vittoria looked at him mournfully. Her eyes filled with tears. 'Thenight is spoiled for me!' she murmured. 

'Emilia!'

'That is not my name. '

'I know you by no other. Have mercy on me. I would do anything in theworld to serve you. '

Major de Pyrmont came up to him and touched his arm. He said briefly:'We shall have a collision, to a certainty, unless the people hear fromone of her set that she is out of the house. '

Wilfrid requested her to confide her hand to him. 

'My hand is engaged, ' she said. 

Bowing ceremoniously, Wilfrid passed on, and Vittoria, with Carloand Luciano and her maid Giacinta, followed between files of bayonetsthrough the dusky passages, and downstairs into the night air. 

Vittoria spoke in Carlo's ear: 'I have been unkind to him. I had a greataffection for him in England. '

'Thank him; thank him, ' said Carlo. 

She quitted her lover's side and went up to Wilfrid with a shylyextended hand. A carriage was drawn up by the kerbstone; the doors ofit were open. She had barely made a word intelligible; when Major dePyrmont pointed to some officers approaching. 'Get her out of theway while there's time, ' he said in French to Luciano. 'This is hercarriage. Swiftly, gentlemen, or she's lost. '

Giacinta read his meaning by signs, and caught her mistress bythe sleeve, using force. She and Major de Pyrmont placed Vittoria, bewildered, in the carriage; De Pyrmont shut the door, and signalled tothe coachman. Vittoria thrust her head out for a last look at her lover, and beheld him with the arms of dark-clothed men upon him. La Scalawas pouring forth its occupants in struggling roaring shoals from everydoor. Her outcry returned to her deadened in the rapid rolling of thecarriage across the lighted Piazza. Giacinta had to hold her down withall her might. Great clamour was for one moment heard by them, and thena rushing voicelessness. Giacinta screamed to the coachman till she wasexhausted. Vittoria sank shuddering on the lap of her maid, hiding herface that she might plunge out of recollection. 

The lightnings shot across her brain, but wrote no legible thing; thescenes of the opera lost their outlines as in a white heat of fire. She tried to weep, and vainly asked her heart for tears, that this drydreadful blind misery of mere sensation might be washed out of her, andleave her mind clear to grapple with evil; and then, as the lurid breakscome in a storm-driven night sky, she had the picture of her lover inthe hands of enemies, and of Wilfrid in the white uniform; the tormentof her living passion, the mockery of her passion by-gone. Recollection, when it came back, overwhelmed her; she swayed from recollection tooblivion, and was like a caged wild thing. Giacinta had to be as amother with her. The poor trembling girl, who had begun to perceive thatthe carriage was bearing them to some unknown destination, tore open thebands of her corset and drew her mistress's head against the fullwarmth of her bosom, rocked her, and moaned over her, mixing comfort andlamentation in one offering, and so contrived to draw the tears out fromher, a storm of tears; not fitfully hysterical, but tears that poured ablack veil over the eyeballs, and fell steadily streaming. Once subduedby the weakness, Vittoria's nature melted; she shook piteously withweeping; she remembered Laura's words, and thought of what she had done, in terror and remorse, and tried to ask if the people would be fightingnow, but could not. Laura seemed to stand before her like a Furystretching her finger at the dear brave men whom she had hurled uponthe bayonets and the guns. It was an unendurable anguish. Giacintawas compelled to let her cry, and had to reflect upon their presentsituation unaided. They had passed the city gates. Voices on thecoachman's box had given German pass-words. She would have screamed thenhad not the carriage seemed to her a sanctuary from such creatures asforeign soldiers, whitecoats; so she cowered on. They were in the starryopen country, on the high-road between the vine-hung mulberry trees. Sheheld the precious head of her mistress, praying the Saints that strengthwould soon come to her to talk of their plight, or chatter a littlecomfortingly at least; and but for the singular sweetness which itshot thrilling to her woman's heart, she would have been fretted whenVittoria, after one long-drawn wavering sob, turned her lips to thebared warm breast, and put a little kiss upon it, and slept. 

CHAPTER XXIII

FIRST HOURS OF THE FLIGHT

Vittoria slept on like an outworn child, while Giacinta nodded over her, and started, and wondered what embowelled mountain they might be passingthrough, so cold was the air and thick the darkness; and wonderedmore at the old face of dawn, which appeared to know nothing of heragitation. But morning was better than night, and she ceased countingover her sins forward and backward; adding comments on them, excusingsome and admitting the turpitude of others, with 'Oh! I was naughty, padre mio! I was naughty--she huddled them all into one of memory'sspare sacks, and tied the neck of it, that they should keep safe for herfather-confessor. At such times, after a tumult of the blood, women havetender delight in one another's beauty. Giacinta doted on the marblecheek, upturned on her lap, with the black unbound locks slipping acrossit; the braid of the coronal of hair loosening; the chance flittingmovement of the pearly little dimple that lay at the edge of the bow ofthe joined lips, like the cradling hollow of a dream. At whiles it wouldtwitch; yet the dear eyelids continued sealed. 

Looking at shut eyelids when you love the eyes beneath, is more or lessa teazing mystery that draws down your mouth to kiss them. Their lashesseem to answer you in some way with infantine provocation; and fineeyelashes upon a face bent sideways, suggest a kind of internal smiling. Giacinta looked till she could bear it no longer; she kissed the cheek, and crooned over it, gladdened by a sense of jealous possession when shethought of the adored thing her mistress had been overnight. One of herhugs awoke Vittoria, who said, 'Shut my window, mother, ' and sleptagain fast. Giacinta saw that they were nearer to the mountains. Mountain-shadows were thrown out, and long lank shadows of cypressesthat climbed up reddish-yellow undulations, told of the sun coming. The sun threw a blaze of light into the carriage. He shone like a goodfriend, and helped Giacinta think, as she had already been disposed toimagine, that the machinery by which they had been caught out of Milanwas amicable magic after all, and not to be screamed at. The soundmedicine of sleep and sunlight was restoring livelier colour to hermistress. Giacinta hushed her now, but Vittoria's eyes opened, andsettled on her, full of repose. 

'What are you thinking about?' she asked. 

'Signorina, my own, I was thinking whether those people I see on thehill-sides are as fond of coffee as I am. '

Vittoria sat up and tumbled questions out headlong, pressing her eyesand gathering her senses; she shook with a few convulsions, but shed notears. It was rather the discomfort of their position than any vestigeof alarm which prompted Giacinta to project her head and interrogatethe coachman and chasseur. She drew back, saying, 'Holy Virgin! they areGermans. We are to stop in half-an-hour. ' With that she put her hands touse in arranging and smoothing Vittoria's hair and dress--the dress ofCamilla--of which triumphant heroine Vittoria felt herself an odd littleghost now. She changed her seat that she might look back on Milan. Aletter was spied fastened with a pin to one of the cushions. She openedit, and read in pencil writing:

'Go quietly. You have done all that you could do for good or for ill. The carriage will take you to a safe place, where you will soon see yourfriends and hear the news. Wait till you reach Meran. You will seea friend from England. Avoid the lion's jaw a second time. Here youcompromise everybody. Submit, or your friends will take you for a madgirl. Be satisfied. It is an Austrian who rescues you. Think yourselfno longer appointed to put match to powder. Drown yourself if a secondfrenzy comes. I feel I could still love your body if the obstinate soulwere out of it. You know who it is that writes. I might sign "Michiella"to this: I have a sympathy with her anger at the provoking Camilla. Addio! From La Scala. '

The lines read as if Laura were uttering them. Wrapping her cloak acrossthe silken opera garb, Vittoria leaned back passively until the carriagestopped at a village inn, where Giacinta made speedy arrangements tosatisfy as far as possible her mistress's queer predilection for bathingher whole person daily in cold water. The household service of the innrecovered from the effort to assist her sufficiently to produce hotcoffee and sweet bread, and new green-streaked stracchino, the cheese ofthe district, which was the morning meal of the fugitives. Giacinta, whohad never been so thirsty in her life, became intemperately refreshed, and was seized by the fatal desire to do something: to do what she couldnot tell; but chancing to see that her mistress had silken slippers onher feet, she protested loudly that stouter foot-gear should be obtainedfor her, and ran out to circulate inquiries concerning a shoemaker whomight have a pair of country overshoes for sale. She returned to saythat the coachman and his comrade, the German chasseur, were drinkingand watering their horses, and were not going to start until after arest of two hours, and that she proposed to walk to a small Bergamasctown within a couple of miles of the village, where the shoes could beobtained, and perhaps a stuff to replace the silken dress. Receivingconsent, Giacinta whispered, 'A man outside wishes to speak to you, signorina. Don't be frightened. He pounced on me at the end of thevillage, and had as little breath to speak as a boy in love. He wasbehind us all last night on the carriage. He mentioned you by name. Heis quite commonly dressed, but he's a gallant gentleman, and exactlylike our Signor Carlo. My dearest lady, he'll be company for you while Iam absent. May I beckon him to come into the room?'

Vittoria supposed at once that this was a smoothing of the way forthe entrance of her lover and her joy. She stood up, letting all herstrength go that he might the more justly take her and cherish her. Butit was not Carlo who entered. So dead fell her broken hope that her facewas repellent with the effort she made to support herself. He said, 'Iaddress the Signorina Vittoria. I am a relative of Countess Ammiani. Myname is Angelo Guidascarpi. Last night I was evading the sbirri in thisdisguise by the private door of La Scala, from which I expected Carlo tocome forth. I saw him seized in mistake for me. I jumped up on theempty box-seat behind your carriage. Before we entered the village I letmyself down. If I am seen and recognized, I am lost, and great evil willbefall Countess Ammiani and her son; but if they are unable to confrontCarlo and me, my escape ensures his safety!

'What can I do?' said Vittoria. 

He replied, 'Shall I answer you by telling you what I have done?'

'You need not, signore!

'Enough that I want to keep a sword fresh for my country. I am at yourmercy, signorina; and I am without anxiety. I heard the chasseur sayingat the door of La Scala that he had the night-pass for the city gatesand orders for the Tyrol. Once in Tyrol I leap into Switzerland. Ishould have remained in Milan, but nothing will be done there yet, andquiet cities are not homes for me. '

Vittoria began to admit the existence of his likeness to her lover, though it seemed to her a guilty weakness that she should see it. 

'Will nothing be done in Milan?' was her first eager question. 

'Nothing, signorina, or I should be there, and safe!'

'What, signore, do you require me to help you in?'

'Say that I am your servant. '

'And take you with me?'

'Such is my petition. '

'Is the case very urgent?'

'Hardly more, as regards myself, than a sword lost to Italy if I amdiscovered. But, signorina, from what Countess Ammiani has told me, I believe that you will some day be my relative likewise. Therefore Iappeal not only to a charitable lady, but to one of my own family. '

Vittoria reddened. 'All that I can do I will do. '

Angelo had to assure her that Carlo's release was certain the moment hisidentity was established. She breathed gladly, saying, 'I wonder at itall very much. I do not know where they are carrying me, but I think Iam in friendly hands. I owe you a duty. You will permit me to call youBeppo till our journey ends. '

They were attracted to the windows by a noise of a horseman drawing reinunder it, whose imperious shout for the innkeeper betrayed the soldier'shabit of exacting prompt obedience from civilians, though there was nomilitary character in his attire. The innkeeper and his wife came outto the summons, and then both made way for the chasseur in attendance onVittoria. With this man the cavalier conversed. 

'Have you had food?' said Vittoria. 'I have some money that will servefor both of us three days. Go, and eat and drink. Pay for us both. '

She gave him her purse. He received it with a grave servitorial bow, andretired. 

Soon after the chasseur brought up a message. Herr Johannes requestedthat he might have the honour of presenting his homage to her: it wasimperative that he should see her. She nodded. Her first glance at HerrJohannes assured her of his being one of the officers whom she had seenon the stage last night, and she prepared to act her part. Herr Johannesdesired her to recall to mind his introduction to her by the SignorAntonio-Pericles at the house of the maestro Rocco Ricci. 'It is true;pardon me, ' said Vittoria. 

He informed her that she had surpassed herself at the opera; so muchso that he and many other Germans had been completely conquered by her. Hearing, he said, that she was to be pursued, he took horse and gallopedall night on the road toward Schloss Sonnenberg, whither, as it had beenwhispered to him, she was flying, in order to counsel her to lie 'perdu'for a short space, and subsequently to conduct her to the schloss ofthe amiable duchess. Vittoria thanked him, but stated humbly that shepreferred to travel alone. He declared that it was impossible: that shewas precious to the world of Art, and must on no account be allowedto run into peril. Vittoria tried to assert her will; she found itunstrung. She thought besides that this disguised officer, with theill-looking eyes running into one, might easily, since he had heard her, be a devotee of her voice; and it flattered her yet more to imagine himas a capture from the enemy--a vanquished subservient Austrian. She hadseen him come on horseback; he had evidently followed her; and he knewwhat she now understood must be her destination. 

Moreover, Laura had underlined 'it is an Austrian who rescues you. ' Thisman perchance was the Austrian. His precise manner of speech demanded anextreme repugnance, if it was to be resisted; Vittoria's reliance uponher own natural fortitude was much too secure for her to encourage thephysical revulsions which certain hard faces of men create in the heartsof young women. 

'Was all quiet in Milan?' she asked. 

'Quiet as a pillow, ' he said. 

'And will continue to be?'

'Not a doubt of it. '

'Why is there not a doubt of it, signore?'

'You beat us Germans on one field. On the other you have no chance. Butyou must lose no time. The Croats are on your track. I have ordered outthe carriage. '

The mention of the Croats struck her fugitive senses with a panic. 

'I must wait for my maid, ' she said, attempting to deliberate. 

'Ha! you have a maid: of course you have! Where is your maid?'

'She ought to have returned by this time. If not, she is on the road. '

'On the road? Good; we will pick up the maid on the road. We have not aminute to spare. Lady, I am your obsequious servant. Hasten out, I begof you. I was taught at my school that minutes are not to be wasted. Those Croats have been drinking and what not on the way, or they wouldhave been here before this. You can't rely on Italian innkeepers toconceal you. '

'Signore, are you a man of honour?'

'Illustrious lady, I am. '

She listened simply to the response without giving heed to theprodigality of gesture. The necessity for flight now that Milan wasannounced as lying quiet, had become her sole thought. Angelo wasstanding by the carriage. 

'What man is this?' said Herr Johannes, frowning. 

'He is my servant, ' said Vittoria. 

'My dear good lady, you told me your servant was a maid. This will neverdo. We can't have him. '

'Excuse me, signore, I never travel without him. '

'Travel! This is not a case of travelling, but running; and when yourun, if you are in earnest about it, you must fling away your baggageand arms. '

Herr Johannes tossed out his moustache to right and left, and stampedhis foot. He insisted that the man should be left behind. 

'Off, sir! back to Milan, or elsewhere, ' he cried. 

'Beppo, mount on the box, ' said Vittoria. 

Her command was instantly obeyed. Herr Johannes looked her in the face. 'You are very decided, my dear lady. ' He seemed to have lost hisown decision, but handing Vittoria in, he drew a long cigar from hisbreastpocket, lit it, and mounted beside the coachman. The chasseur haddisappeared. 

Vittoria entreated that a general look-out should be kept for Giacinta. The road was straight up an ascent, and she had no fear that her maidwould not be seen. Presently there was a view of the violet domes of acity. 'Is it Bergamo?--is it Brescia?' she longed to ask, thinking ofher Bergamasc and Brescian friends, and of those two places famous forthe bravery of their sons: one being especially dear to her, as thebirthplace of a genius of melody, whose blood was in her veins. 'Didhe look on these mulberry trees?--did he look on these green-grassedvalleys?--did he hear these falling waters?' she asked herself, andclosed her spirit with reverential thoughts of him and with his music. She saw sadly that they were turning from the city. A little ball ofpaper was shot into her lap. She opened it and read: 'An officer of thecavalry. --Beppo. ' She put her hand out of the window to signify thatshe was awake to the situation. Her anxiety, however, began to fret. Nosight of Giacinta was to be had in any direction. Her mistress commencedchiding the absent garrulous creature, and did so until she pitied her, when she accused herself of cowardice, for she was incapable of callingout to the coachman to stop. The rapid motion subdued such energy asremained to her, and she willingly allowed her hurried feelings to reston the faces of rocks impending over long ravines, and of perchedold castles and white villas and sub-Alpine herds. She burst from thefascination as from a dream, but only to fall into it again, reproachingher weakness, and saying, 'What a thing am I!' When she did make hervoice heard by Herr Johannes and the coachman, she was nervous andashamed, and met the equivocating pacification of the reply with anassent half-way, though she was far from comprehending the consolationshe supposed that it was meant to convey. She put out her hand tocommunicate with Beppo. Another ball of pencilled writing answered toit. She read: 'Keep watch on this Austrian. Your maid is two hoursin the rear. Refuse to be separated from me. My life is at yourservice. --Beppo. '

Vittoria made her final effort to get a resolve of some sort; ending itwith a compassionate exclamation over poor Giacinta. The girl could soonfind her way back to Milan. On the other hand, the farther from Milan, the less the danger to Carlo's relative, in whom she now perceived astronger likeness to her lover. She sank back in the carriage and closedher eyes. Though she smiled at the vanity of forcing sleep in this way, sleep came. Her healthy frame seized its natural medicine to rebuild herafter the fever of recent days. 

She slept till the rocks were purple, and rose-purple mists were inthe valleys. The stopping of the carriage aroused her. They were at thethreshold of a large wayside hostelry, fronting a slope of forest and aplunging brook. Whitecoats in all attitudes leaned about the door; shebeheld the inner court full of them. Herr Johannes was ready to hand herto the ground. He said: 'You have nothing to fear. These fellows are onthe march to Cremona. Perhaps it will be better if you are served up inyour chamber. You will be called early in the morning. '

She thanked him, and felt grateful. 'Beppo, look to yourself, ' she said, and ran to her retirement. 

'I fancy that 's about all that you are fit for, ' Herr Johannesremarked, with his eyes on the impersonator of Beppo, who bore thescrutiny carelessly, and after seeing that Vittoria had left nothingon the carriage-seats, directed his steps to the kitchen, as became hisfunctions. Herr Johannes beckoned to a Tyrolese maid-servant, of whomBeppo had asked his way. She gave her name as Katchen. 

'Katchen, Katchen, my sweet chuck, ' said Herr Johannes, 'here are tenflorins for you, in silver, if you will get me the handkerchief of thatman: you have just stretched your finger out for him. '

According to the common Austrian reckoning of them, Herr Johannes hadadopted the right method for ensuring the devotion of the maidens ofTyrol. She responded with an amazed gulp of her mouth and a grimace ofacquiescence. Ten florins in silver shortened the migratory term of themountain girl by full three months. Herr Johannes asked her the hourwhen the officers in command had supper, and deferred his own meal tillthat time. Katchen set about earning her money. With any common Beppo itwould have been easy enough--simple barter for a harmless kiss. But thisBeppo appeared inaccessible; he was so courtly and so reserved; nor isa maiden of Tyrol a particularly skilled seductress. The supper of theofficers was smoking on the table when Herr Johannes presented himselfamong them, and very soon the inn was shaken with an uproar of greeting. Katchen found Beppo listening at the door of the salle. She clapped herhands upon him to drag him away. 

'What right have you to be leaning your head there?' she said, andthreatened to make his proceedings known. Beppo had no jewel to give, little money to spare. He had just heard Herr Johannes welcomed amongthe officers by a name that half paralyzed him. 'You shall have anythingyou ask of me if you will find me out in a couple of hours, ' hesaid. Katchen nodded truce for that period, and saw her home in theOberinnthal still nearer--twelve mountain goats and a cow her undisputedproperty. She found him out, though he had strayed through the courtof the inn, and down a hanging garden to the borders of a torrentthat drenched the air and sounded awfully in the dark ravine below. Heembraced her very mildly. 'One scream and you go, ' he said; she felt thesaving hold of her feet plucked from her, with all the sinking horror, and bit her under lip, as if keeping in the scream with bare stitches. When he released her she was perfectly mastered. 'You do play tricks, 'she said, and quaked. 

'I play no tricks. Tell me at what hour these soldiers march. '

'At two in the morning. '

'Don't be afraid, silly child: you're safe if you obey me. At what timehas our carriage been ordered?'

'At four. '

'Now swear to do this:--rouse my mistress at a quarter past two: bringher down to me. '

'Yes, yes, ' said Kitchen, eagerly: 'give me your handkerchief, and shewill follow me. I do swear; that I do; by big St. Christopher! who'spainted on the walls of our house at home. '

Beppo handed her sweet silver, which played a lively tune for hertemporarily--vanished cow and goats. Peering at her features in thestarlight, he let her take the handkerchief from his pocket. 

'Oh! what have you got in there?' she said. 

He laid his finger across her mouth, bidding her return to the house. 

'Dear heaven!' Katchen went in murmuring; 'would I have gone out to thatsoft-looking young man if I had known he was a devil. '

Angelo Guidascarpi was aware that an officer without responsibilitynever sleeps faster than when his brothers-in-arms have to be obedientto the reveillee. At two in the morning the bugle rang out: many lightedcigars were flashing among the dark passages of the inn; the whitecoatswere disposed in marching order; hot coffee was hastily swallowed; thelast stragglers from the stables, the outhouses, the court, and thestraw beds under roofs of rock, had gathered to the main body. The marchset forward. A pair of officers sent a shout up to the drowsy windows, 'Good luck to you, Weisspriess!' Angelo descended from the concealmentof the opposite trees, where he had stationed himself to watch thedeparture. The inn was like a sleeper who has turned over. He madeKatchen bring him bread and slices of meat and a flask of wine, whichthings found a place in his pockets: and paying for his mistress andhimself, he awaited Vittoria's foot on the stairs. When Vittoria cameshe asked no questions, but said to Katchen, 'You may kiss me';and Kitchen began crying; she believed that they were lovers daringeverything for love. 

'You have a clear start of an hour and a half. Leave the high-road then, and turn left through the forest and ask for Bormio. If you reach Tyrol, and come to Silz, tell people that you know Katchen Giesslinger, andthey will be kind to you. '

So saying, she let them out into the black-eyed starlight. 

CHAPTER XXIV

ADVENTURES OF VITTORIA AND ANGELO

Nothing was distinguishable for the flying couple save the high-roadwinding under rock and forest, and here and there a coursing water inthe depths of the ravines, that showed like a vein in black marble. They walked swiftly, keeping brisk ears for sound of hoof or foot behindthem. Angelo promised her that she should rest after the morning lighthad come; but she assured him that she could bear fatigue, and her firmcheerfulness lent his heart vigour. At times they were hooded with thedarkness, which came on them as if, as benighted children fancy, theirfaces were about to meet the shaggy breast of the forest. Rising up tolighter air, they had sight of distant twinklings: it might be city, orautumn weed, or fires of the woodmen, or beacon fires: they glimmeredlike eyelets to the mystery of the vast unseen land. Innumerable brookswent talking to the night: torrents in seasons of rain, childish voicesnow, with endless involutions of a song of three notes and a sort ofunnoted clanging chorus, as if a little one sang and would sing onthrough the thumping of a tambourine and bells. Vittoria had thesefancies: Angelo had none. He walked like a hunted man whose life is atstake. 

'If we reach a village soon we may get some conveyance, ' he said. 

'I would rather walk than drive, ' said Vittoria; 'it keeps me fromthinking!

'There is the dawn, signorina!

Vittoria frightened him by taking a seat upon a bench of rock; whileit was still dark about them, she drew off Camilla's silken shoes andstockings, and stood on bare feet. 

'You fancied I was tired, ' she said. 'No, I am thrifty; and I want tosave as much of my finery as I can. I can go very well on naked feet. These shoes are no protection; they would be worn out in half-a-day, andspoilt for decent wearing in another hour. '

The sight of fair feet upon hard earth troubled Angelo; he excusedhimself for calling her out to endure hardship; but she said, 'I trustyou entirely. ' She looked up at the first thin wave of colour whilewalking. 

'You do not know me, ' said he. 

'You are the Countess Ammiani's nephew. '

'I have, as I had the honour to tell you yesterday, the blood of yourlover in my veins. '

'Do not speak of him now, I pray, ' said Vittoria; 'I want my strength!

'Signorina, the man we have left behind us is his enemy;--mine. I wouldrather see you dead than alive in his hands. Do you fear death?'

'Sometimes; when I am half awake, ' she confessed. 'I dislike thinking ofit. '

He asked her curiously: 'Have you never seen it?'

'Death?' said she, and changed a shudder to a smile; 'I died lastnight. '

Angelo smiled with her. 'I saw you die!

'It seems a hundred years ago. '

'Or half-a-dozen minutes. The heart counts everything'

'Was I very much liked by the people, Signor Angelo?'

'They love you. '

'I have done them no good. '

'Every possible good. And now, mine is the duty to protect you. '

'And yesterday we were strangers! Signor Angelo, you spoke of sbirri. There is no rising in Bologna. Why are they after you? You look toogentle to give them cause. '

'Do I look gentle? But what I carry is no burden. Who that saw you lastnight would know you for Camilla? You will hear of my deeds, and judge. We shall soon have men upon the road; you must be hidden. See, there:there are our colours in the sky. Austria cannot wipe them out. Since Iwas a boy I have always slept in a bed facing East, to keep that truthbefore my eyes. Black and yellow drop to the earth: green, white, andred mount to heaven. If more of my countrymen saw these meanings!--butthey are learning to. My tutor called them Germanisms. If so, I havestolen a jewel from my enemy. '

Vittoria mentioned the Chief. 

'Yes, ' said Angelo; 'he has taught us to read God's handwriting. Irevere him. It's odd; I always fancy I hear his voice from a dungeon, and seeing him looking at one light. He has a fault: he does notcomprehend the feelings of a nobleman. Do you think he has made aconvert of our Carlo in that? Never! High blood is ineradicable. '

'I am not of high blood, ' said Vittoria. 

'Countess Ammiani overlooks it. And besides, low blood may be elevatedwithout the intervention of a miracle. You have a noble heart, signorina. It may be the will of God that you should perpetuate ourrace. All of us save Carlo Ammiani seem to be falling. '

Vittoria bent her head, distressed by a broad beam of sunlight. Thecountry undulating to the plain lay under them, the great Alps above, and much covert on all sides. They entered a forest pathway, followingchance for safety. The dark leafage and low green roofing tastedsweeter to their senses than clear air and sky. Dark woods are hometo fugitives, and here there was soft footing, a surroundinggentleness, --grass, and moss with dead leaves peacefully flat on it. Thebirds were not timorous, and when a lizard or a snake slipped away fromher feet, it was amusing to Vittoria and did not hurt her tenderness tosee that they were feared. Threading on beneath the trees, they wound bya valley's incline, where tumbled stones blocked the course of a greenwater, and filled the lonely place with one onward voice. When the sunstood over the valley they sat beneath a chestnut tree in a semicircleof orange rock to eat the food which Angelo had procured at the inn. Hepoured out wine for her in the hollow of a stone, deep as an egg-shell, whereat she sipped, smiling at simple contrivances; but no smile crossedthe face of Angelo. He ate and drank to sustain his strength, as aweapon is sharpened; and having done, he gathered up what was left, andlay at her feet with his eyes fixed upon an old grey stone. She, too, sat brooding. The endless babble and noise of the water had hardenedthe sense of its being a life in that solitude. The floating of a hawkoverhead scarce had the character of an animated thing. Angelo turnedround to look at her, and looking upward as he lay, his sight wassmitten by spots of blood upon one of her torn white feet, that was buthalf-nestled in the folds of her dress. Bending his head down, likea bird beaking at prey, he kissed the foot passionately. Vittoria'seyelids ran up; a chord seemed to snap within her ears: she stole theshamed foot into concealment, and throbbed, but not fearfully, for Angelo's forehead was on the earth. Clumps of grass, and sharpflint-dust stuck between his fists, which were thrust out stiff oneither side of him. She heard him groan heavily. When he raised hisface, it was white as madness. Her womanly nature did not shrink fromcaressing it with a touch of soothing hands. 

She chanced to say, 'I am your sister. '

'No, by God! you are not my sister, ' cried the young man. 'She diedwithout a stain of blood; a lily from head to foot, and went into thevault so. Our mother will see that. She will kiss the girl in heavenand see that. ' He rose, crying louder: 'Are there echoes here?' But hisvoice beat against the rocks undoubted. 

She saw that a frenzy had seized him. He looked with eyes drained ofhuman objects; standing square, with stiff half-dropped arms, and anintense melody of wretchedness in his voice. 

'Rinaldo, Rinaldo!' he shouted: 'Clelia!--no answer from man or ghost. She is dead. We two said to her die! and she died. Therefore sheis silent, for the dead have not a word. Oh! Milan, Milan! accursedbetraying city! I should have found my work in you if you had keptfaith. Now here am I, talking to the strangled throat of this place, andcan get no answer. Where am I? The world is hollow: the miserable shell!They lied. Battle and slaughter they promised me, and enemies like ripemaize for the reaping-hook. I would have had them in thick to my hands. I would have washed my hands at night, and eaten and drunk and slept, and sung again to work in the morning. They promised me a sword anda sea to plunge it in, and our mother Italy to bless me. I would havetoiled: I would have done good in my life. I would have bathed mysoul in our colours. I would have had our flag about my body for awinding-sheet, and the fighting angels of God to unroll me. Now here amI, and my own pale mother trying at every turn to get in front of me. Have her away! It's a ghost, I know. She will be touching the strengthout of me. She is not the mother I love and I serve. Go: cherish yourdaughter, you dead woman!'

Angelo reeled. 'A spot of blood has sent me mad, ' he said, and caughtfor a darkness to cross his sight, and fell and lay flat. 

Vittoria looked around her; her courage was needed in that long silence. 

She adopted his language: 'Our mother Italy is waiting for us. We musttravel on, and not be weary. Angelo, my friend, lend me your help overthese stones. '

He rose quietly. She laid her elbow on his hand; thus supported she lefta place that seemed to shudder. All the heavy day they walked almostsilently; she not daring to probe his anguish with a question; and hecalm and vacant as the hour following thunder. But, of her safety by hisside she had no longer a doubt. She let him gather weeds and grasses, and bind them across her feet, and perform friendly services, surethat nothing earthly could cause such a mental tempest to recur. Theconsiderate observation which at all seasons belongs to true couragetold her that it was not madness afflicting Angelo. 

Near nightfall they came upon a forester's hut, where they were welcomedby an old man and a little girl, who gave them milk and black bread, andstraw to rest on. Angelo slept in the outer air. When Vittoria awoke shehad the fancy that she had taken one long dive downward in a well;and on touching the bottom found her head above the surface. While hersurprise was wearing off, she beheld the woodman's little girl at herfeet holding up one end of her cloak, and peeping underneath, overcomeby amazement at the flashing richness of the dress of the heroineCamilla. Entering into the state of her mind spontaneously, Vittoriasought to induce the child to kiss her; but quite vainly. The child'sreverence for the dress allowed her only to be within reach of the hemof it, so as to delight her curiosity. Vittoria smiled when, as she satup, the child fell back against the wall; and as she rose to her feet, the child scampered from the room. 'My poor Camilla! you can charmsomebody, yet, ' she said, limping; her visage like a broken water withthe pain of her feet. 'If the bell rings for Camilla now, what sortof an entry will she make?' Vittoria treated her physical weakness andailments with this spirit of humour. 'They may say that Michiella hasbewitched you, my Camilla. I think your voice would sound as if it weredragging its feet after it just as a stork flies. O my Camilla! don'tI wish I could do the same, and be ungraceful and at ease! A moan ismarried to every note of your treble, my Camilla, like December and May. Keep me from shrieking!'

The pangs shooting from her feet were scarce bearable, but therepression of them helped her to meet Angelo with a freer mind than, after the interval of separation, she would have had. The old woodmanwas cooking a queer composition of flour and milk sprinkled with saltfor them. Angelo cut a stout cloth to encase each of her feet, and boundthem in it. He was more cheerful than she had ever seen him, and nowfirst spoke of their destination. His design was to conduct her nearto Bormio, there to engage a couple of men in her service who wouldaccompany her to Meran, by the Val di Sole, while he crossed the Stelvioalone, and turning leftward in the Tyrolese valley, tried the passageinto Switzerland. 

Bormio, if, when they quitted the forest, a conveyance could beobtained, was no more than a short day's distance, according to the oldwoodman's directions. Vittoria induced the little girl to sit upon herknee, and sang to her, but greatly unspirited the charm of her dress. The sun was rising as they bade adieu to the hut. 

About mid-day they quitted the shelter of forest trees and stood onbroken ground, without a path to guide them. Vittoria did her best tolaugh at her mishaps in walking, and compared herself to a Capuchinpilgrim; but she was unused to going bareheaded and shoeless, and thoughshe held on bravely, the strong beams of the sun and the stony wayswarped her strength. She had to check fancies drawn from Arabian tales, concerning the help sometimes given by genii of the air and enchantedbirds, that were so incessant and vivid that she found herself sulkingat the loneliness and helplessness of the visible sky, and feared thather brain was losing its hold of things. Angelo led her to a half-shadedhollow, where they finished the remainder of yesterday's meat and wine. She set her eyes upon a gold-green lizard by a stone and slept. 

'The quantity of sleep I require is unmeasured, ' she said, a minuteafterwards, according to her reckoning of time, and expected to seethe lizard still by the stone. Angelo was near her; the sky was full ofcolours, and the earth of shadows. 

'Another day gone!' she exclaimed in wonderment, thinking that the daysof human creatures had grown to be as rapid and (save toward the oneend) as meaningless as the gaspings of a fish on dry land. He told herthat he had explored the country as far as he had dared to stray fromher. He had seen no habitation along the heights. The vale was toodistant for strangers to reach it before nightfall. 'We can make alittle way on, ' said Vittoria, and the trouble of walking began again. He entreated her more than once to have no fear. 'What can I fear?' sheasked. His voice sank penitently: 'You can rely on me fully when thereis anything to do for you. '

'I am sure of that, ' she replied, knowing his allusion to be to hisfrenzy of yesterday. In truth, no woman could have had a gentlercompanion. 

On the topmost ridge of the heights, looking over an interminable gulfof darkness they saw the lights of the vale. 'A bird might find hisperch there, but I think there is no chance for us, ' said Vittoria. 'Themoment we move forward to them the lights will fly back. It is their wayof behaving. '

Angelo glanced round desperately. Farther on along the ridge his eyecaught sight of a low smouldering fire. When he reached it he had agreat disappointment. A fire in the darkness gives hopes that men willbe at hand. Here there was not any human society. The fire crouched onits ashes. It was on a little circular eminence of mossed rock; blacksticks, and brushwood, and dry fern, and split logs, pitchy to thetouch, lay about; in the centre of them the fire coiled sullenly amongits ashes, with a long eye like a serpent's. 

'Could you sleep here?' said Angelo. 

'Anywhere!' Vittoria sighed with droll dolefulness. 

'I can promise to keep you warm, signorina. '

'I will not ask for more till to-morrow, my friend. '

She laid herself down sideways, curling up her feet, with her cheek onthe palm of her hand. 

Angelo knelt and coaxed the fire, whose appetite, like that which issaid to be ours, was fed by eating, for after the red jaws had takenhalf-a-dozen sticks, it sang out for more, and sent up flame leapingafter flame and thick smoke. Vittoria watched the scene through a thindivision of her eyelids; the fire, the black abyss of country, thestars, and the sentinel figure. She dozed on the edge of sleep, unableto yield herself to it wholly. She believed that she was dreaming whenby-and-by many voices filled her ears. The fire was sounding like anangry sea, and the voices were like the shore, more intelligible, butconfused in shriller clamour. She was awakened by Angelo, who knelt onone knee and took her outlying hand; then she saw that men surroundedthem, some of whom were hurling the lighted logs about, some tramplingdown the outer rim of flames. They looked devilish to a first awakeningglance. He told her that the men were friendly; they were good Italians. This had been the beacon arranged for the night of the Fifteenth, whenno run of signals was seen from Milan; and yesterday afternoon ithad been in mockery partially consumed. 'We have aroused the country, signorina, and brought these poor fellows out of their beds. Theysupposed that Milan must be up and at work. I have explained everythingto them. '

Vittoria had rather to receive their excuses than to proffer her own. They were mostly youths dressed like the better class of peasantry. Theylaughed at the incident, stating how glad they would have been to beholdthe heights all across the lakes ablaze and promising action for themorrow. One square-shouldered fellow raised her lightly from the ground. She felt herself to be a creature for whom circumstance was busilyplotting, so that it was useless to exert her mind in thought. The longprocession sank down the darkness, leaving the low red fire to die outbehind them. 

Next morning she awoke in a warm bed, possessed by odd images of flamesthat stood up like crowing cocks, and cowered like hens above the brood. She was in the house of one of their new friends, and she could hearAngelo talking in the adjoining room. A conveyance was ready to take heron to Bormio. A woman came to her to tell her this, appearing to havea dull desire to get her gone. She was a draggled woman, with a face ofslothful anguish, like one of the inner spectres of a guilty man. Shesaid that her husband was willing to drive the lady to Bormio for a sumthat was to be paid at once into his wife's hand; and little enoughit was which poor persons could ever look for from your patriots anddisturbers who seduced orderly men from their labour, and made widowsand ruined households. This was a new Italian language to Vittoria, and when the woman went on giving instances of households ruined by ahusband's vile infatuation about his country, she did not attempt todefend the reckless lord, but dressed quickly that she might leave thehouse as soon as she could. Her stock of money barely satisfied thewoman's demand. The woman seized it, and secreted it in her girdle. When they had passed into the sitting-room, her husband, who was sittingconversing with Angelo, stretched out his hand and knocked the girdle. 

'That's our trick, ' he said. 'I guessed so. Fund up, our little Maria ofthe dirty fingers'-ends! We accept no money from true patriots. Grub inother ground, my dear!'

The woman stretched her throat awry, and set up a howl like a dog; buther claws came out when he seized her. 

'Would you disgrace me, old fowl?'

'Lorenzo, may you rot like a pumpkin!'

The connubial reciprocities were sharp until the money lay on the table, when the woman began whining so miserably that Vittoria's sensitivenerves danced on her face, and at her authoritative interposition, Lorenzo very reluctantly permitted his wife to take what he chose toreckon a fair portion of the money, and also of his contempt. She seemedto be licking the money up, she bent over it so greedily. 

'Poor wretch!' he observed; 'she was born on a hired bed. '

Vittoria felt that the recollection of this woman would haunt her. Itwas inconceivable to her that a handsome young man like Lorenzo shouldever have wedded the unsweet creature, who was like a crawling image ofdecay; but he, as if to account for his taste, said that they had beenof a common age once, when he married her; now she had grown old. Herepeated that she 'was born on a hired bed. ' They saw nothing further ofher. 

Vittoria's desire was to get to Meran speedily, that she might seeher friends, and have tidings of her lover and the city. Those baffledbeacon-flames on the heights had become an irritating indicative vision:she thirsted for the history. Lorenzo offered to conduct her over theTonale Pass into the Val di Sole, or up the Val Furva, by the pass ofthe Corno dei Tre Signori, into the Val del Monte to Pejo, thence byCles, or by Bolzano, to Meran. But she required shoeing and refitting;and for other reasons also, she determined to go on to Bormio. Shesupposed that Angelo had little money, and that in a place such asBormio sounded to her ears she might possibly obtain the change forthe great money-order which the triumph of her singing had won fromAntonio-Pericles. In spite of Angelo's appeals to her to hurry on tothe end of her journey without tempting chance by a single pause, sheresolved to go to Bormio. Lorenzo privately assured her that there werebankers in Bormio. Many bankers, he said, came there from Milan, andthat fact she thought sufficient for her purpose. The wanderers partedregretfully. A little chapel, on a hillock off the road, shaded bychestnuts, was pointed out to Lorenzo where to bring a letter forAngelo. Vittoria begged Angelo to wait till he heard from her; and then, with mutual wavings of hands, she was driven out of his sight. 

CHAPTER XXV

ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS

After parting from Vittoria, Angelo made his way to an inn, where he ateand drank like a man of the fields, and slept with the power of one fromnoon till after morning. The innkeeper came up to his room, and, findinghim awake, asked him if he was disposed to take a second holiday inbed. Angelo jumped up; as he did so, his stiletto slipped from under hispillow and flashed. 

'That's a pretty bit of steel, ' said the innkeeper, but could not get aword out of him. It was plain to Angelo that this fellow had suspicions. Angelo had been careful to tie up his clothes in a bundle; there wasnothing for the innkeeper to see, save a young man in bed, who had aterrible weapon near his hand, and a look in his eyes of wary indolencethat counselled prudent dealings. He went out, and returned a second anda third time, talking more and more confusedly and fretfully; but as hewas again going to leave, 'No, no, ' said Angelo, determined to give hima lesson, 'I have taken a liking to your company. Here, come here; Iwill show you a trick. I learnt it from the Servians when I was threefeet high. Look; I lie quite still, you observe. Try to get on the otherside of that door and the point of this blade shall scratch you throughit. '

Angelo laid the blue stilet up his wrist, and slightly curled his arm. 'Try, ' he repeated, but the innkeeper had stopped short in his movementto the door. 'Well, then, stay where you are, ' said Angelo, 'and look;I'll be as good as my word. There's the point I shall strike. ' With thathe gave the peculiar Servian jerk of the muscles, from the wrist up tothe arm, and the blade quivered on the mark. The innkeeper fell back inadmiring horror. 'Now fetch it to me, ' said Angelo, putting bothhands carelessly under his head. The innkeeper tugged at the blade. 'Illustrious signore, I am afraid of breaking it, ' he almost whimpered;'it seems alive, does it not?'

'Like a hawk on a small bird, ' said Angelo; 'that's the beauty of thoseblades. They kill, and put you to as little pain as a shot; and it 'sbetter than a shot in your breast--there's something to show for it. Send up your wife or your daughter to take orders about my breakfast. It's the breakfast of five mountaineers; and don't "Illustrious signore"me, sir, either in my hearing or out of it. Leave the knife sticking. '

The innkeeper sidled out with a dumb salute. 'I can count on hisdiscretion for a couple of hours, ' Angelo said to himself. He knewthe effect of an exhibition of physical dexterity and strength upona coward. The landlord's daughter came and received his orders forbreakfast. Angelo inquired whether they had been visited by Germans oflate. The girl told him that a German chasseur with a couple of soldiershad called them up last night. 

'Wouldn't it have been a pity if they had dragged me out and shot me?'said Angelo. 

'But they were after a lady, ' she explained; 'they have gone on toBormio, and expect to catch her there or in the mountains. '

'Better there than in the mountains, my dear; don't you think so?'

The girl said that she would not like to meet those fellows among themountains. 

'Suppose you were among the mountains, and those fellows came up withyou; wouldn't you clap your hands to see me jumping down right in frontof you all?' said Angelo. 

'Yes, I should, ' she admitted. 'What is one man, though!'

'Something, if he feeds like five. Quick! I must eat. Have you a lover?'

'Yes. '

'Fancy you are waiting on him. '

'He's only a middling lover, signore. He lives at Cles, over Val Pejo, in Val di Non, a long way, and courts me twice a year, when he comesover to do carpentering. He cuts very pretty Madonnas. He is a German. '

'Ha! you kneel to the Madonna, and give your lips to a German? Go. '

'But I don't like him much, signore; it's my father who wishes me tohave him; he can make money. '

Angelo motioned to her to be gone, saying to himself, 'That father ofhers would betray the Saints for a handful of florins. '

He dressed, and wrenched his knife from the door. Hearing the clatterof a horse at the porch, he stopped as he was descending the stairs. A German voice said, 'Sure enough, my jolly landlord, she's there, inWorms--your Bormio. Found her at the big hotel: spoke not a syllable;stole away, stole away. One chopin of wine! I'm off on four legs to thecaptain. Those lads who are after her by Roveredo and Trent have badnoses. "Poor nose--empty belly. " Says the captain, "I stick at the pointof the cross-roads. " Says I, "Herr Captain, I'm back to you first of thelot. " My business is to find the runaway lady-pretty Fraulein! prettyFraulein! lai-ai! There's money on her servant, too; he's a disguisedExcellency--a handsome boy; but he has cut himself loose, and he gohang. Two birds for the pride of the thing; one for satisfaction--I 'msatisfied. I've killed chamois in my time. Jacob, I am; Baumwalder, Iam; Feckelwitz, likewise; and the very devil for following a track. Ach!the wine is good. You know the song?

 "He who drinks wine, he may cry with a will, Fortune is mine, may she stick to me still. "

I give it you in German--the language of song! my own, my native'lai-ai-lai-ai-la-la-lai-ai-i-ie!'

 "While stars still sit On mountain tops, I take my gun, Kiss little one On mother's breast. Ai-iu-e!

 "My pipe is lit, I climb the slopes, I meet the dawn A little one On mother's breast. Ai-aie: ta-ta-tai: iu-iu-iu-e!"

Another chopin, my jolly landlord. What's that you're mumbling? Aboutthe servant of my runaway young lady? He go hang! What----?'

Angelo struck his foot heavily on the stairs; the innkeeper coughed andran back, bowing to his guest. The chasseur cried, 'I 'll drink fartheron-wine between gaps!' A coin chinked on the steps in accompanimentto the chasseur's departing gallop. 'Beast of a Tedesco, ' the landlordexclaimed as he picked up the money; 'they do the reckoning--not we. IfI had served him with the worth of this, I should have had the bottle atmy head. What a country ours is! We're ridden over, ridden over!'Angelo compelled the landlord to sit with him while he ate like fivemountaineers. He left mere bones on the table. 'It's wonderful, ' saidthe innkeeper; 'you can't know what fear is. '

'I think I don't, ' Angelo replied; 'you do; cowards have to serve everyparty in turn. Up, and follow at my heels till I dismiss you. You knowthe pass into the Val Pejo and the Val di Sole. ' The innkeeper stoodentrenched behind a sturdy negative. Angelo eased him to submissionby telling him that he only wanted the way to be pointed out. 'Bringtobacco; you're going to have an idle day, ' said Angelo: 'I pay you whenwe separate. ' He was deaf to entreaties and refusals, and began tolook mad about the eyes; his poor coward plied him with expostulations, offered his wife, his daughter, half the village, for the service: hehad to follow, but would take no cigars. Angelo made his daughter fetchbread and cigars, and put a handful in his pocket, upon which, aftertwo hours of inactivity at the foot of the little chapel, where Angelowaited for the coming of Vittoria's messenger, the innkeeper was gladto close his fist. About noon Lorenzo came, and at once acted a play ofeyes for Angelo to perceive his distrust of the man and a multitude ofbad things about him he was reluctant, notwithstanding Angelo's readynod, to bring out a letter; and frowned again, for emphasis to theexpressive comedy. The letter said:

'I have fallen upon English friends. They lend me money. Fly to Luganoby the help of these notes: I inclose them, and will not ask pardonfor it. The Valtellina is dangerous; the Stelvio we know to be watched. Retrace your way, and then try the Engadine. I should stop on a breakingbridge if I thought my companion, my Carlo's cousin, was near capture. I am well taken care of: one of my dearest friends, a captain in theEnglish army, bears me company across. I have a maid from one of thevillages, a willing girl. We ride up to the mountains; to-morrow wecross the pass; there is a glacier. Val di Non sounds Italian, but Iam going into the enemy's land. You see I am well guarded. My immediateanxiety concerns you; for what will our Carlo ask of me? Lose not onemoment. Away, and do not detain Lorenzo. He has orders to meet us uphigh in the mountain this evening. He is the best of servants butI always meet the best everywhere--that is, in Italy. Leaving it, Igrieve. No news from Milan, except of great confusion there. I judge bythe quiet of my sleep that we have come to no harm there. 

 'Your faithfullest

 'VITTORIA. '

Lorenzo and the innkeeper had arrived at an altercation before Angelofinished reading. Angelo checked it, and told Lorenzo to make speed: hesent no message. 

'My humanity, ' Angelo then addressed his craven associate, 'counsels methat it's better to drag you some distance on than to kill you. You 'rea man of intelligence, and you know why I have to consider the matter. Igive you guide's pay up to the glacier, and ten florins buon'mano. Wouldyou rather earn it with the blood of a countryman? I can't let thattongue of yours be on the high-road of running Tedeschi: you know it. 

'Illustrious signore, obedience oils necessity, ' quoth the innkeeper. 'If we had but a few more of my cigars!'

'Step on, ' said Angelo sternly. 

They walked till dark and they were in keen air. A hut full of recentgrass-cuttings, on the border of a sloping wood, sheltered them. Theinnkeeper moaned for food at night and in the morning, and Angelotossed him pieces of bread. Beyond the wood they came upon bare crag andcommenced a sharper ascent, reached the height, and roused an eagle. The great bird went up with a sharp yelp, hanging over them with knottedclaws. Its shadow stretched across sweeps of fresh snow. The innkeepersent a mocking yelp after the eagle. 

'Up here, one forgets one is a father--what's more, a husband, ' he said, striking a finger on the side of his nose. 

'And a cur, a traitor, carrion, ' said Angelo. 

'Ah, signore, one might know you were a noble. You can't understandour troubles, who carry a house on our heads, and have to fill mouthsagape. '

'Speak when you have better to say, ' Angelo replied. 

'Padrone, one would really like to have your good opinion; and I'm leanas a wolf for a morsel of flesh. I could part with my buon'mano for asight of red meat--oh! red meat dripping. '

'If, ' cried Angelo, bringing his eyebrows down black on the man, 'if Iknew that you had ever in your life betrayed one of us look below; thereyou should lie to be pecked and gnawed at. '

'Ah, Jacopo Cruchi, what an end for you when you are full of goodmeanings!' the innkeeper moaned. 'I see your ribs, my poor soul!'

Angelo quitted him. The tremendous excitement of the Alpine solitudeswas like a stringent wine to his surcharged spirit. He was one to whomlife and death had become as the yes and no of ordinary men: not morethan a turning to the right or to the left. It surprised him that thisfellow, knowing his own cowardice and his conscience, should consent tolive, and care to eat to live. 

When he returned to his companion, he found the fellow drinking fromthe flask of an Austrian soldier. Another whitecoat was lying near. Theypressed Angelo to drink, and began to play lubberly pranks. One clappedhands, while another rammed the flask at the reluctant mouth, tillAngelo tripped him and made him a subject for derision; whereupon theywere all good friends. Musket on shoulder, the soldiers descended, blowing at their finger-nails and puffing at their tobacco--lauterkaiserlicher (rank Imperial), as with a sad enforcement of resignationthey had, while lighting, characterized the universally detestedGovernment issue of the leaf. 

'They are after her, ' said Jacopo, and he shot out his thumb and twistedan eyelid. His looks became insolent, and he added: 'I let them go on;but now, for my part, I must tell you, my worthy gentleman, I've hadenough of it. You go your way, I go mine. Pay me, and we part. With theutmost reverence, I quit you. Climbing mountains at my time of life isout of all reason. If you want companions, I 'll signal to that pair ofTedeschi; they're within hail. Would you like it? Say the word, if youwould--hey!'

Angelo smiled at the visible effect of the liquor. 

'Barto Rizzo would be the man to take you in hand, ' he remarked. 

The innkeeper flung his head back to ejaculate, and murmured, 'BartoRizzo! defend me from him! Why, he levies contribution upon us in theValtellina for the good of Milan; and if we don't pay, we're all of usdown in a black book. Disobey, and it's worse than swearing you won'tpay taxes to the legitimate--perdition to it!--Government. Do you knowBarto Rizzo, padrone? You don't know him, I hope? I'm sure you wouldn'tknow such a fellow. '

'I am his favourite pupil, ' said Angelo. 

'I'd have sworn it, ' groaned the innkeeper, and cursed the day and hourwhen Angelo crossed his threshold. That done, he begged permission tobe allowed to return, crying with tears of entreaty for mercy: 'BartoRizzo's pupils are always out upon bloody business!' Angelo told himthat he had now an opportunity of earning the approval of Barto Rizzo, and then said, 'On, ' and they went in the track of the two whitecoats;the innkeeper murmuring all the while that he wanted the approval ofBarto Rizzo as little as his enmity; he wanted neither frost nor fire. The glacier being traversed, they skirted a young stream, and arrived atan inn, where they found the soldiers regaling. Jacopo was informed bythem that the lady whom they were pursuing had not passed. They pushedtheir wine for Angelo to drink: he declined, saying that he had swornnot to drink before he had shot the chamois with the white cross on hisback. 

'Come: we're two to one, ' they said, 'and drink you shall this time!'

'Two to two, ' returned Angelo: 'here is my Jacopo, and if he doesn'tcount for one, I won't call him father-in-law, and the fellow living atCles may have his daughter without fighting for her. '

'Right so, ' said one of the soldiers, 'and you don't speak bad Germanalready. '

'Haven't I served in the ranks?' said Angelo, giving a bugle-call of thereveille of the cavalry. 

He got on with them so well that they related the object of theirexpedition, which was, to catch a runaway young rebel lady and hold herfast down at Cles for the great captain--'unser tuchtiger Hauptmann. '

'Hadn't she a servant, a sort of rascal?' Angelo inquired. 

'Right so; she had: but the doe's the buck in this chase. '

Angelo tossed them cigars. The valley was like a tumbled mountain, thickwith crags and eminences, through which the river worked strenuously, sinuous in foam, hurrying at the turns. Angelo watched all the ways froma distant height till set of sun. He saw another couple of soldiers meetthose two at the inn, and then one pair went up toward the vale-head. It seemed as if Vittoria had disconcerted them by having chosen anotherroute. 

'Padrone, ' said Jacopo to him abruptly, when they descended to find aresting-place, 'you are, I speak humbly, so like the devil that I mustenter into a stipulation with you, before I continue in your company, and take the worst at once. This is going to be the second night of mysleeping away from my wife: I merely mention it. I pinch her, and shebeats me, and we are equal. But if you think of making me fight, I tellyou I won't. If there was a furnace behind me, I should fall into itrather than run against a bayonet. I 've heard say that the nerves arein the front part of us, and that's where I feel the shock. Now we'reon a plain footing. Say that I'm not to fight. I'll be your servant tillyou release me, but say I 'm not to fight; padrone, say that. '

'I can't say that: I'll say I won't make you fight, ' Angelo pacified himby replying. From this moment Jacopo followed him less like a gracelessdog pulled by his chain. In fact, with the sense of prospectivesecurity, he tasted a luxurious amazement in being moved about by asuperior will, wafted from his inn, and paid for witnessing strangeincidents. Angelo took care that he was fed well at the place wherethey slept, but himself ate nothing. Early after dawn they mounted theheights above the road. It was about noon that Angelo discerned a partycoming from the pass on foot, consisting of two women and three men. They rested an hour at the village where he had slept overnight; themuskets were a quarter of a mile to the rear of them. When they startedafresh, one of the muskets was discharged, and while the echoes wererolling away, a reply to it sounded in the front. Angelo, from his postof observation, could see that Vittoria and her party were marchingbetween two guards, and that she herself must have perceived both thefront and rearward couple. Yet she and her party held on their course atan even pace. For a time he kept them clearly in view; but it was toughwork along the slopes of crag: presently Jacopo slipped and went down. 'Ah, padrone, ' he said: 'I'm done for; leave me. '

'Not though I should have to haul you on my back, ' replied Angelo. 'If Ido leave you, I must cut out your tongue. '

'Rather than that, I'd go on a sprained ankle, ' said Jacopo, and hestrove manfully to conquer pain; limping and exclaiming, 'Oh, my littlevillage! Oh, my little inn! When can a man say that he has finishedrunning about the world! The moment he sits, in comes the devil. '

Angelo was obliged to lead him down to the open way, upon which theymade slow progress. 

'The noble gentleman might let me return--he might trust me now, ' Jacopowhimpered. 

'The devil trusts nobody, ' said Angelo. 

'Ah, padrone! there's a crucifix. Let me kneel by that. '

Angelo indulged him. Jacopo knelt by the wayside and prayed for an easyankle and a snoring pillow and no wakeners. After this he was refreshed. The sun sank; the darkness spread around; the air grew icy. 'Does theBlessed Virgin ever consider what patriots have to endure?' Jacopomuttered to himself, and aroused a rare laugh from Angelo, who seizedhim under the arm, half-lifting him on. At the inn where they rested, hebathed and bandaged the foot. 

'I can't help feeling a kindness to you for it, ' said Jacopo. 

'I can't afford to leave you behind, ' Angelo accounted for hisattention. 

'Padrone, we've been understanding one another all along by our thumbs. It's that old inn of mine--the taxes! we have to sell our souls to paythe taxes. There's the tongue of the thing. I wouldn't betray you; Iwouldn't. '

'I'll try you, ' said Angelo, and put him to proof next day, when thesoldiers stopped them as they were driving in a cart, and Jacopo sworeto them that Angelo was his intended son-in-law. 

There was evidently an unusual activity among the gendarmerie of thelower valley, the Val di Non; for Jacopo had to repeat his fable morethan once, and Angelo thought it prudent not to make inquiries abouttravellers. In this valley they were again in summer heat. Summersplendours robed the broken ground. The Val di Non lies toward thesun, banked by the Val di Sole, like the southern lizard under a stone. Chestnut forest and shoulder over shoulder of vineyard, and meadows ofmarvellous emerald, with here and there central partly-wooded crags, peaked with castle-ruins, and ancestral castles that are still warmhomes, and villages dropped among them, and a river bounding and rushingeagerly through the rich enclosure, form the scene, beneath that Italiansun which turns everything to gold. There is a fair breadth to the vale:it enjoys a great oval of sky: the falls of shade are dispersed, dot thehollow range, and are not at noontide a broad curtain passing over fromright to left. The sun reigns and also governs in the Val di Non. 

'The grape has his full benefit here, padrone, ' said Jacopo. 

But the place was too populous, and too much subjected to thegeneral eye, to please Angelo. At Cles they were compelled to bearan inspection, and a little comedy occurred. Jacopo, after exhibitingAngelo as his son-in-law, seeing doubts on the soldiers' faces, mentioned the name of the German suitor for his daughter's hand--thecarpenter, Johann Spellmann, to whose workshop he requested to be taken. Johann, being one of the odd Germans in the valley, was well known: hewas carving wood astride a stool, and stopped his whistling to listento the soldiers, who took the first word out of Jacopo's mouth, and wereconvinced, by Johann's droop of the chin, that the tale had some truthin it; and more when Johann yelled at the Valtelline innkeeper to knowwhy, then, he had come to him, if he was prepared to play him false. Oneof the soldiers said bluntly, that as Angelo's appearance answered tothe portrait of a man for whom they were on the lookout, they would, if their countryman liked, take him and give him a dose of marching andimprisonment. 

'Ach! that won't make my little Rosetta love me better, ' cried Johann, who commenced taking up a string of reproaches against women, andpitched his carving-blade and tools abroad in the wood-dust. 

'Well, now, it 's queer you don't want to fight this lad, ' said Jacopo;'he's come to square it with you that way, if you think best. '

Johann spared a remark between his vehement imprecations against thesex to say that he was ready to fight; but his idea of vengeance wasdirected upon the abstract conception of a faithless womankind. Angelo, by reason of his detestation of Germans, temporarily threw himself intothe part he was playing to the extent of despising him. Johann admittedto Jacopo that intervals of six months' duration in a courtship werewide jumps for Love to take. 

'Yes; amor! amor!' he exclaimed with extreme dejection; 'I could wait. Well! since you've brought the young man, we'll have it out. '

He stepped before Angelo with bare fists. Jacopo had to interpose. Thesoldiers backed Johann, who now said to Angelo, 'Since you've come forit, we'll have it out. '

Jacopo had great difficulty in bringing him to see that it was a matterto talk over. Johann swore he would not talk about it, and was ready tofight a dozen Italians, man up man down. 

'Bare-fisted?' screamed Jacopo. 

'Hey! the old way! Give him knuckles, and break his back, my boy!' criedthe soldiers; 'none of their steel this side of the mountain. '

Johann waited for Angelo to lift his hands; and to instigate hisreluctant adversary, thumped his chest; but Angelo did not move. Thesoldiers roared. 

'If she has you, she shall have a dolly, ' said Johann, now heated withthe prospect of presenting that sort of husband to his little Rosetta. At this juncture Jacopo threw himself between them. 

'It shall be a real fight, ' he said; 'my daughter can't make up hermind, and she shall have the best man. Leave me to arrange it allfairly; and you come here in a couple of hours, my children, ' headdressed the soldiers, who unwillingly quitted the scene where therewas a certainty of fun, on the assurance of there being a livelier sceneto come. 

When they had turned their heels on the shop, Jacopo made a face atJohann; Johann swung round upon Angelo, and met a smile. Then followedexplanations. 

'What's that you say? She's true--she's true?' exclaimed the astoundedlover. 

'True enough, but a girl at an inn wants hotter courting, ' said Jacopo. 'His Excellency here is after his own sweetheart. '

Johann huzzaed, hugged at Angelo's hands, and gave a lusty filial tap toJacopo on the shoulder. Bread and grapes and Tyrolese wine were placedfor them, and Johann's mother soon produced a salad, eggs, and fowl;and then and there declared her willingness to receive Rosetta into thehousehold, 'if she would swear at the outset never to have 'heimweh'(home-longing); as people--men and women, both--always did when theytook a new home across a mountain. '

'She won't--will she?' Johann inquired with a dubious sparkle. 

'Not she, ' said Jacopo. 

After the meal he drew Johann aside. They returned to Angelo, and Johannbeckoned him to leave the house by a back way, leading up a slope ofgarden into high vine-poles. He said that he had seen a party passout of Cles from the inn early, in a light car, on for Meran. Thegendarmerie were busy on the road: a mounted officer had dashed up tothe inn an hour later, and had followed them: it was the talk of thevillage. 

'Padrone, you dismiss me now, ' said Jacopo. 

'I pay you, but don't dismiss you, ' said Angelo, and handed him abank-note. 

'I stick to you, padrone, till you do dismiss me, ' Jacopo sighed. 

Johann offered to conduct them as far as the Monte Pallade pass, andthey started, avoiding the high road, which was enviably broad andsolid. Within view of a village under climbing woods, they discerned anopen car, flanked by bayonets, returning to Cles. Angelo rushed aheadof them down the declivity, and stood full in the road to meet theprocession. A girl sat in the car, who hung her head, weeping; Lorenzowas beside her; an Englishman on foot gave employment to a pair ofsoldiers to get him along. As they came near at marching pace, Lorenzoyawned and raised his hand to his cheek, keeping the thumb pointedbehind him. Including the girl, there were four prisoners: Vittoria wasabsent. The Englishman, as he was being propelled forward, addressedAngelo in French, asking him whether he could bear to see an unoffendingforeigner treated with wanton violation of law. The soldiers bellowed attheir captive, and Angelo sent a stupid shrug after him. They rounded abend of the road. Angelo tightened the buckle at his waist. 

'Now I trust you, ' he said to Jacopo. 'Follow the length of five milesover the pass: if you don't see me then, you have your liberty, tongueand all. '

With that he doubled his arms and set forth at a steady run, leavinghis companions to speculate on his powers of endurance. They did socomplacently enough, until Jacopo backed him for a distance and Johannbetted against him, when behold them at intervals taking a sharp trot tokeep him in view. 

CHAPTER XXVI

THE DUEL IN THE PASS

Meanwhile Captain Weisspriess had not been idle. Standing at a bluntangle of the ways converging upon Vittoria's presumed destination, hehad roused up the gendarmerie along the routes to Meran by Trent on oneside, and Bormio on the other; and he soon came to the conclusion thatshe had rejected the valley of the Adige for the Valtelline, whence hesupposed that she would be tempted either to cross the Stelvio or one ofthe passes into Southernmost Tyrol. He was led to think that she wouldcertainly bear upon Switzerland, by a course of reasoning connectedwith Angelo Guidascarpi, who, fleeing under the cross of blood, mightbe calculated on to push for the mountains of the Republic; and he mightjudging by the hazards--conduct the lady thither, to enjoy the fruits ofcrime and love in security. The captain, when he had discovered Angelo'screst and name on the betraying handkerchief, had no doubts concerningthe nature of their intimacy, and he was spurred by a new and thriceeager desire to capture the couple--the criminal for the purposes ofjustice, and the other because he had pledged his notable reputationin the chase of her. The conscience of this man's vanity was extremelyactive. He had engaged to conquer the stubborn girl, and he thought itpossible that he might take a mistress from the patriot ranks, with aloud ha! ha! at revolutionists, and some triumph over his comrades. Andbesides, he was the favourite of Countess Anna of Lenkenstein, who yetrefused to bring her estates to him; she dared to trifle; she also was awoman who required rude lessons. Weisspriess, a poor soldier bearingthe heritage of lusty appetites, had an eye on his fortune, and servedneither Mars alone nor Venus. Countess Anna was to be among thatcompany assembled at the Castle of Sonnenberg in Meran; and if, whileintroducing Vittoria there with a discreet and exciting reserve, he atthe same time handed over the assassin of Count Paul, a fine harvest ofpraise and various pleasant forms of female passion were to be lookedfor--a rich vista of a month's intrigue; at the end of it possibly hiswealthy lady, thoroughly tamed, for a wife, and redoubled triumph overhis comrades. Without these successes, what availed the fame of thekeenest swordsman in the Austrian army?--The feast as well as the plumesof vanity offered rewards for the able exercise of his wits. 

He remained at the sub-Alpine inn until his servant Wilhelm (for whom hehad despatched the duchess's chasseur, then in attendance on Vittoria)arrived from Milan, bringing his uniform. The chasseur was directed onthe Bormio line, with orders that he should cause the arrest ofVittoria only in the case of her being on the extreme limit of the Swissfrontier. Keeping his communications alert, Weisspriess bore that wayto meet him. Fortune smiled on his strategy. Jacob BaumwalderFeckelwitz--full of wine, and discharging hurrahs along the road--methim on the bridge over the roaring Oglio, just out of Edolo, and gavehim news of the fugitives. 'Both of them were at the big hotel inBormio, ' said Jacob; 'and I set up a report that the Stelvio waswatched; and so it is. ' He added that he thought they were going toseparate; he had heard something to that effect; he believed that theyoung lady was bent upon crossing one of the passes to Meran. Last nightit had devolved on him to kiss away the tears of the young lady's maid, a Valtelline peasant-girl, who deplored the idea of an expedition overthe mountains, and had, with the usual cat-like tendencies of theseItalian minxes, torn his cheek in return for his assiduities. Jacobdisplayed the pretty scratch obtained in the Herr Captain's service, andgot his money for having sighted Vittoria and seen double. Weisspriessdecided in his mind that Angelo had now separated from her (or rather, she from him) for safety. He thought it very probable that she wouldlikewise fly to Switzerland. Yet, knowing that there was the attractionof many friends for her at Meran, he conceived that he should act moreprudently by throwing himself on that line, and he sped Jacob Baumwalderalong the Valtelline by Val Viola, up to Ponte in the Engadine, withorders to seize her if he could see her, and have her conveyed to Cles, in Tyrol. Vittoria being only by the gentlest interpretation of herconduct not under interdict, an unscrupulous Imperial officer mightin those military times venture to employ the gendarmerie for his ownpurposes, if he could but give a plausible colour of devotion to theImperial interests. 

The chasseur sped lamentingly back, and Weisspriess, taking a guide fromthe skirting hamlet above Edolo, quitted the Val Camonica, climbedthe Tonale, and reached Vermiglio in the branch valley of that name, scientifically observing the features of the country as he went. At Vermiglio he encountered a brother officer of one of his formerregiments, a fat major on a tour of inspection, who happened to be aweek behind news of the army, and detained him on the pretext of helpinghim on his car--a mockery that drove Weisspriess to the perpetualreply, 'You are my superior officer, ' which reduced the major to ask himwhether he had been degraded a step. As usual, Weisspriess was pushed toassert his haughtiness, backed by the shadow of his sword. 'I am a manwith a family, ' said the major, modestly. 'Then I shall call youmy superior officer while they allow you to remain so, ' returnedWeisspriess, who scorned a married soldier. 

'I aspired to the Staff once myself, ' said the major. 'Unfortunately, Igrew in girth--the wrong way for ambition. I digest, I assimilate witha fatal ease. Stout men are doomed to the obscurer paths. You may quoteNapoleon as a contrary instance. I maintain positively that his day wasover, his sun was eclipsed, when his valet had to loosen the buckles ofhis waistcoat and breech. Now, what do you say?'

'I say, ' Weisspriess replied, 'that if there's a further depreciation ofthe paper currency, we shall none of us have much chance of digesting orassimilating either--if I know at all what those processes mean. '

'Our good Lombard cow is not half squeezed enough, ' observed the major, confidentially in tone. 'When she makes a noise--quick! the pail ather udders and work away; that's my advice. What's the verse?--ourZwitterwitz's, I mean; the Viennese poet:--

 "Her milk is good-the Lombard cow; Let her be noisy when she pleases But if she kicks the pail, I vow, We'll make her used to sharper squeezes: We'll write her mighty deeds in CHEESES: (That is, if she yields milk enow). "

'Capital! capital!' the major applauded his quotation, and went on tospeak of 'that Zwitterwitz' as having served in a border regiment, aftercreating certain Court scandal, and of his carrying off a Wallach ladyfrom her lord and selling her to a Turk, and turning Turk himself andkeeping a harem. Five years later he reappeared in Vienna with a volumeof what he called 'Black Eagle Poems, ' and regained possession of hisbarony. 'So far, so good, ' said the major; 'but when he applied for hisold commission in the army--that was rather too cool. '

Weisspriess muttered intelligibly, 'I've heard the remark, that youcan't listen to a man five minutes without getting something out ofhim. '

'I don't know; it may be, ' said the major, imagining that Weisspriessdemanded some stronger flavours of gossip in his talk. 'There's no stirin these valleys. They arrested, somewhere close on Trent yesterdayafternoon, a fellow calling himself Beppo, the servant of an Italianwoman--a dancer, I fancy. They're on the lookout for her too, I'm told;though what sort of capers she can be cutting in Tyrol, I can't evenguess. '

The major's car was journeying leisurely toward Cles. 'Whip that brute!'Weisspriess sang out to the driver, and begging the major's pardon, requested to know whither he was bound. The major informed him thathe hoped to sup in Trent. 'Good heaven! not at this pace, ' Weisspriessshouted. But the pace was barely accelerated, and he concealed hisreasons for invoking speed. They were late in arriving at Trent, whereWeisspriess cast eye on the imprisoned wretch, who declared piteouslythat he was the trusted and innocent servant of the Signorina Vittoria, and had been visiting all the castles of Meran in search of her. Thecaptain's man Wilhelm had been the one to pounce on poor Beppo while thelatter was wandering disconsolately. Leaving him to howl, Weisspriessprocured the loan of a horse from a colonel of cavalry at the BuonConsiglio barracks, and mounted an hour before dawn, followed byWilhelm. He reached Cles in time to learn that Vittoria and her partyhad passed through it a little in advance of him. Breakfasting there, heenjoyed the first truly calm cigar of many days. Gendarmes whom he hadmet near the place came in at his heels. They said that the party wouldpositively be arrested, or not allowed to cross the Monte Pallade. The passes to Meran and Botzen, and the road to Trent, were strictlyguarded. Weisspriess hurried them forward with particular orders thatthey should take into custody the whole of the party, excepting thelady; her, if arrested with the others, they were to release: her maidand the three men were to be marched back to Cles, and there kept fast. 

The game was now his own: he surveyed its pretty intricate moves as ona map. The character of Herr Johannes he entirely discarded: an Imperialofficer in his uniform, sword in belt, could scarcely continue thatmeek performance. 'But I may admire music, and entreat her to give mea particular note, if she has it, ' said the captain, hanging incontemplation over a coming scene, like a quivering hawk about to closeits wings. His heart beat thick; which astonished him: hitherto it hadnever made that sort of movement. 

From Cles he despatched a letter to the fair chatelaine at Meran, telling her that by dainty and skilful management of the paces, he wasbringing on the intractable heroine of the Fifteenth, and was tobe expected in about two or three days. The letter was entrusted toWilhelm, who took the borrowed horse back to Trent. 

Weisspriess was on the mule-track a mile above the last villageascending to the pass, when he observed the party of prisoners, andclimbed up into covert. As they went by he discerned but one person infemale garments; the necessity to crouch for obscurity prevented himfrom examining them separately. He counted three men and beheld one ofthem between gendarmes. 'That must be my villain, ' he said. 

It was clear that Vittoria had chosen to go forward alone. The captainpraised her spirit, and now pushed ahead with hunter's strides. Hepassed an inn, closed and tenantless: behind him lay the Val di Non;in front the darker valley of the Adige: where was the prey? A storm ofrage set in upon him with the fear that he had been befooled. He lit acigar, to assume ease of aspect, whatever the circumstances mightbe, and gain some inward serenity by the outer reflection of it--notaltogether without success. 'My lady must be a doughty walker, ' hethought; 'at this rate she will be in the Ultenthal before sunset. ' Awooded height ranged on his left as he descended rapidly. Coming to aroll of grass dotted with grey rock, he climbed it, and mounting oneof the boulders, beheld at a distance of half-a-dozen stone-throwsdownward, the figure of a woman holding her hand cup-shape to a waysidefall of water. The path by which she was going rounded the height hestood on. He sprang over the rocks, catching up his clattering steelscabbard; and plunging through tinted leafage and green underwood, steadied his heels on a sloping bank, and came down on the path withstones and earth and brambles, in time to appear as a seated pedestrianwhen Vittoria turned the bend of the mountain way. 

Gracefully withdrawing the cigar from his mouth, and touching his breastwith turned-in fingers, he accosted her with a comical operatic effortat her high notes

 'Italia!'

She gathered her arms on her bosom and looked swiftly round: then at theapparition of her enemy. 

It is but an ironical form of respect that you offer to the prey youhave been hotly chasing and have caught. Weisspriess conceived thathe had good reasons for addressing her in the tone best suited to hischaracter: he spoke with a ridiculous mincing suavity:

'My pretty sweet! are you not tired? We have not seen one another fordays! Can you have forgotten the enthusiastic Herr Johannes? You havebeen in pleasant company, no doubt; but I have been all--all alone. Think of that! What an exceedingly fortunate chance this is! I wassmoking dolefully, and imagining anything but such a rapture. --No, no, mademoiselle, be mannerly. ' The captain blocked her passage. 'You mustnot leave me while I am speaking. A good governess would have taught youthat in the nursery. I am afraid you had an inattentive governess, whodid not impress upon you the duty of recognizing friends when you meetthem! Ha! you were educated in England, I have heard. Shake hands. Itis our custom--I think a better one--to kiss on the right cheek and theleft, but we will shake hands. '

'In God's name, sir, let me go on, ' Vittoria could just gather voice toutter. 

'But, ' cried the delighted captain, 'you address me in the tones of abasso profundo! It is absurd. Do you suppose that I am to be deceivedby your artifice?--rogue that you are! Don't I know you are a woman? asweet, an ecstatic, a darling little woman!'

He laughed. She shivered to hear the solitary echoes. There wassunlight on the farthest Adige walls, but damp shade already filled theEast-facing hollows. 

'I beg you very earnestly, to let me go on, ' said Vittoria. 

'With equal earnestness, I beg you to let me accompany you, ' he replied. 'I mean no offence, mademoiselle; but I have sworn that I and no one butI shall conduct you to the Castle of Sonnenberg, where you will meet theLenkenstein ladies, with whom I have the honour to be acquainted. Yousee, you have nothing to fear if you play no foolish pranks, like akicking filly in the pasture. '

'If it is your pleasure, ' she said gravely; but he obtruded the bow ofan arm. She drew back. Her first blank despair at sight of the trap shehad fallen into, was clearing before her natural high courage. 

'My little lady! my precious prima donna! do you refuse the mosttrifling aid from me? It's because I'm a German. '

'There are many noble gentlemen who are Germans, ' said Vittoria. 

'It 's because I'm a German; I know it is. But, don't you see, Germanyinvades Italy, and keeps hold of her? Providence decrees it so--ask thepriests! You are a delicious Italian damsel, and you will take the armof a German. '

Vittoria raised her face. 'Do you mean that I am your prisoner?'

'You did not look braver at La Scala'; the captain bowed to her. 

'Ah, I forgot, ' said she; 'you saw me there. If, signore, you will do methe favour to conduct me to the nearest inn, I will sing to you. '

'It is precisely my desire, signorina. 

You are not married to that man Guidascarpi, I presume? No, no: you aremerely his... Friend. May I have the felicity of hearing you call meyour friend? Why, you tremble! are you afraid of me?'

'To tell the truth, you talk too much to please me, ' said Vittoria. 

The captain praised her frankness, and he liked it. The trembling of herframe still fascinated his eyes, but her courage and the absence of allwomanly play and cowering about her manner impressed him seriously. Hestood looking at her, biting his moustache, and trying to provoke her tosmile. 

'Conduct you to the nearest inn; yes, ' he said, as if musing. 'Tothe nearest inn, where you will sing to me; sing to me. It is not anobjectionable scheme. The inns will not be choice: but the society willbe exquisite. Say first, I am your sworn cavalier?'

'It does not become me to say that, ' she replied, feigning a demuresincerity, on the verge of her patience. 

'You allow me to say it?'

She gave him a look of fire and passed him; whereat, following her, he clapped hands, and affected to regard the movement as part of anoperatic scena. 'It is now time to draw your dagger, ' he said. 'You haveone, I'm certain. '

'Anything but touch me!' cried Vittoria, turning on him. 'I know that Iam safe. You shall teaze me, if it amuses you. '

'Am I not, now, the object of your detestation?'

'You are near being so. '

'You see! You put on no disguise; why should I?'

This remark struck her with force. 

'My temper is foolish, ' she said softly. 'I have always been used tokindness. '

He vowed that she had no comprehension of kindness; otherwise would shecontinue defiant of him? She denied that she was defiant: upon which heaccused the hand in her bosom of clutching a dagger. She cast the daggerat his feet. It was nobly done, and he was not insensible to the courageand inspiration of the act; for it checked a little example of a trialof strength that he had thought of exhibiting to an armed damsel. 

'Shall I pick it up for you?' he said. 

'You will oblige me, ' was her answer; but she could not control aconvulsion of her underlip that her defensive instinct told her was besthidden. 

'Of course, you know you are safe, ' he repeated her previous words, while examining the silver handle of the dagger. 'Safe? certainly!Here is C. A. To V.... A. Neatly engraved: a gift; so that the younggentleman may be sure the young lady will defend herself from lionsand tigers and wild boars, if ever she goes through forests and overmountain passes. I will not obtrude my curiosity, but who is V.... A. ?'

The dagger was Carlo's gift to her; the engraver, by singularmisadventure, had put a capital letter for the concluding letter of hername instead of little a; she remembered the blush on Carlo's face whenshe had drawn his attention to the error, and her own blush when she hadguessed its meaning. 

'It spells my name, ' she said. 

'Your assumed name of Vittoria. And who is C. A. ?'

'Those are the initials of Count Carlo Ammiani. '

'Another lover?'

'He is my sole lover. He is my betrothed. Oh, good God!' she threw hereyes up to heaven; 'how long am I to endure the torture of this man inmy pathway? Go, sir, or let me go on. You are intolerable. It 's thespirit of a tiger. I have no fear of you. '

'Nay, nay, ' said Weisspriess, 'I asked the question because I am underan obligation to run Count Carlo Ammiani through the body, and feltat once that I should regret the necessity. As to your not fearing me, really, far from wishing to hurt you--'

Vittoria had caught sight of a white face framed in the autumnal forestabove her head. So keen was the glad expression of her face, thatWeisspriess looked up. 

'Come, Angelo, come to me;' she said confidently. 

Weisspriess plucked his sword out, and called to him imperiously todescend. 

Beckoned downward by white hand and flashing blade, Angelo steadied hisfeet and hands among drooping chestnut boughs, and bounded to Vittoria'sside. 

'Now march on, ' Weisspriess waved his sword; 'you are my prisoners. '

'You, ' retorted Angelo; 'I know you; you are a man marked out for one ofus. I bid you turn back, if you care for your body's safety. '

'Angelo Guidascarpi, I also know you. Assassin! you double murderer!Defy me, and I slay you in the sight of your paramour. '

'Captain Weisspriess, what you have spoken merits death. I implore of myMaker that I may not have to kill you. '

'Fool! you are unarmed. '

Angelo took his stilet in his fist. 

'I have warned you, Captain Weisspriess. Here I stand. I dare you toadvance. '

'You pronounce my name abominably, ' said the captain, dropping hissword's point. 'If you think of resisting me, let us have no womenlooking on. ' He waved his left hand at Vittoria. 

Angelo urged her to go. 'Step on for our Carlo's sake. ' But it wasasking too much of her. 

'Can you fight this man?' she asked. 

'I can fight him and kill him. '

'I will not step on, ' she said. 'Must you fight him?'

'There is no choice. ' Vittoria walked to a distance at once. 

Angelo directed the captain's eyes to where, lower in the pass, therewas a level plot of meadow. 

Weisspriess nodded. 'The odds are in my favour, so you shall choose theground. '

All three went silently to the meadow. 

It was a circle of green on a projecting shoulder of the mountain, bounded by woods that sank toward the now shadowy South-flowingAdige vale, whose Western heights were gathering red colour above astrongly-marked brown line. Vittoria stood at the border of the wood, leaving the two men to their work. She knew when speech was useless. 

Captain Weisspriess paced behind Angelo until the latter stopped short, saying, 'Here!'

'Wherever you please, ' Weisspriess responded. 'The ground is of moreimportance to you than to me. '

They faced mutually; one felt the point of his stilet, the other thetemper of his sword. 

'Killing you, Angelo Guidascarpi, is the killing of a dog. But thereare such things as mad dogs. This is not a duel. It is a righteousexecution, since you force me to it: I shall deserve your thanks forsaving you from the hangman. I think you have heard that I can use myweapon. There's death on this point for you. Make your peace with yourMaker. '

Weisspriess spoke sternly. He delayed the lifting of his sword that thebloody soul might pray. 

Angelo said, 'You are a good soldier: you are a bad priest. Come on. '

A nod of magnanimous resignation to the duties of his office was thecaptain's signal of readiness. He knew exactly the method of fightingwhich Angelo must adopt, and he saw that his adversary was supple, andsinewy, and very keen of eye. But, what can well compensate for even oneadditional inch of steel? A superior weapon wielded by a trained wristin perfect coolness means victory, by every reasonable reckoning. In thepresent instance, it meant nothing other than an execution, as he hadsaid. His contemplation of his own actual share in the performancewas nevertheless unpleasant; and it was but half willingly that hestraightened out his sword and then doubled his arm. He lessened theodds in his favour considerably by his too accurate estimation of them. He was also a little unmanned by the thought that a woman was to see himusing his advantage; but she stood firm in her distant corner, refusingto be waved out of sight. Weisspriess had again to assure himself thatit was not a duel, but the enforced execution of a criminal who wouldnot surrender, and who was in his way. Fronting a creature that wouldvainly assail him, and temporarily escape impalement by bounding andspringing, dodging and backing, now here now there, like a danglingbob-cherry, his military gorge rose with a sickness of disgust. He hadto remember as vividly as he could realize it, that this man's lifewas forfeited, and that the slaughter of him was a worthy service toCountess Anna; also, that there were present reasons for desiring to bequit of him. He gave Angelo two thrusts, and bled him. The skill whichwarded off the more vicious one aroused his admiration. 

'Pardon my blundering, ' he said; 'I have never engaged a saltimbanquebefore. '

They recommenced. Weisspriess began to weigh the sagacity of hisopponent's choice of open ground, where he could lengthen the discourseof steel by retreating and retreating, and swinging easily to right orto left. In the narrow track the sword would have transfixed him aftera single feint. He was amused. Much of the cat was in his combativenature. An idea of disabling or dismembering Angelo, and forwardinghim to Meran, caused him to trifle further with the edge of the blade. Angelo took a cut, and turned it on his arm; free of the deadly point, he rushed in and delivered a stab; but Weisspriess saved his breast. Quick, they resumed their former positions. 

'I am really so unused to this game!' said Weisspriess, apologetically. 

He was pale: his unsteady breathing, and a deflection of his drippingsword-wrist, belied his coolness. Angelo plunged full on him, dropped, and again reached his right arm; they hung, getting blood for blood, with blazing interpenetrating eyes; a ghastly work of dark hands at halflock thrusting, and savage eyes reading the fiery pages of the book ofhell. At last the Austrian got loose from the lock and hurled him off. 

'That bout was hotter, ' he remarked; and kept his sword-point out on thewhole length of the arm: he would have scorned another for so miserablea form either of attack or defence. 

Vittoria beheld Angelo circling round the point, which met himeverywhere; like the minute hand of a clock about to sound his hour, shethought. 

He let fall both his arms, as if beaten, which brought on the attack: bysheer evasion he got away from the sword's lunge, and essayed a secondtrial of the bite of steel at close quarters; but the Austrian backedand kept him to the point, darting short alluring thrusts, thinkingto tempt him on, or to wind him, and then to have him. Weisspriess waschilled by a more curious revulsion from this sort of engagement than heat first experienced. He had become nervously incapable of those properniceties of sword-play which, without any indecent hacking or maiming, should have stretched Angelo, neatly slain, on the mat of green, beforehe had a chance. Even now the sight of the man was distressing to anhonourable duellist. Angelo was scored with blood-marks. Feeling that hedared not offer another chance to a fellow so desperately close-dealing, Weisspriess thrust fiercely, but delayed his fatal stroke. Angelostooped and pulled up a handful of grass and soft earth in his lefthand. 

'We have been longer about it than I expected, ' said Weisspriess. 

Angelo tightened his fingers about the stringy grasstuft; he stood likea dreamer, leaning over to the sword; suddenly he sprang on it, receivedthe point right in his side, sprang on it again, and seized it in hishand, and tossed it up, and threw it square out in time to burst withinguard and strike his stilet below the Austrian's collar-bone. The bladetook a glut of blood, as when the wolf tears quick at dripping flesh. Itwas at a moment when Weisspriess was courteously bantering him with thequestion whether he was ready, meaning that the affirmative should openthe gates of death to him. 

The stilet struck thrice. Weisspriess tottered, and hung his jaw like aman at a spectre: amazement was on his features. 

'Remember Broncini and young Branciani!'

Angelo spoke no other words throughout the combat. 

Weisspriess threw himself forward on a feeble lunge of his sword, andlet the point sink in the ground, as a palsied cripple supports hisframe, swayed, and called to Angelo to come on, and try anotherstroke, another--one more! He fell in a lump: his look of amazement wassurmounted by a strong frown. 

His enemy was hanging above him panting out of wide nostrils, like ahunter's horse above the long-tongued quarry, when Vittoria came tothem. 

She reached her strength to the wounded man to turn his face to heaven. 

He moaned, 'Finish me'; and, as he lay with his back to earth, 'Good-evening to the old army!'

A vision of leaping tumbrils, and long marching columns about to deploy, passed before his eyelids: he thought he had fallen on the battle-field, and heard a drum beat furiously in the back of his head; and on streamedthe cavalry, wonderfully caught away to such a distance that the figureswere all diminutive, and the regimental colours swam in smoke, and theenemy danced a plume here and there out of the sea, while his mother anda forgotten Viennese girl gazed at him with exactly the same unfamiliarcountenance, and refused to hear that they were unintelligible inthe roaring of guns and floods and hurrahs, and the thumping of thetremendous big drum behind his head--'somewhere in the middle of theearth': he tried to explain the locality of that terrible drumming noiseto them, and Vittoria conceived him to be delirious; but he knew that hewas sensible; he knew her and Angelo and the mountain-pass, and that hehad a cigar-case in his pocket worked in embroidery of crimson, blue, and gold, by the hands of Countess Anna. He said distinctly that hedesired the cigar-case to be delivered to Countess Anna at the Castle ofSonnenberg, and rejoiced on being assured that his wish was comprehendedand should be fulfilled; but the marvel was, that his mother shouldstill refuse to give him wine, and suppose him to be a boy: and whenhe was so thirsty and dry-lipped that though Mina was bending over him, just fresh from Mariazell, he had not the heart to kiss her or lift anarm to her!--His horse was off with him-whither?--He was going down witha company of infantry in the Gulf of Venice: cards were in his hands, visible, though he could not feel them, and as the vessel settled forthe black plunge, the cards flushed all honours, and his mother shookher head at him: he sank, and heard Mina sighing all the length of thewater to the bottom, which grated and gave him two horrid shocks ofpain: and he cried for a doctor, and admitted that his horse had managedto throw him; but wine was the cure, brandy was the cure, or water, water! Water was sprinkled on his forehead and put to his lips. 

He thanked Vittoria by name, and imagined himself that General, servingunder old Wurmser, of whom the tale is told that being shot and lyinggrievously wounded on the harsh Rivoli ground, he obtained the help ofa French officer in as bad case as himself, to moisten his black tongueand write a short testamentary document with his blood, and for a way ofreturning thanks to the Frenchman, he put down among others, the nameof his friendly enemy's widow; whereupon both resigned their hearts todeath; but the Austrian survived to find the sad widow and espouse her. 

His mutterings were full of gratitude, showing a vividly transientimpression to what was about him, that vanished in a narrow-headedflight through clouds into lands of memory. It pained him, he said, thathe could not offer her marriage; but he requested that when his chinwas shaved his moustache should be brushed up out of the way of theclippers, for he and all his family were conspicuous for the immenseamount of life which they had in them, and his father had lainsix-and-thirty hours bleeding on the field of Wagram, and had yetsurvived to beget a race as hearty as himself:--'Old Austria! thou grandold Austria!'

The smile was proud, though faint, which accompanied the apostrophe, addressed either to his country or to his father's personificationof it; it was inexpressibly pathetic to Vittoria, who understood his'Oesterreich, ' and saw the weak and helpless bleeding man, with hiseyeballs working under the lids, and the palms of his hands stretchedout open-weak as a corpse, but conquering death. 

The arrival of Jacopo and Johann furnished help to carry him onward tothe nearest place of shelter. Angelo would not quit her side until hehad given money and directions to both the trembling fellows, togetherwith his name, that they might declare the author of the deed at onceif questioned. He then bowed to Vittoria slightly and fled. They did notspeak. 

The last sunbeams burned full crimson on the heights of the Adigemountains as Vittoria followed the two pale men who bore the woundedofficer between them at a slow pace for the nearest village in thedescent of the pass. 

Angelo watched them out of sight. The far-off red rocks spun round hiseyeballs; the meadow was a whirling thread of green; the brown earthheaved up to him. He felt that he was diving, and had the thought thatthere was but water enough to moisten his red hands when his senses lefthim. 

CHAPTER XXVII

A NEW ORDEAL

The old city of Meran faces Southward to the yellow hills of Italy, across a broad vale, between two mountain-walls and torrent-waters. Withone hand it takes the bounding green Passeyr, and with the other thebrown-rolling Adige, and plunges them together in roaring foam underthe shadow of the Western wall. It stands on the spur of a lower centraleminence crowned by a grey castle, and the sun has it from everyaspect. The shape of a swan in water may describe its position, for theVintschgau and the stony Passeyrthal make a strong curve on two sidesas they descend upon it with their rivers, and the bosom of the cityprojects, while the head appears bending gracefully backward. Manycastles are in view of it; the loud and tameless Passeyr girdles it withan emerald cincture; there is a sea of arched vineyard foliage at hisfeet. 

Vittoria reached the Castle of Sonnenberg about noon, and foundempty courts and open doors. She sat in the hall like a supplicant, disregarded by the German domestics, who beheld a travel-stainedhumble-faced young Italian woman, and supposed that their duty was donein permitting her to rest; but the duchess's maid Aennchen happening tocome by, questioned her in moderately intelligible Italian, and hearingher name gave a cry, and said that all the company were out hunting, shooting, and riding, in the vale below or the mountain above. "Ah, dearest lady, what a fright we have all been in about you! SignoraPiaveni has not slept a wink, and the English gentleman has made greatexcursions every day to find you. This morning the soldier Wilhelmarrived with news that his master was bringing you on. "

Vittoria heard that Laura and her sister and the duchess had gone downto Meran. Countess Lena von Lenkenstein was riding to see her betrothedshoot on a neighbouring estate. Countess Anna had disappeared early, none knew where. Both these ladies, and their sister-in-law, were inmourning for the terrible death of their brother, Count Paul Aennchenrepeated what she knew of the tale concerning him. 

The desire to see Laura first, and be embraced and counselled by her, and lie awhile in her arms to get a breath of home, made Vittoria refuseto go up to her chamber, and notwithstanding Aennchen's persuasions, sheleft the castle, and went out and sat in the shaded cart-track. On thewinding ascent she saw a lady in a black riding habit, leading her horseand talking to a soldier, who seemed to be receiving orders from her, and presently saluted and turned his steps downward. The lady came on, and passed her without a glance. After entering the courtyard, whereshe left her horse, she reappeared, and stood hesitating, but came up toVittoria and said bluntly, in Italian:

"Are you the signorina Campa, or Belloni, who is expected here?"

The Austrian character and colouring of her features told Vittoria thatthis must be the Countess Anna or her sister. 

"I think I have been expected, " she replied. 

"You come alone?"

"I am alone. "

"I am Countess Anna von Lenkenstein; one of the guests of the castle. "

"My message is to the Countess Anna. "

"You have a message?"

Vittoria lifted the embroidered cigar-case. Countess Anna snatched itfrom her hand. 

"What does this mean? Is it insolence? Have the kindness, if you please, not to address me in enigmas. Do you"--Anna was deadly pale as sheturned the cigarcase from side to side--"do you imagine that I smoke, 'par hasard?'" She tried to laugh off her intemperate manner of speech;the laugh broke at sight of a blood-mark on one corner of the case; shestarted and said earnestly, "I beg you to let me hear what the meaningof this may be?"

"He lies in the Ultenthal, wounded; and his wish was that I shoulddeliver it to you. " Vittoria spoke as gently as the harsh tidings wouldallow. 

"Wounded? My God! my God!" Anna cried in her own language. "Wounded?-inthe breast, then! He carried it in his breast. Wounded by what? bywhat?"

"I can tell you no more. "

"Wounded by whom?"

"It was an honourable duel. "

"Are you afraid to tell me he has been assassinated?"

"It was an honourable duel. "

"None could match him with the sword. "

"His enemy had nothing but a dagger. "

"Who was his enemy?"

"It is no secret, but I must leave him to say. "

"You were a witness of the fight?"

"I saw it all. "

"The man was one of your party!

"Ah!" exclaimed Vittoria, "lose no time with me, Countess Anna, go tohim at once, for though he lived when I left him, he was bleeding; Icannot say that he was not dying, and he has not a friend near. "

Anna murmured like one overborne by calamity. "My brother struck downone day--he the next!" She covered her face a moment, and unclosed it toexplain that she wept for her brother, who had been murdered, stabbed inBologna. 

"Was it Count Ammiani who did this?" she asked passionately. 

Vittoria shook her head; she was divining a dreadful thing in relationto the death of Count Paul. 

"It was not?" said Anna. "They had a misunderstanding, I know. But youtell me the man fought with a dagger. It could not be Count Ammiani. The dagger is an assassin's weapon, and there are men of honour in Italystill. "

She called to a servant in the castle-yard, and sent him down withorders to stop the soldier Wilhelm. 

"We heard this morning that you were coming, and we thought it curious, "she observed; and called again for her horse to be saddled. "How far isthis place where he is lying? I have no knowledge of the Ultenthal. Has he a doctor attending him? When was he wounded? It is but commonhumanity to see that he is attended by an efficient doctor. My nervesare unstrung by the recent blow to our family; that is why--Oh, myfather! my holy father!" she turned to a grey priest's head that wasrising up the ascent, "I thank God for you! Lena is away riding; sheweeps constantly when she is within four walls. Come in and give metears, if you can; I am half mad for the want of them. Tears first;teach me patience after. "

The old priest fanned his face with his curled hat, and raised one handas he uttered a gentle chiding in reproof of curbless human sorrow. Annasaid to Vittoria, coldly, "I thank you for your message:" she walkedinto the castle by his side, and said to him there: "The woman yousaw outside has a guilty conscience. You will spend your time moreprofitably with her than with me. I am past all religious duties at thismoment. You know, father, that I can open my heart. Probe this Italianwoman; search her through and through. I believe her to be blood-stainedand abominable. She hates us. She has sworn an oath against us. She ismalignant. "

It was not long before Anna issued forth and rode down to the vale. Thepriest beckoned to Vittoria from the gates. He really supposed her tohave come to him with a burdened spirit. 

"My daughter, " he addressed her. The chapter on human error was opened:"We are all of one family--all of us erring children--all of us boundto abnegate hatred: by love alone are we saved. Behold the Image ofLove--the Virgin and Child. Alas! and has it been visible to man thesemore than eighteen hundred years, and humankind are still blind to it?Are their ways the ways of comfort and blessedness? Their ways are theways of blood; paths to eternal misery among howling fiends. Why havethey not chosen the sweet ways of peace, which are strewn with flowers, which flow with milk?"--The priest spread his hand open for Vittoria's, which she gave to his keeping, and he enclosed it softly, smoothing itwith his palms, and retaining it as a worldly oyster between spiritualshells. "Why, my daughter, why, but because we do not bow to that Imagedaily, nightly, hourly, momently! We do not worship it that its seedmay be sown in us. We do not cling to it, that in return it may cling tous. "

He spoke with that sensuous resource of rich feeling which thecontemplation of the Image does inspire. And Vittoria was not ledreluctantly into the oratory of the castle to pray with him; but sherefused to confess. Thereupon followed a soft discussion that was asnear being acerb as nails are near velvet paws. 

Vittoria perceived his drift, and also the dear good heart of the oldman, who meant no harm to her, and believed that he was making use ofhis professional weapons for her ultimate good. The inquisitions andthe kindness went musically together; she responded to the kindness, butrebutted the inquisitions; at which he permitted a shade of discontentto traverse his features, and asked her with immense tenderness whethershe had not much on her mind; she expressing melodious gratitude forhis endeavours to give her comfort. He could not forbear directing anadmonishment to her stubborn spirit, and was obliged, for the sakeof impressiveness, to speak it harshly; until he saw, that withoutsweetness of manner and unction of speech, he left her untouched; so hewas driven back to the form of address better suited to his nature andhabits; the end of which was that both were cooing. 

Vittoria was ashamed to tell herself how much she liked him and hisghostly brethren, whose preaching was always of peace, while the worldwas full of lurid hatred, strife, and division. She begged the baffledold man to keep her hand in his. He talked in Latinized Italian, and only appeared to miss the exact meaning of her replies when hisexamination of the state of her soul was resumed. They sat in the softcolour of the consecrated place like two who were shut away from earth. Often he thought that her tears were about to start and bring her low;for she sighed heavily; at the mere indication of the displacement ofher hand, she looked at him eagerly, as if entreating him not to let itdrop. 

"You are a German, father?" she said. 

"I am of German birth, my daughter. "

"That makes it better. Remain beside me. The silence is sweet music. "

The silence was broken at intervals by his murmur of a call forpatience! patience!

This strange scene concluded with the entry of the duchess, who retiredpartly as soon as she saw them. Vittoria smiled to the old man, and lefthim: the duchess gave her a hushed welcome, and took her place. Vittoriawas soon in Laura's arms, where, after a storm of grief, she related theevents of the journey following her flight from Milan. Laura interruptedher but once to exclaim, "Angelo Guidascarpi!" Vittoria then heard fromher briefly that Milan was quiet, Carlo Ammiani in prison. It had beenfor tidings of her lover that she had hastened over the mountains toMeran. She craved for all that could be told of him, but Laura repeated, as in a stupefaction, "Angelo Guidascarpi!" She answered Vittoria'squestion by saying, "You could not have had so fatal a companion. "

"I could not have had so devoted a protector. "

"There is such a thing as an evil star. We are all under it at present, to some degree; but he has been under it from his birth. My Sandra, mybeloved, I think I have pardoned you, if I ever pardon anyone! I doubtit; but it is certain that I love you. You have seen Countess Anna, or Iwould have told you to rest and get over your fatigue. The Lenkensteinsare here--my poor sister among them. You must show yourself. I wasprovident enough to call at your mother's for a box of your clothesbefore I ran out of wretched Milan. "

Further, the signora stated that Carlo might have to remain in prison. She made no attempt to give dark or fair colour to the misery of thesituation; telling Vittoria to lie on her bed and sleep, if sleep couldbe persuaded to visit her, she went out to consult with the duchess. Vittoria lay like a dead body on the bed, counting the throbs of herheart. It helped her to fall into a state of insensibility. When sheawoke, the room was dark; she felt that some one had put a silkencushion across her limbs. The noise of a storm traversing the vale rangthrough the castle, and in the desolation of her soul, that stealthy actof kindness wrought in her till she almost fashioned a vow upon her lipsthat she would leave the world to toss its wrecks, and dedicate her lifeto God. 

For, O heaven! of what avail is human effort? She thought of the Chief, whose life was stainless, but who stood proscribed because his aim wastoo high to be attained within compass of a mortal's years. His errorseemed that he had ever aimed at all. He seemed less wise than theold priest of the oratory. She could not disentangle him from her ownprofound humiliation and sense of fallen power. Her lover's imprisonmentaccused her of some monstrous culpability, which she felt unrepentingly, not as we feel a truth, but as we submit to a terrible force ofpressure. 

The morning light made her realize Carlo's fate, to whom it wouldpenetrate through a hideous barred loophole--a defaced and dreadfulbeam. She asked herself why she had fled from Milan. It must have beensome cowardly instinct that had prompted her to fly. "Coward, coward!thing of vanity! you, a mere woman!" she cried out, and succeededin despising herself sufficiently to think it possible that she haddeserved to forfeit her lover's esteem. 

It was still early when the duchess's maid came to her, bringing wordthat her mistress would be glad to visit her. From the duchess Vittoriaheard of the charge against Angelo. Respecting Captain Weisspriess, Amalia said that she had perceived his object in wishing to bring thegreat cantatrice to the castle; and that it was a well-devised audaciousscheme to subdue Countess Anna:--"We Austrians also can be jealous. The difference between us is, that it makes us tender, and you Italianssavage. " She asked pointedly for an affirmative, that Vittoria wasglad to reply with, when she said: "Captain Weisspriess was perfectlyrespectful to you?" She spoke comforting words of Carlo Ammiani, whomshe hoped to see released as soon as the excitement had subsided. The chief comfort she gave was by saying that he had been originallyarrested in mistake for his cousin Angelo. 

"I will confide what is now my difficulty here frankly to you, " said theduchess. "The Lenkensteins are my guests; I thought it better to bringthem here. Angelo Guidascarpi has slain their brother--a base deed! Itdoes not affect you in my eyes; you can understand that in theirs itdoes. Your being present--Laura has told me everything--at the duel, or fight, between that young man and Captain Weisspriess, will make youappear as his accomplice--at least, to Anna it will; she is the mostunreasoning, the most implacable of women. She returned from theUltenthal last night, and goes there this morning, which is a signthat Captain Weisspriess lives. I should be sorry if we lost so goodan officer. As she is going to take Father Bernardus with her, it ispossible that the wound is serious. Do you know you have mystifiedthe worthy man exceedingly? What tempted you to inform him that yourconscience was heavily burdened, at the same time that you refused toconfess?"

"Surely he has been deluded about me, " said Vittoria. 

"I do but tell you his state of mind in regard to you, " the duchesspursued. "Under all the circumstances, this is what I have to ask: youare my Laura's guest, therefore the guest of my heart. There is anotherone here, an Englishman, a Mr. Powys; and also Lieutenant Pierson, whom, naughty rebel that you are, you have been the means of bringing intodisgrace; naturally you would wish to see them: but my request is, thatyou should keep to these rooms for two or three days: the Lenkensteinswill then be gone. They can hardly reproach me for retaining an invalid. If you go down among them, it will be a cruel meeting. "

Vittoria thankfully consented to the arrangement. They agreed to act inaccordance with it. 

The signora was a late riser. The duchess had come on a second visit toVittoria when Laura joined them, and hearing of the arrangement, spurnedthe notion of playing craven before the Lenkensteins, who, she said, might think as it pleased them to think, but were never to suppose thatthere was any fear of confronting them. "And now, at this very moment, when they have their triumph, and are laughing over Viennese squibs ather, she has an idea of hiding her head--she hangs out the white flag!It can't be. We go or we stay; but if we stay, the truth is that we aretoo poor to allow our enemies to think poorly of us. You, Amalia, arevictorious, and you may snap your fingers at opinion. It is a luxurywe cannot afford. Besides, I wish her to see my sister and makeacquaintance with the Austrianized-Italian--such a wonder as is nowhereto be seen out of the Serabiglione and in the Lenkenstein family. Marriage is, indeed, a tremendous transformation. Bianca was oncedeclared to be very like me. "

The brow-beaten duchess replied to the outburst that she had consideredit right to propose the scheme for Vittoria's seclusion on account ofthe Guidascarpi. 

"Even if that were a good reason, there are better on the other side, "said Laura; adding, with many little backward tosses of the head, "Thatstory has to be related in full before I denounce Angelo and Rinaldo. "

"It cannot be denied that they are assassins, " returned the duchess. 

"It cannot be denied that they have killed one man or more. For you, Justice drops from the bough: we have to climb and risk our necks forit. Angelo stood to defend my darling here. Shall she be ashamed ofhim?"

"You will never persuade me to tolerate assassination, " said the duchesscolouring. 

"Never, never; I shall never persuade you; never persuade--never attemptto persuade any foreigner that we can be driven to extremes where theirlaws do not apply to us--are not good for us--goad a subjected peopletill their madness is pardonable. Nor shall I dream of persuading youthat Angelo did right in defending her from that man. "

"I maintain that there are laws applicable to all human creatures, " saidthe duchess. "You astonish me when you speak compassionately of such acriminal. "

"No; not of such a criminal, of such an unfortunate youth, and mycountryman, when every hand is turned against him, and all tongues arereviling him. But let Angelo pass; I pray to heaven he may escape. Allwho are worth anything in our country are strained in every fibre, and it's my trick to be half in love with anyone of them when he ispersecuted. I fancy he is worth more than the others, and is simplyluckless. You must make allowances for us, Amalia--pity captive Judah!"

"I think, my Laura, you will never be satisfied till I have ceased tobe Babylonian, " said the duchess, smiling and fondling Vittoria, to whomshe said, "Am I not a complaisant German?"

Vittoria replied gently, "If they were like you!"

"Yes, if they were like the duchess, " said Laura, "nothing would be leftfor us then but to hate ourselves. Fortunately, we deal with brutes. "

She was quite pitiless in prompting Vittoria to hasten down, andmarvelled at the evident reluctance in doing this slight duty, of onewhose courage she had recently seen rise so high. Vittoria was equallyamazed by her want of sympathy, which was positive coldness, and herdisregard for the sentiments of her hostess. She dressed hesitatingly, responding with forlorn eyes to Laura's imperious "Come. " When at lastshe was ready to descend, Laura took her dawn, full of battle. Theduchess had gone in advance to keep the peace. 

The ladies of the Lenkenstein family were standing at one window of themorning room conversing. Apart from them, Merthyr Powys and Wilfrid wereexamining one of the cumbrous antique arms ranged along the wall. Theformer of these old English friends stepped up to Vittoria quickly andkissed her forehead. Wilfrid hung behind him; he made a poor show ofindifference, stammered English and reddened; remembering that he wasunder observation he recovered wonderfully, and asked, like a patron, "How is the voice?" which would have been foolish enough to Vittoria'smore attentive hearing. She thanked him for the service he had renderedher at La Scala. Countess Lena, who looked hard at both, saw nothing towaken one jealous throb. 

"Bianca, you expressed a wish to give a salute to my eldest daughter, "said Laura. 

The Countess of Lenkenstein turned her head. "Have I done so?"

"It is my duty to introduce her, " interposed the duchess, and conductedthe ceremony with a show of its embracing these ladies, neither one ofwhom changed her cold gaze. 

Careful that no pause should follow, she commenced chatting to theladies and gentlemen alternately, keeping Vittoria under her peculiarcharge. Merthyr alone seconded her efforts to weave the web of converse, which is an armistice if not a treaty on these occasions. 

"Have you any fresh caricatures from Vienna?" Laura continued to addressher sister. 

"None have reached me, " said the neutral countess. 

"Have they finished laughing?"

"I cannot tell. "

"At any rate, we sing still, " Laura smiled to Vittoria. "You shall hearus after breakfast. I regret excessively that you were not in Milan onthe Fifteenth. We will make amends to you as much as possible. You shallhear us after breakfast. You will sing to please my sister, Sandra mia, will you not?"

Vittoria shook her head. Like those who have become passive, she readfaces--the duchess's imploring looks thrown from time to time tothe Lenkenstein ladies, Wilfrid's oppressed forehead, the resoluteneutrality of the countess--and she was not only incapable of secondingLaura's aggressive war, but shrank from the involvement and sickened atthe indelicacy. Anna's eyes were fixed on her and filled her with dreadlest she should be resolving to demand a private interview. 

"You refuse to sing?" said Laura; and under her breath, "When I bid younot, you insist!"

"Can she possibly sing before she grows accustomed to the air of theplace?" said the duchess. 

Merthyr gravely prescribed a week's diet on grapes antecedent to theissuing of a note. "Have you never heard what a sustained grape-dietwill do for the bullfinches?"

"Never, " exclaimed the duchess. "Is that the secret of their Germaneducation?"

"Apparently, for we cannot raise them to the same pitch of perfection inEngland. "

"I will try it upon mine. Every morning they shall have two bigbunches. "

"Fresh plucked, and with the first sunlight on them. Be careful of therules. "

Wilfrid remarked, "To make them exhibit the results, you withdraw thebenefit suddenly, of course?"

"We imitate the general run of Fortune's gifts as much as we can, " saidMerthyr. 

"That is the training for little shrill parrots: we have none in Italy, "Laura sighed, mock dolefully; "I fear the system would fail among us. "

"It certainly would not build Como villas, " said Lena. 

Laura cast sharp eyes on her pretty face. 

"It is adapted for caged voices that are required to chirrup to ticklethe ears of boors. "

Anna said to the duchess: "I hope your little birds are all well thismorning. "

"Come to them presently with me and let our ears be tickled, " theduchess laughed in answer; and the spiked dialogue broke, not to revive. 

The duchess had observed the constant direction of Anna's eyes uponVittoria during the repast, and looked an interrogation at Anna, whoreplied to it firmly. "I must be present, " the duchess whispered. Shedrew Vittoria away by the hand, telling Merthyr Powys that it was unkindto him, but that he should be permitted to claim his fair friend fromnoon to the dinner-bell. 

Laura and Bianca were discussing the same subject as the one for whichAnna desired an interview with Vittoria. It was to know the conditionsand cause of the duel between Angelo Guidascarpi and CaptainWeisspriess, and whither Angelo had fled. "In other words, you cry forvengeance under the name of justice, " Laura phrased it, and put up aprayer for Angelo's escape. 

The countess rebuked her. "It is men like Angelo who are a scandal toItaly. "

"Proclaimed so; but by what title are they judged?" Laura retorted. "Ihave heard that his duel with Count Paul was fair, and that the groundsfor it were just. Deplore it; but to condemn an Italian gentlemanwithout hearing his personal vindication, is infamous; nay, it isAustrian. I know next to nothing of the story. Countess Ammiani hasassured me that the brothers have a clear defence--not from your Viennapoint of view: Italy and Vienna are different sides of the shield. "

Vittoria spoke most humbly before Anna; her sole irritating remark was, that even if she were aware of the direction of Angelo's flight, shewould not betray him. 

The duchess did her utmost to induce her to see that he was a criminal, outlawed from common charity. "These Italians are really like the Jews, "she said to Anna; "they appear to me to hold together by a bond of race:you cannot get them to understand that any act can be infamous when oneof their blood is guilty of it. "

Anna thought gloomily: "Then, why do you ally yourself to them?"

The duchess, with Anna, Lena, and Wilfrid, drove to the Ultenthal. Vittoria and Merthyr had a long afternoon of companionship. She had beenshyer in meeting him than in meeting Wilfrid, whom she had once loved. The tie between herself and Wilfrid was broken; but Merthyr had remainedtrue to his passionless affection, which ennobled him to her so that herheart fluttered, though she was heavily depressed. He relieved her byletting her perceive that Carlo Ammiani's merits were not unknown tohim. Merthyr smiled at Carlo for abjuring his patrician birth. He said:"Count Ammiani will be cured in time of those little roughnesses of hisadopted Republicanism. You must help to cure him. Women are never sofoolish as men in these things. "

When Merthyr had spoken thus, she felt that she might dare to presshis hand. Sharing friendship with this steadfast nature and brotherlygentleman; who was in the ripe manhood of his years; who loved Italy andnever despaired; who gave great affection, and took uncomplainingly thepossible return for it;--seemed like entering on a great plain open toboundless heaven. She thought that friendship was sweeter than love. Merthyr soon left the castle to meet his sister at Coire. Laura andVittoria drove some distance up the Vintschgau, on the way to theEngadine, with him. He affected not to be downcast by the failure of thelast attempt at a rising in Milan. "Keep true to your Art; and don't letit be subservient to anything, " he said, and his final injunction to herwas that she should get a German master and practise rigidly. 

Vittoria could only look at Laura in reply. 

"He is for us, but not of us, " said Laura, as she kissed her fingers tohim. 

"If he had told me to weep and pray, " Vittoria murmured, "I think Ishould by-and-by lift up my head. "

"By-and-by! By-and-by I think I see a convent for me, " said Laura. 

Their faces drooped. 

Vittoria cried: "Ah! did he mean that my singing at La Scala was belowthe mark?"

At this, Laura's laughter came out in a volume. "And that excellentFather Bernardus thinks he is gaining a convert!" she said. 

Vittoria's depression was real, though her strong vitality appeared tomock it. Letters from Milan, enclosed to the duchess, spoke of CarloAmmiani's imprisonment as a matter that might be indefinitely prolonged. His mother had been subjected to an examination; she had not hesitatedto confess that she had received her nephew in her house, but it couldnot be established against her that it was not Carlo whom she had passedoff to the sbirri as her son. Countess Ammiani wrote to Laura, tellingher she scarcely hoped that Carlo would obtain his liberty save upon thearrest of Angelo:--"Therefore, what I most desire, I dare not pray for!"That line of intense tragic grief haunted Vittoria like a veiled headthrusting itself across the sunlight. Countess Ammiani added that shemust give her son what news she could gather;--"Concerning you, " saidLaura, interpreting the sentence: "Bitter days do this good, they makea proud woman abjure the traditions of her caste. " A guarded answerwas addressed, according to the countess's directions, to Sarpo thebookseller, in Milan. For purposes of such a nature, Barto Rizzo turnedthe uneasy craven to account. 

It happened that one of the maids at Sonnenberg was about to marry apeasant, of Meran, part proprietor of a vineyard, and the nuptials wereto be celebrated at the castle. Among those who thronged the courtyardon the afternoon of the ceremony, Vittoria beheld her faithful Beppo, who related the story of his pursuit of her, and the perfidy ofLuigi;--a story so lengthy, that his voluble tongue running at fullspeed could barely give the outlines of it. He informed her, likewise, that he had been sent for, while lying in Trent, by Captain Weisspriess, whom he had seen at an inn of the Ultenthal, weak but improving. Beppowas the captain's propitiatory offering to Vittoria. Meanwhile theladies sat on a terrace, overlooking the court, where a stout fellowin broad green braces and blue breeches lay half across a wooden table, thrumming a zither, which set the groups in motion. The zither is amelancholy little instrument; in range of expression it is to the harpwhat the winchat is to the thrush; or to the violin, what that bird isto the nightingale; yet few instruments are so exciting: here and therealong these mountain valleys you may hear a Tyrolese maid set her voiceto its plaintive thin tones; but when the strings are swept madlythere is mad dancing; it catches at the nerves. "Andreas! Andreas!" thedancers shouted to encourage the player. Some danced with vine-poles;partners broke and wandered at will, taking fresh partners, andoccasionally huddling in confusion, when the poles were levelled andtilted at them, and they dispersed. Beppo, dancing mightily to recoverthe use of his legs, met his acquaintance Jacob Baumwalder Feckelwitz, and the pair devoted themselves to a rivalry of capers; jump, stamp, shuffle, leg aloft, arms in air, yell and shriek: all took hands aroundthem and streamed, tramping the measure, and the vine-poles guardedthe ring. Then Andreas raised the song: "Our Lady is gracious, " andimmediately the whole assemblage were singing praise to the Lady of thecastle. Following which, wine being brought to Andreas, he drank tohis lady, to his lady's guests, to the bride, to the bridegroom, toeverybody. He was now ready to improvize, and dashed thumb and finger onthe zither, tossing up his face, swarthy-flushed: "There was a steinbockwith a beard. " Half-a-dozen voices repeated it, as to proclaim thetheme. 

"Alas! a beard indeed, for there is no end to this animal. I know him;"said the duchess dolefully. 

 "There was a steinbock with a beard; Of no gun was he afeard Piff-paff left of him: piff-paff right of him Piff-paff everywhere, where you get a sight of him. "

The steinbock led through the whole course of a mountaineer's emotionsand experiences, with piff-paff continually left of him and right of himand nothing hitting him. The mountaineer is perplexed; an able man, adead shot, who must undo the puzzle or lose faith in his skill, is atremendous pursuer, and the mountaineer follows the steinbock ever. A'sennderin' at a 'sennhutchen' tells him that she admitted the steinbocklast night, and her curled hair frizzled under the steinbock's eyes. Thecase is only too clear: my goodness! the steinbock is the--"Der Teu!... "said Andreas, with a comic stop of horror, the rhyme falling cleverly to"ai. " Henceforth the mountaineer becomes transformed into a championof humanity, hunting the wicked bearded steinbock in all corners;especially through the cabinet of those dark men who decree the taxesdetested in Tyrol. 

The song had as yet but fairly commenced, when a break in the'piff-paff' chorus warned Andreas that he was losing influence, womenand men were handing on a paper and bending their heads over it; theirresponses hushed altogether, or were ludicrously inefficient. 

"I really believe the poor brute has come to a Christian finish--thisAhasuerus of steinbocks!" said the duchess. 

The transition to silence was so extraordinary and abrupt, that shecalled to her chasseur to know the meaning of it. Feckelwitz fetchedthe paper and handed it up. It exhibited a cross done in blood under theword 'Meran, ' and bearing that day's date. One glance at it told Laurawhat it meant. The bride in the court below was shedding tears:the bridegroom was lighting his pipe and consoling her; women werechattering, men shrugging. Some said they had seen an old grey-hairedhag (hexe) stand at the gates and fling down a piece of paper. A littleboy whose imagination was alive with the tale of the steinbock, declaredthat her face was awful, and that she had only the use of one foot. Aman patted him on the shoulder, and gave him a gulp of wine, saying withhis shrewdest air: "One may laugh at the devil once too often, though!"and that sentiment was echoed; the women suggested in addition thepossibility of the bride Lisa having something on her conscience, seeing that she had lived in a castle two years and more. The potentialpersuasions of Father Bernardus were required to get the bride togo away to her husband's roof that evening: when she did make herdeparture, the superstitious peasantry were not a merry party thatfollowed at her heels. 

At the break-up of the festivities Wilfrid received an intimation thathis sister had arrived in Meran from Bormio. He went down to see her, and returned at a late hour. The ladies had gone to rest. He wrote a fewunderlined words, entreating Vittoria to grant an immediate interviewin the library of the castle. The missive was entrusted to Aennchen. Vittoria came in alarm. 

"My sister is perfectly well, " said Wilfrid. "She has heard thatCaptain Gambier has been arrested in the mountains; she had some fearsconcerning you, which I quieted. What I have to tell you, does notrelate to her. The man Angelo Guidascarpi is in Meran. I wish you to letthe signora know that if he is not carried out of the city before sunsetto-morrow, I must positively inform the superior officer of the districtof his presence there. "

This was their first private interview. Vittoria (for she knew him) hadacceded to it, much fearing that it would lead to her having to put onher sex's armour. To collect her wits, she asked tremblingly how Wilfridhad chanced to see Angelo. An old Italian woman, he said, had accostedhim at the foot of the mountain, and hearing that he was truly anEnglishman--"I am out of my uniform, " Wilfrid remarked with intentionalbitterness--had conducted him to the house of an Italian in the city, where Angelo Guidascarpi was lying. 

"Ill?" said Vittoria. 

"Just recovering. After that duel, or whatever it may be called withWeisspriess, he lay all night out on the mountains. He managed to getthe help of a couple of fellows, who led him at dusk into Meran, saw anItalian name over a shop, and--I will say for them that the rascals holdtogether. There he is, at all events. "

"Would you denounce a sick man, Wilfrid?"

"I certainly cannot forget my duty upon every point"

"You are changed!"

"Changed! Am I the only one who is changed?"

"He must have supposed that it would be Merthyr. I remember speaking ofMerthyr to him as our unchangeable friend. I told him Merthyr would behere. "

"Instead of Merthyr, he had the misfortune to see your changeablefriend, if you will have it so. "

"But how can it be your duty to denounce him, Wilfrid. You have quittedthat army. "

"Have I? I have forfeited my rank, perhaps. "

"And Angelo is not guilty of a military offence. "

"He has slain one of a family that I am bound to respect. "

"Certainly, certainly, " said Vittoria hurriedly. 

Her forehead showed distress of mind; she wanted Laura's counsel. 

"Wilfrid, do you know the whole story?"

"I know that he inveigled Count Paul to his house and slew him; eitherhe or his brother, or both. "

"I have been with him for days, Wilfrid. I believe that he would do nodishonourable thing. He is related----". 

"He is the cousin of Count Ammiani. "

"Ah! would you plunge us in misery?"

"How?"

"Count Ammiani is my lover. "

She uttered it unblushingly, and with tender eyes fixed on him. 

"Your lover!" he exclaimed, with vile emphasis. 

"He will be my husband, " she murmured, while the mounting hot colourburned at her temples. 

"Changed--who is changed?" he said, in a vehement underneath. "For thatreason I am to be false to her who does me the honour to care for me!"

"I would not have you false to her in thought or deed. "

"You ask me to spare this man on account of his relationship to yourlover, and though he has murdered the brother of the lady whom I esteem. What on earth is the meaning of the petition? Really, you amaze me. "

"I appeal to your generosity, Wilfrid, I am Emilia. "

"Are you?"

She gave him her hand. He took it, and felt at once the limit of allthat he might claim. Dropping the hand, he said:

"Will nothing less than my ruin satisfy you? Since that night at LaScala, I am in disgrace with my uncle; I expect at any moment to hearthat I am cashiered from the army, if not a prisoner. What is it thatyou ask of me now? To conspire with you in shielding the man who hasdone a mortal injury to the family of which I am almost one. Your reasonmust perceive that you ask too much. I would willingly assist you insparing the feelings of Count Ammiani; and, believe me, gratitude isthe last thing I require to stimulate my services. You ask too much; youmust see that you ask too much. "

"I do, " said Vittoria. "Good-night, Wilfrid. "

He was startled to find her going, and lost his equable voice intrying to detain her. She sought relief in Laura's bosom, to whom sherecapitulated the interview. 

"Is it possible, " Laura said, looking at her intently, "that you do notrecognize the folly of telling this Lieutenant Pierson that you werepleading to him on behalf of your lover? Could anything be so monstrous, when one can see that he is malleable to the twist of your littlefinger? Are you only half a woman, that you have no consciousness ofyour power? Probably you can allow yourself--enviable privilege!--tosuppose that he called you down at this late hour simply to inform youthat he is compelled to do something which will cause you unhappiness!I repeat, it is an enviable privilege. Now, when the real occasion hascome for you to serve us, you have not a single weapon--except thesetears, which you are wasting on my lap. Be sure that if he denouncesAngelo, Angelo's life cries out against you. You have but to quickenyour brain to save him. Did he expose his life for you or not? I knewthat he was in Meran, " the signora continued sadly. "The paper whichfrightened the silly peasants, revealed to me that he was there, needing help. I told you Angelo was under an evil star. I thought my dayto-morrow would be a day of scheming. The task has become easy, if youwill. "

"Be merciful; the task is dreadful, " said Vittoria. 

"The task is simple. You have an instrument ready to your hands. Youcan do just what you like with him--make an Italian of him; make himrenounce his engagement to this pert little Lena of Lenkenstein, breakhis sword, play Arlecchino, do what you please. He is not required forany outrageous performance. A week, and Angelo will have recovered hisstrength; you likewise may resume the statuesque demeanour which youhave been exhibiting here. For the space of one week you are asked forsome natural exercise of your wits and compliancy. Hitherto what haveyou accomplished, pray?" Laura struck spitefully at Vittoria'sdegraded estimation of her worth as measured by events. "You have donenothing--worse than nothing. It gives me horrors to find it necessary toentreat you to look your duty in the face and do it, that even threeor four Italian hearts--Carlo among them--may thank you. Not Carlo, yousay?" (Vittoria had sobbed, "No, not Carlo. ") "How little you know men!How little do you think how the obligations of the hour should affecta creature deserving life! Do you fancy that Carlo wishes you to be forever reading the line of a copy-book and shaping your conduct by it?Our Italian girls do this; he despises them. Listen to me; do not Iknow what is meant by the truth of love? I pass through fire, and keepconstant to it; but you have some vile Romance of Chivalry in your head;a modern sculptor's figure, 'MEDITATION;' that is the sort of bride youwould give him in the stirring days of Italy. Do you think it is onlya statue that can be true? Perceive--will you not--that this LieutenantPierson is your enemy. He tells you as much; surely the challenge isfair? Defeat him as you best can. Angelo shall not be abandoned. "

"O me! it is unendurable; you are merciless, " said Vittoria, shuddering. 

She saw the vile figure of herself aping smirks and tender meanings toher old lover. It was a picture that she dared not let her mind reston: how then could she personate it? All through her life she had beenfrank; as a young woman, she was clear of soul; she felt that her, simplicity was already soiled by the bare comprehension of theabominable course indicated by Laura. Degradation seemed to have been athing up to this moment only dreamed of; but now that it was demanded ofher to play coquette and trick her womanhood with false allurements, she knew the sentiment of utter ruin; she was ashamed. No word is morelightly spoken than shame. Vittoria's early devotion to her Art, andsubsequently to her Italy, had carried her through the term when shewould otherwise have showed the natural mild attack of the disease. It came on her now in a rush, penetrating every chamber of her heart, overwhelming her; she could see no distinction between being ever solittle false and altogether despicable. She had loathings of her bodyand her life. With grovelling difficulty of speech she endeavouredto convey the sense of her repugnance to Laura, who leaned her ear, wondering at such bluntness of wit in a woman, and said, "Are you quitedeficient in the craft of your sex, child? You can, and you will, guardyourself ten times better when your aim is simply to subject him. " Butthis was not reason to a spirit writhing in the serpent-coil of fieryblushes. 

Vittoria said, "I shall pity him so. "

She meant she would pity Wilfrid in deluding him. It was a taint of thehypocrisy which comes with shame. 

The signora retorted: "I can't follow the action of your mind a bit. "

Pity being a form of tenderness, Laura supposed that she wouldintuitively hate the man who compelled her to do what she abhorred. 

They spent the greater portion of the night in this debate. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE ESCAPE OF ANGELO

Vittoria knew better than Laura that the task was easy; she had but tooverride her aversion to the show of trifling with a dead passion; andwhen she thought of Angelo lying helpless in the swarm of enemies, andthat Wilfrid could consent to use his tragic advantage to force her tosilly love-play, his selfishness wrought its reflection, so that shebecame sufficiently unjust to forget her marvellous personal influenceover him. Even her tenacious sentiment concerning his white uniform wasclouded. She very soon ceased to be shamefaced in her own fancy. At dawnshe stood at her window looking across the valley of Meran, and felt thewhole scene in a song of her heart, with the faintest recollection ofher having passed through a tempest overnight. The warm Southern glowof the enfoliaged valley recalled her living Italy, and Italy her voice. She grew wakefully glad: it was her nature, not her mind, that hadtwisted in the convulsions of last night's horror of shame. The chirpof healthy blood in full-flowing veins dispersed it; and as a tropicalatmosphere is cleared by the hurricane, she lost her depression and wentdown among her enemies possessed by an inner delight, that was again ofher nature, not of her mind. She took her gladness for a happy sign thatshe had power to rise buoyant above circumstances; and though aware thatshe was getting to see things in harsh outlines, she was unconscious ofher haggard imagination. 

The Lenkensteins had projected to escape the blandishments of Vienna byresiding during the winter in Venice, where Wilfrid and his sister wereto be the guests of the countess:--a pleasant prospect that was dashedout by an official visit from Colonel Zofel of the Meran garrison, through whom it was known that Lieutenant Pierson, while enjoying hisfull liberty to investigate the charms of the neighbourhood, might notextend his excursions beyond a pedestrian day's limit;--he was, in fact, under surveillance. The colonel formally exacted his word of honour thathe would not attempt to pass the bounds, and explained to the duchessthat the injunction was favourable to the lieutenant, as implyingthat he must be ready at any moment to receive the order to join hisregiment. Wilfrid bowed with a proper soldierly submission. Respectingthe criminal whom his men were pursuing, Colonel Zofel said that he wassparing no efforts to come on his traces; he supposed, from what hehad heard in the Ultenthal, that Guidascarpi was on his back somewherewithin a short range of Meran. Vittoria strained her ears to thecolonel's German; she fancied his communication to be that he suspectedAngelo's presence in Meran. 

The official part of his visit being terminated, the colonel addressedsome questions to the duchess concerning the night of the famousFifteenth at La Scala. He was an amateur, and spoke with enthusiasm ofthe reports of the new prima donna. The duchess perceived that he wasasking for an introduction to the heroine of the night, and graciouslysaid that perhaps that very prima donna would make amends, to him forhis absence on the occasion. Vittoria checked a movement of revolt inher frame. She cast an involuntary look at Wilfrid. "Now it begins, "she thought, and went to the piano: she had previously refused tosing. Wilfrid had to bend his head over his betrothed and listen to herwhisperings. He did so, carelessly swaying his hand to the measure ofthe aria, with an increasing bitter comparison of the two voices. Lena persisted in talking; she was indignant at his abandonment ofthe journey to Venice; she reproached him as feeble, inconsiderate, indifferent. Then for an instant she would pause to hear the voice, andrenew her assault. "We ought to be thankful that she is not singinga song of death and destruction to us! The archduchess is coming toVenice. If you are presented to her and please her, and get the writsof naturalization prepared, you will be one of us completely, and yourfortune is made. If you stay here--why should you stay? It is nothingbut your uncle's caprice. I am too angry to care for music. If you stay, you will earn my contempt. I will not be buried another week in such aplace. I am tired of weeping. We all go to Venice: Captain Weisspriessfollows us. We are to have endless Balls, an opera, a Court there--withwhom am I to dance, pray, when I am out of mourning? Am I to sit andgovern my feet under a chair, and gaze like an imbecile nun? It is toopreposterous. I am betrothed to you; I wish, I wish to behave like abetrothed. The archduchess herself will laugh to see me chained to achair. I shall have to reply a thousand times to 'Where is he?' What canI answer? 'Wouldn't come, ' will be the only true reply. "

During this tirade, Vittoria was singing one of her old songs, wellknown to Wilfrid, which brought the vision of a foaming weir, andmoonlight between the branches of a great cedar-tree, and the lost loveof his heart sitting by his side in the noising stillness. He was surethat she could be singing it for no one but for him. The leap taken byhis spirit from this time to that, was shorter than from the past backto the present. 

"You do not applaud, " said Lena, when the song had ceased. 

He murmured: "I never do, in drawing-rooms. "

"A cantatrice expects it everywhere; these creatures live on it. "

"I'll tell her, if you like, what we thought of it, when I take her downto my sister, presently. "

"Are you not to take me down?"

"The etiquette is to hand her up to you. "

"No, no!" Lena insisted, in abhorrence of etiquette; but Wilfrid saidpointedly that his sister's feelings must be spared. "Her husband is ananimal: he is a millionaire city-of-London merchant; conceive him!He has drunk himself gouty on Port wine, and here he is for thegrape-cure. "

"Ah! in that England of yours, women marry for wealth, " said Lena. 

"Yes, in your Austria they have a better motive" he interpreted hersentiment. 

"Say, in our Austria. "

"In our Austria, certainly. "

"And with our holy religion?"

"It is not yet mine. "

"It will be?" She put the question eagerly. 

Wilfrid hesitated, and by his adept hesitation succeeded in throwing heroff the jealous scent. 

"Say that it will be, my Wilfrid!"

"You must give me time"

"This subject always makes you cold. "

"My own Lena!"

"Can I be, if we are doomed to be parted when we die?"

There is small space for compunction in a man's heart when he is inWilfrid's state, burning with the revival of what seemed to him asuperhuman attachment. He had no design to break his acknowledgedbondage to Countess Lena, and answered her tender speech almost astenderly. 

It never occurred to him, as he was walking down to Meran with Vittoria, that she could suppose him to be bartering to help rescue the life of awretched man in return for soft confidential looks of entreaty; nor didhe reflect, that when cast on him, they might mean no more than thewish to move him for a charitable purpose. The completeness of herfascination was shown by his reading her entirely by his own emotions, so that a lowly-uttered word, or a wavering unwilling glance, made himthink that she was subdued by the charm of the old days. 

"Is it here?" she said, stopping under the first Italian name she saw inthe arcade of shops. 

"How on earth have you guessed it?" he asked, astonished. 

She told him to wait at the end of the arcade, and passed in. When shejoined him again, she was downcast. They went straight to Adela's hotel, where the one thing which gave her animation was the hearing that Mr. Sedley had met an English doctor there, and had placed himself in hishands. Adela dressed splendidly for her presentation to the duchess. Having done so, she noticed Vittoria's depressed countenance anddifficult breathing. She commanded her to see the doctor. Vittoriaconsented, and made use of him. She could tell Laura confidently atnight that Wilfrid would not betray Angelo, though she had not spokenone direct word to him on the subject. 

Wilfrid was peculiarly adept in the idle game he played. One who isintent upon an evil end is open to expose his plan. But he had none inview; he lived for the luxurious sensation of being near the woman whofascinated him, and who was now positively abashed when by his side. Adela suggested to him faintly--she believed it was her spontaneousidea--that he might be making his countess jealous. He assured her thatthe fancy sprang from scenes which she remembered, and that she couldhave no idea of the pride of a highborn Austrian girl, who was incapableof conceiving jealousy of a person below her class. Adela repliedthat it was not his manner so much as Emilia's which might arouse thesuspicion; but she immediately affected to appreciate the sentimentsof a highborn Austrian girl toward a cantatrice, whose gifts we regardsimply as an aristocratic entertainment. Wilfrid induced his sister torelate Vittoria's early history to Countess Lena; and himself almostwondered, when he heard it in bare words, at that haunting vision of theglory of Vittoria at La Scala--where, as he remembered, he would haverun against destruction to cling to her lips. Adela was at first alarmedby the concentrated wrathfulness which she discovered in the bosom ofCountess Anna, who, as their intimacy waxed, spoke of the intrudingopera siren in terms hardly proper even to married women; but it seemedright, as being possibly aristocratic. Lena was much more tolerant. "I have just the same enthusiasm for soldiers that my Wilfrid has forsingers, " she said; and it afforded Adela exquisite pleasure to hearher tell how that she had originally heard of the 'eccentric youngEnglishman, ' General Pierson's nephew, as a Lustspiel--a comedy; and ofhis feats on horseback, and his duels, and his--"he was very wickedover here, you know;" Lena laughed. She assumed the privileges of herfour-and-twenty years and her rank. Her marriage was to take place inthe Spring. She announced it with the simplicity of an independent womanof the world, adding, "That is, if my Wilfrid will oblige me by notplunging into further disgrace with the General. "

"No; you will not marry a man who is under a cloud, " Anna subjoined. 

"Certainly not a soldier, " said Lena. "What it was exactly that hedid at La Scala, I don't know, and don't care to know, but he was thenignorant that she had touched the hand of that Guidascarpi. I decide bythis--he was valiant; he defied everybody: therefore I forgive him. Heis not in disgrace with me. I will reinstate him. "

"You have your own way of being romantic, " said Anna. "A soldier whoforgets his duty is in my opinion only a brave fool. "

"It seems to me that a great many gallant officers are fond of finevoices, " Lena retorted. 

"No doubt it is a fashion among them, " said Anna. 

Adela recoiled with astonishment when she began to see the light inwhich the sisters regarded Vittoria; and she was loyal enough to hintand protest on her friend's behalf. The sisters called her a very goodsoul. "It may not be in England as over here, " said Anna. "We have tosubmit to these little social scourges. "

Lena whispered to Adela, "An angry woman will think the worst. I have nodoubt of my Wilfrid. If I had!--"

Her eyes flashed. Fire was not wanting in her. 

The difficulties which tasked the amiable duchess to preserve an outwardshow of peace among the antagonistic elements she gathered together wereincreased by the arrival at the castle of Count Lenkenstein, Bianca'shusband, and head of the family, from Bologna. He was a tall and courtlyman, who had one face for his friends and another for the reverse party;which is to say, that his manners could be bad. Count Lenkenstein wasaccompanied by Count Serabiglione, who brought Laura's children withtheir Roman nurse, Assunta. Laura kissed her little ones, and sent themout of her sight. Vittoria found her home in their play and prattle. She needed a refuge, for Count Lenkenstein was singularly brutal inhis bearing toward her. He let her know that he had come to Meran tosuperintend the hunt for the assassin, Angelo Guidascarpi. He attemptedto exact her promise in precise speech that she would be on the spotto testify against Angelo when that foul villain should be caught. Heobjected openly to Laura's children going about with her. Bitter talkon every starting subject was exchanged across the duchess's table. She herself was in disgrace on Laura's account, and had to practisean overflowing sweetness, with no one to second her efforts. The twonoblemen spoke in accord on the bubble revolution. The strong hand--ay, the strong hand! The strong hand disposes of vermin. Laura listenedto them, pallid with silent torture. "Since the rascals have takento assassination, we know that we have them at the dregs, " said CountLenkenstein. "A cord round the throats of a few scores of them, and thecountry will learn the virtue of docility. "

Laura whispered to her sister: "Have you espoused a hangman?"

Such dropping of deadly shells in a quiet society went near toscattering it violently; but the union was necessitous. CountLenkenstein desired to confront Vittoria with Angelo; Laura would notquit her side, and Amalia would not expel her friend. Count Lenkensteincomplained roughly of Laura's conduct; nor did Laura escape her father'sreproof. "Sir, you are privileged to say what you will to me, " sheresponded, with the humility which exasperated him. 

"Yes, you bend, you bend, that you may be stiff-necked when it suitsyou, " he snapped her short. 

"Surely that is the text of the sermon you preach to our Italy!"

"A little more, as you are running on now, madame, and our Italy will befroth on the lips. You see, she is ruined. "

"Chi lo fa, lo sa, " hummed Laura; "but I would avoid quoting you as thatauthority. "

"After your last miserable fiasco, my dear!"

"It was another of our school exercises. We had not been good boysand girls. We had learnt our lesson imperfectly. We have received ourpunishment, and we mean to do better next time. "

"Behave seasonably, fittingly; be less of a wasp; school your tongue. "

"Bianca is a pattern to me, I am aware, " said Laura. 

"She is a good wife. "

"I am a poor widow. "

"She is a good daughter. "

"I am a wicked rebel. "

"And you are scheming at something now, " said the little nobleman, sagacious so far; but he was too eager to read the verification of thetentative remark in her face, and she perceived that it was a guessfounded on her show of spirit. 

"Scheming to contain my temper, which is much tried, " she said. "But Isuppose it supports me. I can always keep up against hostility. "

"You provoke it; you provoke it. "

"My instinct, then, divines my medicine. "

"Exactly, my dear; your personal instinct. That instigates you all. Andnone are so easily conciliated as these Austrians. Conciliate them, andyou have them. " Count Serabiglione diverged into a repetition of histheory of the policy and mission of superior intelligences, as regardedhis system for dealing with the Austrians. 

Nurse Assunta's jealousy was worked upon to separate the children fromVittoria. They ran down with her no more to meet the vast bowls ofgrapes in the morning and feather their hats with vine leaves. Deprivedof her darlings, the loneliness of her days made her look to Wilfridfor commiseration. Father Bernardus was too continually exhortative, andfenced too much to "hit the eyeball of her conscience, " as he phrasedit, to afford her repose. Wilfrid could tell himself that he had alreadydone much for her; for if what he had done were known, his career, social and military, was ended. This idea being accompanied by a senseof security delighted him; he was accustomed to inquire of Angelo'scondition, and praise the British doctor who was attending himgratuitously. "I wish I could get him out of the way, " he said, andfrowned as in a mental struggle. Vittoria heard him repeat his "I wish!"It heightened greatly her conception of the sacrifice he would be makingon her behalf and charity's. She spoke with a reverential tenderness, such as it was hard to suppose a woman capable of addressing to otherthan the man who moved her soul. The words she uttered were pure thanks;it was the tone which sent them winged and shaking seed. She had spokenpartly to prompt his activity, but her self-respect had been sustainedby his avoidance of the dreaded old themes, and that grateful feelingmade her voice musically rich. 

"I dare not go to him, but the doctor tells me the fever has left him, Wilfrid; his wounds are healing; but he is bandaged from head tofoot. The sword pierced his side twice, and his arms and hands are cuthorribly. He cannot yet walk. If he is discovered he is lost. CountLenkenstein has declared that he will stay at the castle till he has himhis prisoner. The soldiers are all round us. They know that Angelo isin the ring. They have traced him all over from the Valtellina to thisUltenthal, and only cannot guess where he is in the lion's jaw. I risein the morning, thinking, 'Is this to be the black day?' He is sure tobe caught. "

"If I could hit on a plan, " said Wilfrid, figuring as though he had adiorama of impossible schemes revolving before his eyes. 

"I could believe in the actual whispering of an angel if you did. It wasto guard me that Angelo put himself in peril. "

"Then, " said Wilfrid, "I am his debtor. I owe him as much as my life isworth. "

"Think, think, " she urged; and promised affection, devotion, veneration, vague things, that were too like his own sentiments to prompt himpointedly. Yet he so pledged himself to her by word, and prepared hisown mind to conceive the act of service, that (as he did not reflect)circumstance might at any moment plunge him into a gulf. Conduct of thissort is a challenge sure to be answered. 

One morning Vittoria was gladdened by a letter from Rocco Ricci, who hadfled to Turin. He told her that the king had promised to give her a warmwelcome in his capital, where her name was famous. She consulted withLaura, and they resolved to go as soon as Angelo could stand on hisfeet. Turin was cold--Italy, but it was Italy; and from Turin theItalian army was to flow, like the Mincio from the Garda lake. "Andthere, too, is a stage, " Vittoria thought, in a suddenly revived thirstfor the stage and a field for work. She determined to run down to Meranand see Angelo. Laura walked a little way with her, till Wilfrid, alertfor these occasions, joined them. On the commencement of the zig-zagbelow, there were soldiers, the sight of whom was not confusing. Military messengers frequently came up to the castle where CountLenkenstein, assisted by Count Serabiglione, examined their depositions, the Italian in the manner of a winding lawyer, the German of a gruffjudge. Half-way down the zig-zag Vittoria cast a preconcerted signalback to Laura. The soldiers had a pair of prisoners between their ranks;Vittoria recognized the men who had carried Captain Weisspriess from theground where the duel was fought. A quick divination told her that theyheld Angelo's life on their tongues. They must have found him in themountain-pass while hurrying to their homes, and it was they who hadled him to Meran. On the Passeyr bridge, she turned and said to Wilfrid, "Help me now. Send instantly the doctor in a carriage to the place wherehe is lying. "

Wilfrid was intent on her flushed beauty and the half-compressed quiverof her lip. 

She quitted him and hurried to Angelo. Her joy broke out in a cry ofthankfulness at sight of Angelo; he had risen from his bed; he couldstand, and he smiled. 

"That Jacopo is just now the nearest link to me, " he said, when sherelated her having seen the two men guarded by soldiers; he felthelpless, and spoke in resignation. She followed his eye about the roomtill it rested on the stilet. This she handed to him. "If they think ofhaving me alive!" he said softly. The Italian and his wife who had givenhim shelter and nursed him came in, and approved his going, though theydid not complain of what they might chance to have incurred. He offeredthem his purse, and they took it. Minutes of grievous expectation wentby; Vittoria could endure them no longer; she ran out to the hotel, near which, in the shade of a poplar, Wilfrid was smoking quietly. He informed her that his sister and the doctor had driven out to meetCaptain Gambier; his brother-in-law was alone upstairs. Her look ofamazement touched him more shrewdly than scorn, and he said, "What onearth can I do?"

"Order out a carriage. Send your brother-in-law in it. If you tell him'for your health, ' he will go. "

"On my honour, I don't know where those three words would not send him, "said Wilfrid; but he did not move, and was for protesting that hereally could not guess what was the matter, and the ground for all thisurgency. 

Vittoria compelled her angry lips to speak out her suspicionsexplicitly, whereupon he glanced at the sun-glare in a meditation, occasionally blinking his eyes. She thought, "Oh, heaven! can he bewaiting for me to coax him?" It was the truth, though it would have beenstrange to him to have heard it. She grew sure that it was the truth;never had she despised living creature so utterly as when she murmured, "My best friend! my brother! my noble Wilfrid! my old beloved! help menow, without loss of a minute. "

It caused his breath to come and go unevenly. 

"Repeat that--once, only once, " he said. 

She looked at him with the sorrowful earnestness which, as its meaningwas shut from him, was so sweet. 

"You will repeat it by-and-by?--another time? Trust me to do myutmost. Old beloved! What is the meaning of 'old beloved'? One word inexplanation. If it means anything, I would die for you! Emilia, do youhear?--die for you! To me you are nothing old or by-gone, whatever Imay be to you. To me--yes, I will order the carriage you are theEmilia--listen! listen! Ah! you have shut your ears against me. I ambound in all seeming, but I--you drive me mad; you know your power. Speak one word, that I may feel--that I may be convinced, ... Or not asingle word; I will obey you without. I have said that you command mylife. "

In a block of carriages on the bridge, Vittoria perceived a lifted hand. It was Laura's; Beppo was in attendance on her. Laura drove up and said:"You guessed right; where is he?" The communications between them weremore indicated than spoken. Beppo had heard Jacopo confess to his havingconducted a wounded Italian gentleman into Meran. "That means that thehouses will be searched within an hour, " said Laura; "my brother-in-lawBear is radiant. " She mimicked the Lenkenstein physiognomy spontaneouslyin the run of her speech. "If Angelo can help himself ever so little, hehas a fair start. " A look was cast on Wilfrid; Vittoria nodded--Wilfridwas entrapped. 

"Englishmen we can trust, " said Laura, and requested him to step intoher carriage. He glanced round the open space. Beppo did the same, andbeheld the chasseur Jacob Baumwalder Feckelwitz crossing the bridge onfoot, but he said nothing. Wilfrid was on the step of the carriage, forwhat positive object neither he nor the others knew, when his sister andthe doctor joined them. Captain Gambier was still missing. 

"He would have done anything for us, " Vittoria said in Wilfrid'shearing. 

"Tell us what plan you have, " the latter replied fretfully. 

She whispered: "Persuade Adela to make her husband drive out. The doctorwill go too, and Beppo. They shall take Angelo. Our carriage will followempty, and bring Mr. Sedley back. "

Wilfrid cast his eyes up in the air, at the monstrous impudence of theproject. "A storm is coming on, " he suggested, to divert her reading ofhis grimace; but she was speaking to the doctor, who readily answeredher aloud: "If you are certain of what you say. " The remark incitedWilfrid to be no subordinate in devotion; handing Adela from thecarriage, while the doctor ran up to Mr. Sedley, he drew her away. Lauraand Vittoria watched the motion of their eyes and lips. 

"Will he tell her the purpose?" said Laura. 

Vittoria smiled nervously: "He is fibbing. "

Marking the energy expended by Wilfrid in this art, the wiser womansaid: "Be on your guard the next two minutes he gets you alone. "

"You see his devotion. "

"Does he see his compensation? But he must help us at any hazard. "

Adela broke away from her brother twice, and each time he fixed herto the spot more imperiously. At last she ran into the hotel; she wascrying. "A bad economy of tears, " said Laura, commenting on the dumbscene, to soothe her savage impatience. "In another twenty minutes weshall have the city gates locked. "

They heard a window thrown up; Mr. Sedley's head came out, and peered atthe sky. Wilfrid said to Vittoria: "I can do nothing beyond what I havedone, I fear. "

She thought it was a petition for thanks, but Laura knew better; shesaid: "I see Count Lenkenstein on his way to the barracks. "

Wilfrid bowed: "I may be able to serve you in that quarter. "

He retired: whereupon Laura inquired how her friend could reasonablysuppose that a man would ever endure being thanked in public. 

"I shall never understand and never care to understand them, " saidVittoria. 

"It is a knowledge that is forced on us, my dear. May heaven make theminds of our enemies stupid for the next five hours!--Apropos of whatI was saying, women and men are in two hostile camps. We have a sortof general armistice and everlasting strife of individuals--Ah!" sheclapped hands on her knees, "here comes your doctor; I could fancy I seea pointed light on his head. Men of science, my Sandra, are always thehumanest. "

The chill air of wind preceding thunder was driving round the head ofthe vale, and Mr. Sedley, wrapped in furs, and feebly remonstrating withhis medical adviser, stepped into his carriage. The doctor followed him, giving a grave recognition of Vittoria's gaze. Both gentlemen raisedtheir hats to the ladies, who alighted as soon as they had gone in thedirection of the Vintschgau road. 

"One has only to furnish you with money, my Beppo, " said Vittoria, complimenting his quick apprehensiveness. "Buy bread and cakes at one ofthe shops, and buy wine. You will find me where you can, when youhave seen him safe. I have no idea of where my home will be. PerhapsEngland. "

"Italy, Italy! faint heart, " said Laura. 

Furnished with money, Beppo rolled away gaily. 

The doubt was in Laura whether an Englishman's wits were to be relied onin such an emergency; but she admitted that the doctor had looked fullenough of serious meaning, and that the Englishman named Merthyr Powyswas keen and ready. They sat a long half-hour, that thumped itselfout like an alarm-bell, under the poplars, by the clamouring Passeyr, watching the roll and spring of the waters, and the radiant foam, whileband-music played to a great company of visitors, and sounds of thunderdrew near. Over the mountains above the Adige, the leaden fingers ofan advance of the thunder-cloud pushed slowly, and on a sudden a mightygale sat heaped blank on the mountain-top and blew. Down went the headsof the poplars, the river staggered in its leap, the vale was shudderinggrey. It was like the transformation in a fairy tale; Beauty had takenher old cloak about her, and bent to calamity. The poplars streamedtheir length sideways, and in the pauses of the strenuous wind noddedand dashed wildly and white over the dead black water, that waxed infoam and hissed, showing its teeth like a beast enraged. Lauraand Vittoria joined hands and struggled for shelter. The tent of atravelling circus from the South, newly-pitched on a grassplot near theriver, was caught up and whirled in the air and flung in the face ofa marching guard of soldiery, whom it swathed and bore sheer to earth, while on them and around them a line of poplars fell flat, the windwhistling over them. Laura directed Vittoria's eyes to the sight. "See, "she said, and her face was set hard with cold and excitement, so thatshe looked a witch in the uproar; "would you not say the devil is loosenow Angelo is abroad?" Thunder and lightning possessed the vale, andthen a vertical rain. At the first gleam of sunlight, Laura and Vittoriawalked up to the Laubengasse--the street of the arcades, where theymade purchases of numerous needless articles, not daring to enter theItalian's shop. A woman at a fruitstall opposite to it told them that nocarriage could have driven up there. During their great perplexity, mudand rain-stained soldiers, the same whom they had seen borne to earth bythe flying curtain, marched before the shop; the shop and the house weresearched; the Italian and his old liming wife were carried away. 

"Tell me now, that storm was not Angelo's friend!" Laura muttered. 

"Can he have escaped?" said Vittoria. 

"He is 'on horseback. '" Laura quoted the Italian proverb to signify thathe had flown; how, she could not say, and none could inform her. The joyof their hearts rose in one fountain. 

"I shall feel better blood in my body from this moment, " Laura said; andVittoria, "Oh! we can be strong, if we only resolve. "

"You want to sing?"

"I do. "

"I shall find pleasure in your voice now. "

"The wicked voice!"

"Yes, the very wicked voice! But I shall be glad to hear it. You cansing to-night, and drown those Lenkensteins. "

"If my Carlo could hear me!"

"Ah!" sighed the signora, musing. "He is in prison now. I remember him, the dearest little lad, fencing with my husband for exercise after theyhad been writing all day. When Giacomo was imprisoned, Carlo sat outsidethe prison walls till it was time for him to enter; his chin and upperlip were smooth as a girl's. Giacomo said to him, 'May you always havethe power of going out, or not have a wife waiting for you. ' Here theycome. " (She spoke of tears. ) "It's because I am joyful. The channel forthem has grown so dry that they prick and sting. Oh, Sandra! it would bepleasant to me if we might both be buried for seven days, and have onelong howl of weakness together. A little bite of satisfaction makesme so tired. I believe there's something very bad for us in our alwaysbeing at war, and never, never gaining ground. Just one spark of triumphintoxicates us. Look at all those people pouring out again. They arethe children of fair weather. I hope the state of their health does nottrouble them too much. Vienna sends consumptive patients here. If youregard them attentively, you will observe that they have an anxious air. Their constitutions are not sound; they fear they may die. "

Laura's irony was unforced; it was no more than a subtle discordnaturally struck from the scene by a soul in contrast with it. 

They beheld the riding forth of troopers and a knot of officers hotlyconversing together. At another point the duchess and the Lenkensteinladies, Count Lenkenstein, Count Serabiglione, and Wilfrid paced up anddown, waiting for music. Laura left the public places and crossed anupper bridge over the Passeyr, near the castle, by which route sheskirted vines and dropped over sloping meadows to some shaded boulderswhere the Passeyr found a sandy bay, and leaped in transparent green, and whitened and swung twisting in a long smooth body down a narrowchasm, and noised below. The thundering torrent stilled theirsensations: and the water, making battle against great blocks ofporphyry and granite, caught their thoughts. So strong was theimpression of it on Vittoria's mind, that for hours after, every imageshe conceived seemed proper to the inrush and outpour; the elbowing, thetossing, the foaming, the burst on stones, and silvery bubbles under andsilvery canopy above, the chattering and huzzaing; all working on to theone-toned fall beneath the rainbow on the castle-rock. 

Next day, the chasseur Jacob Baumwalder Feckelwitz deposed in fullcompany at Sonnenberg, that, obeying Count Serabiglione's instructions, he had gone down to the city, and had there seen Lieutenant Pierson withthe ladies in front of the hotel; he had followed the English carriage, which took up a man who was standing ready on crutches at the cornerof the Laubengasse, and drove rapidly out of the North-western gate, leading to Schlanders and Mals and the Engadine. He had witnessed thetransfer of the crippled man from one carriage to another, and hadraised shouts and given hue and cry, but the intervention of the stormhad stopped his pursuit. 

He was proceeding to say what his suppositions were. Count Lenkensteinlifted his finger for Wilfrid to follow him out of the room. CountSerabiglione went at their heels. Then Count Lenkenstein sent for hiswife, whom Anna and Lena accompanied. 

"How many persons are you going to ruin in the course of your crusade, my dear?" the duchess said to Laura. 

"Dearest, I am penitent when I succeed, " said Laura. 

"If that young man has been assisting you, he is irretrievably ruined. "

"I am truly sorry for him. "

"As for me, the lectures I shall get in Vienna are terrible to thinkof. This is the consequence of being the friend of both parties, and apeace-maker. "

Count Serabiglione returned alone from the scene at the examination, rubbing his hands and nodding affably to his daughter. He maliciouslydeclined to gratify the monster of feminine curiosity in the lump, anddoled out the scene piecemeal. He might state, he observed, that it washe who had lured Beppo to listen at the door during the examinationof the prisoners; and who had then planted a spy on him--followingthe dictation of precepts exceedingly old. "We are generally beaten, duchess; I admit it; and yet we generally contrive to show the brain. AsI say, wed brains to brute force!--but my Laura prefers to bring abouta contest instead of an union, so that somebody is certain to be struck, and"--the count spread out his arms and bowed his head--"deserves theblow. " He informed them that Count Lenkenstein had ordered LieutenantPierson down to Meran, and that the lieutenant might expect to becashiered within five days. "What does it matter?" he addressedVittoria. "It is but a shuffling of victims; Lieutenant Pierson in theplace of Guidascarpi! I do not object. "

Count Lenkenstein withdrew his wife and sisters from Sonnenberginstantly. He sent an angry message of adieu to the duchess, informingher that he alone was responsible for the behaviour of the ladies of hisfamily. The poor duchess wept. "This means that I shall be summoned toVienna for a scolding, and have to meet my husband, " she said to Laura, who permitted herself to be fondled, and barely veiled her exultation inher apology for the mischief she had done. An hour after the departureof the Lenkensteins, the castle was again officially visited by ColonelZofel. Vittoria and Laura received an order to quit the district ofMeran before sunset. The two firebrands dropped no tears. "I really amsorry for others when I succeed, " said Laura, trying to look sad uponher friend. 

"No; the heart is eaten out of you both by excitement, " said theduchess. 

Her tender parting, "Love me, " in the ear of Vittoria, melted one heartof the two. 

Count Serabiglione continued to be buoyed up by his own and hisdaughter's recent display of a superior intellectual dexterity until thecarriage was at the door and Laura presented her cheek to him. Hesaid, "You will know me a wise man when I am off the table. " Hisgesticulations expressed "Ruin, headlong ruin!" He asked her how shecould expect him to be for ever repairing her follies. He was goingto Vienna; how could he dare to mention her name there? Not even in atrifle would she consent to be subordinate to authority. Laura checkedher replies--the surrendering, of a noble Italian life to the Austrianswas such a trifle! She begged only that a poor wanderer might departwith a father's blessing. The count refused to give it; he waved heroff in a fury of reproof; and so got smoothly over the fatal momentwhen money, or the promise of money, is commonly extracted from parentalsources, as Laura explained his odd behaviour to her companion. Thecarriage-door being closed, he regained his courtly composure; his furywas displaced by a chiding finger, which he presently kissed. Father. Bernardus was on the steps beside the duchess, and his blessing had notbeen withheld from Vittoria, though he half confessed to her that shewas a mystery in his mind, and would always be one. 

"He can understand robust hostility, " Laura said, when Vittoria recalledthe look of his benevolent forehead and drooping eyelids; "but robustductility does astonish him. He has not meddled with me; yet I am theone of the two who would be fair prey for an enterprising spiritualfather, as the destined roan of heaven will find out some day. "

She bent and smote her lap. "How little they know us, my darling! Theytake fever for strength, and calmness for submission. Here is the worldbefore us, and I feel that such a man, were he to pounce on me now, might snap me up and lock me in a praying-box with small difficulty. AndI am the inveterate rebel! What is it nourishes you and keeps you alwaysaiming straight when you are alone? Once in Turin, I shall feel that Iam myself. Out of Italy I have a terrible craving for peace. It seemshere as if I must lean down to him, my beloved, who has left me. "

Vittoria was in alarm lest Wilfrid should accost her while she drovefrom gate to gate of the city. They passed under the archway of the gateleading up to Schloss Tyrol, and along the road bordered by vines. Anold peasant woman stopped them with the signal of a letter in her hand. "Here it is, " said Laura, and Vittoria could not help smiling at hershrewd anticipation of it. 

"May I follow?"

Nothing more than that was written. 

But the bearer of the missive had been provided with a lead pencil toobtain the immediate reply. 

"An admirable piece of foresight!" Laura's honest exclamation burstforth. 

Vittoria had to look in Laura's face before she could gather her willto do the cruel thing which was least cruel. She wrote firmly:--"Neverfollow me. "

CHAPTER XXIX

EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR--THE TOBACCO-RIOTS--RINALDOGUIDASCARPI

Anna von Lenkenstein was one who could wait for vengeance. Lena punishedon the spot, and punished herself most. She broke off her engagementwith Wilfrid, while at the same time she caused a secret message to beconveyed to him, telling him that the prolongation of his residence inMeran would restore him to his position in the army. 

Wilfrid remained at Meran till the last days of December. 

It was winter in Milan, turning to the new year--the year of flamesfor continental Europe. A young man with a military stride, but outof uniform, had stepped from a travelling carriage and entered acigar-shop. Upon calling for cigars, he was surprised to observe thewoman who was serving there keep her arms under her apron. She cast alook into the street, where a crowd of boys and one or two lean men hadgathered about the door. After some delay, she entreated her customer tolet her pluck his cloak halfway over the counter; at the same time shethrust a cigar-box under that concealment, together with a printed songin the Milanese dialect. He lifted the paper to read it, and found ittough as Russ. She translated some of the more salient couplets. Tobaccohad become a dead business, she said, now that the popular edict hadgone forth against 'smoking gold into the pockets of the Tedeschi. ' Nonesmoked except officers and Englishmen. 

"I am an Englishman, " he said. 

"And not an officer?" she asked; but he gave no answer. "Englishmen arerare in winter, and don't like being mobbed, " said the woman. 

Nodding to her urgent petition, he deferred the lighting of his cigar. The vetturino requested him to jump up quickly, and a howl of "Nosmoking in Milan--fuori!--down with tobacco-smokers!" beset thecarriage. He tossed half-a-dozen cigars on the pavement derisively. Theywere scrambled for, as when a pack of wolves are diverted by a garmentdropped from the flying sledge, but the unluckier hands came after hisheels in fuller howl. He noticed the singular appearance of the streets. Bands of the scum of the population hung at various points: from timeto time a shout was raised at a distance, "Abasso il zigarro!" and "Awaywith the cigar!" went an organized file-firing of cries along the openplace. Several gentlemen were mobbed, and compelled to fling the cigarsfrom their teeth. He saw the polizta in twos and threes taking counseland shrugging, evidently too anxious to avoid a collision. Austriansoldiers and subalterns alone smoked freely; they puffed the harderwhen the yells and hootings and whistlings thickened at their heels. Sometimes they walked on at their own pace; or, when the noise swelledto a crisis, turned and stood fast, making an exhibition of curlingsmoke, as a mute form of contempt. Then commenced hustlings and atremendous uproar; sabres were drawn, the whitecoats planted themselvesback to back. Milan was clearly in a condition of raging disease. Thesoldiery not only accepted the challenge of the mob, but assumed theoffensive. Here and there they were seen crossing the street to puffobnoxiously in the faces of people. Numerous subalterns were abroad, lively for strife, and bright with the signal of their readiness. An icywind blew down from the Alps, whitening the housetops and the ways, butevery street, torso, and piazza was dense with loungers, as on asummer evening; the clamour of a skirmish anywhere attracted streams ofdisciplined rioters on all sides; it was the holiday of rascals. 

Our traveller had ordered his vetturino to drive slowly to his hotel, that he might take the features of this novel scene. He soon showedhis view of the case by putting an unlighted cigar in his mouth. Thevetturino noted that his conveyance acted as a kindling-match to awakencries in quiet quarters, looked round, and grinned savagely at the sightof the cigar. 

"Drop it, or I drop you, " he said; and hearing the command to drive on, pulled up short. 

They were in a narrow way leading to the Piazza de' Mercanti. While thealtercation was going on between them, a great push of men emerged fromone of the close courts some dozen paces ahead of the horse, bearingforth a single young officer in their midst. 

"Signore, would you like to be the froth of a boiling of that sort?" Thevetturino seized the image at once to strike home his instance of thedanger of outraging the will of the people. 

Our traveller immediately unlocked a case that lay on the seat in frontof him, and drew out a steel scabbard, from which he plucked the sword, and straightway leaped to the ground. The officer's cigar had beendashed from his mouth: he stood at bay, sword in hand, meeting a rushwith a desperate stroke. The assistance of a second sword got him clearof the fray. Both hastened forward as the crush melted with the hiss ofa withdrawing wave. They interchanged exclamations: "Is it you, Jenna!"

"In the devil's name, Pierson, have you come to keep your appointment inmid-winter?"

"Come on: I'll stick beside you. "

"On, then!"

They glanced behind them, heeding little the tail of ruffians whom theyhad silenced. 

"We shall have plenty of fighting soon, so we'll smoke a cordial cigartogether, " said Lieutenant Jenna, and at once struck a light and blazeddefiance to Milan afresh--an example that was necessarily followed byhis comrade. "What has happened to you, Pierson? Of course, I knew youwere ready for our bit of play--though you'll hear what I said of you. How the deuce could you think of running off with that opera girl, andgetting a fellow in the mountains to stab our merry old Weisspriess, just because you fancied he was going to slip a word or so over the backof his hand in Countess Lena's ear? No wonder she's shy of you now. "

"So, that's the tale afloat, " said Wilfrid. "Come to my hotel and dinewith me. I suppose that cur has driven my luggage there. "

Jenna informed him that officers had to muster in barracks everyevening. 

"Come and see your old comrades; they'll like you better in badluck--there's the comfort of it: hang the human nature! She's a goodold brute, if you don't drive her hard. Our regiment left Verona inNovember. There we had tolerable cookery; come and take the best we cangive you. "

But this invitation Wilfrid had to decline. 

"Why?" said Jenna. 

He replied: "I've stuck at Meran three months. I did it, in obedience towhat I understood from Colonel Zofel to be the General's orders. When Iwas as perfectly dry as a baked Egyptian, I determined to believe that Iwas not only in disgrace, but dismissed the service. I posted to Botzenand Riva, on to Milan; and here I am. The least I can do is to showmyself here. "

"Very well, then, come and show yourself at our table, " said Jenna. "Listen: we'll make a furious row after supper, and get hauled in by thecollar before the General. You can swear you have never been absent fromduty: swear the General never gave you forcible furlough. I'll swearit; all our fellows will swear it. The General will say, 'Oh! a verybig lie's equal to a truth; big brother to a fact, or something; as healways does, you know. Face it out. We can't spare a good stout sword inthese times. On with me, my Pierson. "

"I would, " said Wilfrid, doubtfully. 

A douse of water from a window extinguished their cigars. 

Lieutenant Jenna wiped his face deliberately, and lighting anothercigar, remarked--"This is the fifth poor devil who has come to anuntimely end within an hour. It is brisk work. Now, I'll swear I'llsmoke this one out. "

The cigar was scattered in sparks from his lips by a hat skilfullyflung. He picked it up miry and cleaned it, observing that his honourwas pledged to this fellow. The hat he trampled into a muddy lump. Wilfrid found it impossible to ape his coolness. He swung about for anadversary. Jenna pulled him on. 

"A salute from a window, " he said. "We can't storm the houses. Thetime'll come for it--and then, you cats!"

Wilfrid inquired how long this state of things had been going on. Jennareplied that they appeared to be in the middle of it;--nearly a week. Another week, and their day would arrive; and then!

"Have you heard anything of a Count Ammiani here?" said Wilfrid. 

"Oh! he's one of the lot, I believe. We have him fast, as we'll havethe bundle of them. Keep eye on those dogs behind us, and manoeuvre yourcigar. The plan is, to give half-a-dozen bright puffs, and then keep itin your fist; and when you see an Italian head, volcano him like fury. Yes, I've heard of that Ammiani. The scoundrels, made an attempt to gethim out of prison--I fancy he's in the city prison--last Friday night. I don't know exactly where he is; but it's pretty fair reckoning to saythat he'll enjoy a large slice of the next year in the charming solitudeof Spielberg, if Milan is restless. Is he a friend of yours?"

"Not by any means, " said Wilfrid. 

"Mio prigione!" Jenna mouthed with ineffable contemptuousness; "he'llhave time to write his memoirs, as, one of the dogs did. I remember mymother crying over, the book. I read it? Not I! I never read books. Myfather said--the stout old colonel--'Prison seems to make these Italianstake an interest in themselves. ' 'Oh!' says my mother, 'why can't theybe at peace with us?' 'That's exactly the question, ' says my father, 'we're always putting to them. ' And so I say. Why can't they let ussmoke our cigars in peace?"

Jenna finished by assaulting a herd of faces with smoke. 

"Pig of a German!" was shouted; and "Porco, porco, " was sung in a scaleof voices. Jenna received a blinding slap across the eyes. He staggeredback; Wilfrid slashed his sword in defence of him. He struck a man down. "Blood! blood!" cried the gathering mob, and gave space, but hedged thecouple thickly. Windows were thrown up; forth came a rain of householdprojectiles. The cry of "Blood! blood!" was repeated by numbers pouringon them from the issues to right and left. It is a terrible cry in acity. In a city of the South it rouses the wild beast in men to madness. Jenna smoked triumphantly and blew great clouds, with an eye aloftfor the stools, basins, chairs, and water descending. They were inthe middle of one of the close streets of old Milan. The man felled byWilfrid was raised on strong arms, that his bleeding head might be seenof all, and a dreadful hum went round. A fire of missiles, stones, ballsof wax, lumps of dirt, sticks of broken chairs, began to play. Wilfridhad a sudden gleam of the face of his Verona assailant. He and Jennacalled "Follow me, " in one breath, and drove forward with sword-points, which they dashed at the foremost; by dint of swift semicirclings ofthe edges they got through, but a mighty voice of command thundered;the rearward portion of the mob swung rapidly to the front, presentinga scattered second barrier; Jenna tripped on a fallen body, lost hiscigar, and swore that he must find it. A dagger struck his sword-arm. He staggered and flourished his blade in the air, calling "On!" withoutstirring. "This infernal cigar!" he said; and to the mob, "What mongrelof you took my cigar?" Stones thumped on his breast; the barrier-lineahead grew denser. "I'll go at them first; you're bleeding, " saidWilfrid. They were refreshed by the sound of German cheering, as inapproach. Jenna uplifted a crow of the regimental hurrah of the charge;it was answered; on they went and got through the second fence, sawtheir comrades, and were running to meet them, when a weighted ball hitWilfrid on the back of the head. He fell, as he believed, on a cushionof down, and saw thousands of saints dancing with lamps along cathedralaisles. 

The next time he opened his eyes he fancied he had dropped into thevaults of the cathedral. His sensation of sinking was so vivid that hefeared lest he should be going still further below. There was a lampin the chamber, and a young man sat reading by the light of the lamp. Vision danced fantastically on Wilfrid's brain. He saw that he rockedas in a ship, yet there was no noise of the sea; nothing save the remotethunder haunting empty ears at strain for sound. He looked again; theyoung man was gone, the lamp was flickering. Then he became conscious ofa strong ray on his eyelids; he beheld his enemy gazing down on him andswooned. It was with joy, that when his wits returned, he found himselflooking on the young man by the lamp. "That other face was a dream, "he thought, and studied the aspect of the young man with the unweariedattentiveness of partial stupor, that can note accurately, but cannotdeduce from its noting, and is inveterate in patience because it isunideaed. Memory wakened first. 

"Guidascarpi!" he said to himself. 

The name was uttered half aloud. The young man started and closed hisbook. 

"You know me?" he asked. 

"You are Guidascarpi?"

"I am. "

"Guidascarpi, I think I helped to save your life in Meran. "

The young man stooped over him. "You speak of my brother Angelo. I amRinaldo. My debt to you is the same, if you have served him. "

"Is he safe?"

"He is in Lugano. "

"The signorina Vittoria?"

"In Turin. "

"Where am I?"

The reply came from another mouth than Rinaldo's. 

"You are in the poor lodging of the shoemaker, whose shoes, if you hadthought fit to wear them, would have conducted you anywhere but to thisplace. "

"Who are you?" Wilfrid moaned. 

"You ask who I am. I am the Eye of Italy. I am the Cat who sees inthe dark. " Barto Rizzo raised the lamp and stood at his feet. "Lookstraight. You know me, I think. "

Wilfrid sighed, "Yes, I know you; do your worst. "

His head throbbed with the hearing of a heavy laugh, as if a hammer hadknocked it. What ensued he knew not; he was left to his rest. He laythere many days and nights, that were marked by no change of light; thelamp burned unwearyingly. Rinaldo and a woman tended him. The sign ofhis reviving strength was shown by a complaint he launched at the earthysmell of the place. 

"It is like death, " said Rinaldo, coming to his side. "I am used to it, and familiar with death too, " he added in a musical undertone. 

"Are you also a prisoner here?" Wilfrid questioned him. 

"I am. "

"The brute does not kill, then?"

"No; he saves. I owe my life to him. He has rescued yours. "

"Mine?" said Wilfrid. 

"You would have been torn to pieces in the streets but for Barto Rizzo. "

The streets were the world above to Wilfrid; he was eager to hear of thedoings in them. Rinaldo told him that the tobacco-war raged still;the soldiery had recently received orders to smoke abroad, andstreet battles were hourly occurring. "They call this government!" heinterjected. 

He was a soft-voiced youth; slim and tall and dark, like Angelo, butwith a more studious forehead. The book he was constantly reading wasa book of chemistry. He entertained Wilfrid with very strange talk. Hespoke of the stars and of a destiny. He cited certain minor eventsof his life to show the ground of his present belief in there being awritten destiny for each individual man. "Angelo and I know it well. Itwas revealed to us when we were boys. It has been certified to us up tothis moment. Mark what I tell you, " he pursued in a devout sincerity ofmanner that baffled remonstrance, "my days end with this new year. Hisend with the year following. Our house is dead. "

Wilfrid pressed his hand. "Have you not been too long underground?"

"That is the conviction I am coming to. But when I go out to breathe theair of heaven, I go to my fate. Should I hesitate? We Italians of thisperiod are children of thunder and live the life of a flash. The wormsmay creep on: the men must die. Out of us springs a better world. Romara, Ammiani, Mercadesco, Montesini, Rufo, Cardi, whether they see itor not, will sweep forward to it. To some of them, one additional day ofbreath is precious. Not so for Angelo and me. We are unbeloved. We haveneither mother nor sister, nor betrothed. What is an existence that canfly to no human arms? I have been too long underground, because, while Icontinue to hide, I am as a drawn sword between two lovers. "

The previous mention of Ammiani's name, together with the knowledge hehad of Ammiani's relationship to the Guidascarpi, pointed an instantidentification of these lovers to Wilfrid. 

He asked feverishly who they were, and looked his best simplicity, asone who was always interested by stories of lovers. 

The voice of Barto Rizzo, singing "Vittoria!" stopped Rinaldo's reply:but Wilfrid read it in his smile at that word. He was too weak torestrain his anguish, and flung on the couch and sobbed. Rinaldosupposed that he was in fear of Barto, and encouraged him to meet theman confidently. A lusty "Viva l'Italia! Vittoria!" heralded Barto'sentrance. "My boy! my noblest! we have beaten them the cravens! Tell menow--have I served an apprenticeship to the devil for nothing? We havestruck the cigars out of their mouths and the monopoly-money out oftheir pockets. They have surrendered. The Imperial order prohibitssoldiers from smoking in the streets of Milan, and so throughoutLombardy! Soon we will have the prisons empty, by our own order. Troubleyourself no more about Ammiani. He shall come out to the sound oftrumpets. I hear them! Hither, my Rosellina, my plump melon; up withyour red lips, and buss me a Napoleon salute--ha! ha!"

Barto's wife went into his huge arm, and submissively lifted her face. He kissed her like a barbaric king, laughing as from wine. 

Wilfrid smothered his head from his incarnate thunder. He was unnoticedby Barto. Presently a silence told him that he was left to himself. Anidea possessed him that the triumph of the Italians meant the releaseof Ammiani, and his release the loss of Vittoria for ever. Since hergraceless return of his devotion to her in Meran, something like apassion--arising from the sole spring by which he could be excitedto conceive a passion--had filled his heart. He was one of those whodelight to dally with gentleness and faith, as with things that aretheir heritage; but the mere suspicion of coquettry and indifferenceplunged him into a fury of jealous wrathfulness, and tossed sodesireable an image of beauty before him that his mad thirst to embraceit seemed love. By our manner of loving we are known. He thought it nomeanness to escape and cause a warning to be conveyed to the Governmentthat there was another attempt brewing for the rescue of Count Ammiani. Acting forthwith on the hot impulse, he seized the lamp. The door wasunlocked. Luckier than Luigi had been, he found a ladder outside, anda square opening through which he crawled; continuing to ascend alongclose passages and up narrow flights of stairs, that appeared to him tobe fashioned to avoid the rooms of the house. At last he pushed adoor, and found himself in an armoury, among stands of muskets, swords, bayonets, cartouche-boxes, and, most singular of all, though he observedthem last, small brass pieces of cannon, shining with polish. Shot waspiled in pyramids beneath their mouths. He examined the guns admiringly. There were rows of daggers along shelves; some in sheath, others bare;one that had been hastily wiped showed a smear of ropy blood. He stooddebating whether he should seize a sword for his protection. In the actof trying its temper on the floor, the sword-hilt was knocked from hishand, and he felt a coil of arms around him. He was in the imprisoningembrace of Barto Rizzo's wife. His first, and perhaps natural, impression accused her of a violent display of an eccentric passion forhis manly charms; and the tighter she locked him, the more reasonablywas he held to suppose it; but as, while stamping on the floor, sheoffered nothing to his eyes save the yellow poll of her neck, and hungneither panting nor speaking, he became undeceived. His struggles werepreposterous; his lively sense of ridicule speedily stopped them. Heremained passive, from time to time desperately adjuring his livingprison to let him loose, or to conduct him whither he had come; but theinexorable coil kept fast--how long there was no guessing--till he couldhave roared out tears of rage, and that is extremity for an Englishman. Rinaldo arrived in his aid; but the woman still clung to him. He wasfreed only by the voice of Barto Rizzo, who marched him back. Rinaldosubsequently told him that his discovery of the armoury necessitated hisconfinement. 

"Necessitates it!" cried Wilfrid. "Is this your Italian gratitude?"

The other answered: "My friend, you risked your fortune for my brother;but this is a case that concerns our country. "

He deemed these words to be an unquestionable justification, for he saidno more. After this they ceased to converse. 

Each lay down on his strip of couch-matting; rose and ate, and passedthe dreadful untamed hours; nor would Wilfrid ask whether it was day ornight. We belong to time so utterly, that when we get no note of time, it wears the shrouded head of death for us already. Rinaldo could quitthe place as he pleased; he knew the hours; and Wilfrid supposed thatit must be hatred that kept him from voluntarily divulging that blessedpiece of knowledge. He had to encourage a retorting spirit of hatredin order to mask his intense craving. By an assiduous calculation ofseconds and minutes, he was enabled to judge that the lamp burned aspace of six hours before it required replenishing. Barto Rizzo's wifetrimmed it regularly, but the accursed woman came at all seasons. Shebrought their meals irregularly, and she would never open her lips: shewas like a guardian of the tombs. Wilfrid abandoned his dream of thevariation of night and day, and with that the sense of life deadened, asthe lamp did toward the sixth hour. Thenceforward his existence fed onthe movements of his companion, the workings of whose mind he began toread with a marvellous insight. He knew once, long in advance of theact or an indication of it, that Rinaldo was bent on prayer. Rinaldo hadslightly closed his eyelids during the perusal of his book; he had takena pencil and traced lines on it from memory, and dotted points here andthere; he had left the room, and returned to resume his study. Then, after closing the book softly, he had taken up the mark he wasaccustomed to place in the last page of his reading, and tossed it away. Wilfrid was prepared to clap hands when he should see the hated fellowdrop on his knees; but when that sight verified his calculation, hehuddled himself exultingly in his couch-cloth:--it was like a confirmingclamour to him that he was yet wholly alive. He watched the anguish ofthe prayer, and was rewarded for the strain of his faculties by sleep. Barto Rizzo's rough voice awakened him. Barto had evidently justcommunicated dismal tidings to Rinaldo, who left the vault with him, and was absent long enough to make Wilfrid forget his hatred in anirresistible desire to catch him by the arm and look in his face. 

"Ah! you have not forsaken me, " the greeting leaped out. 

"Not now, " said Rinaldo. 

"Do you think of going?"

"I will speak to you presently, my friend. "

"Hound!" cried Wilfrid, and turned his face to the wall. 

Until he slept, he heard the rapid travelling of a pen; on hisawakening, the pen vexed him like a chirping cricket that tells us thatcock-crow is long distant when we are moaning for the dawn. Great dropsof sweat were on Rinaldo's forehead. He wrote as one who poured fortha history without pause. Barto's wife came to the lamp and beckoned himout, bearing the lamp away. There was now for the first time darknessin this vault. Wilfrid called Rinaldo by name, and heard nothing butthe fear of the place, which seemed to rise bristling at his voice andshrink from it. He called till dread of his voice held him dumb. "I am, then, a coward, " he thought. Nor could he by-and-by repress a start ofterror on hearing Rinaldo speak out of the darkness. With screams forthe lamp, and cries that he was suffering slow murder, he underwent aparoxysm in the effort to conceal his abject horror. Rinaldo sat by hisside patiently. At last, he said: "We are both of us prisoners onequal terms now. " That was quieting intelligence to Wilfrid, who askedeagerly: "What hour is it?"

It was eleven of the forenoon. Wilfrid strove to dissociate hisrecollection of clear daylight from the pressure of the hideousfeatureless time surrounding him. He asked: "What week?" It was thefirst week in March. Wilfrid could not keep from sobbing aloud. In theearly period of such a captivity, imagination, deprived of all otherfood, conjures phantasms for the employment of the brain; but there isstill some consciousness within the torpid intellect wakeful to laugh atthem as they fly, though they have held us at their mercy. The face oftime had been imaged like the withering mask of a corpse to him. He hadfelt, nevertheless, that things had gone on as we trust them to do atthe closing of our eyelids: he had preserved a mystical remote faithin the steady running of the world above, and hugged it as his mostprecious treasure. A thunder was rolled in his ears when he heard ofthe flight of two months at one bound. Two big months! He would haveguessed, at farthest, two weeks. "I have been two months in one shirt?Impossible!" he exclaimed. His serious idea (he cherished it for thesupport of his reason) was, that the world above had played a mad pranksince he had been shuffled off its stage. 

"It can't be March, " he said. "Is there sunlight overhead?"

"It is a true Milanese March, " Rinaldo replied. 

"Why am I kept a prisoner?"

"I cannot say. There must be some idea of making use of you. "

"Have you arms?"

"I have none. "

"You know where they're to be had. "

"I know, but I would not take them if I could. They, my friend, are fora better cause. "

"A thousand curses on your country!" cried Wilfrid. "Give me air; giveme freedom, I am stifled; I am eaten up with dirt; I am half dead. Arewe never to have the lamp again?"

"Hear me speak, " Rinaldo stopped his ravings. "I will tell you whatmy position is. A second attempt has been made to help Count Ammiani'sescape; it has failed. He is detained a prisoner by the Government underthe pretence that he is implicated in the slaying of an Austrian nobleby the hands of two brothers, one of whom slew him justly--not as a dogis slain, but according to every honourable stipulation of the code. Iwas the witness of the deed. It is for me that my cousin, Count Ammiani, droops in prison when he should be with his bride. Let me speak on, Ipray you. I have said that I stand between two lovers. I can releasehim, I know well, by giving myself up to the Government. Unless I do soinstantly, he will be removed from Milan to one of their fortresses inthe interior, and there he may cry to the walls and iron-bars for histrial. They are aware that he is dear to Milan, and these two miserableattempts have furnished them with their excuse. Barto Rizzo bids mewait. I have waited: I can wait no longer. The lamp is withheld from meto stop my writing to my brother, that I may warn him of my design, butthe letter is written; the messenger is on his way to Lugano. I do notstate my intentions before I have taken measures to accomplish them. Iam as much Barto Rizzo's prisoner now as you are. "

The plague of darkness and thirst for daylight prevented Wilfrid fromhaving any other sentiment than gladness that a companion equallyunfortunate with himself was here, and equally desirous to go forth. When Barto's wife brought their meal, and the lamp to light them eatingit, Rinaldo handed her pen, ink, pencil, paper, all the materialof correspondence; upon which, as one who had received a stipulatedexchange, she let the lamp remain. While the new and thrice-dear rayswere illumining her dark-coloured solid beauty, I know not what touchof man-like envy or hurt vanity led Wilfrid to observe that the woman'seyes dwelt with a singular fulness and softness on Rinaldo. It wasfulness and softness void of fire, a true ox-eyed gaze, but human in thefall of the eyelids; almost such as an early poet of the brush gave tothe Virgin carrying her Child, to become an everlasting reduplicatedimage of a mother's strong beneficence of love. He called Rinaldo'sattention to it when the woman had gone. Rinaldo understood his meaningat once. 

"It will have to be so, I fear, " he said; "I have thought of it. But ifI lead her to disobey Barto, there is little hope for the poor soul. " Herose up straight, like one who would utter grace for meat. "Must we, Omy God, give a sacrifice at every step?"

With that he resumed his seat stiffly, and bent and murmured to himself. Wilfrid had at one time of his life imagined that he was marked by apeculiar distinction from the common herd; but contact with this youngman taught him to feel his fellowship to the world at large, and torejoice at it, though it partially humbled him. 

They had no further visit from Barto Rizzo. The woman tended them inthe same unswerving silence, and at whiles that adorable maternityof aspect. Wilfrid was touched by commiseration for her. He was toobitterly fretful on account of clean linen and the liberty whichfluttered the prospect of it, to think much upon what her fate might be:perhaps a beating, perhaps the knife. But the vileness of wearing oneshirt two months and more had hardened his heart; and though he wasconsiderate enough not to prompt his companion very impatiently, he submitted desperate futile schemes to him, andsuggested--"To-night?--tomorrow?--the next day?" Rinaldo did not heedhim. He lay on his couch like one who bleeds inwardly, thinking of thecomplacent faithfulness of that poor creature's face. Barto Rizzo hadsworn to him that there should be a rising in Milan before the month wasout; but he had lost all confidence in Milanese risings. Ammiani wouldbe removed, if he delayed; and he knew that the moment his letterreached Lugano, Angelo would start for Milan and claim to surrender inhis stead. The woman came, and went forth, and Rinaldo did not look ather until his resolve was firm. 

He said to Wilfrid in her presence, "Swear that you will reveal nothingof this house. "

Wilfrid spiritedly pronounced his gladdest oath. 

"It is dark in the streets, " Rinaldo addressed the woman. "Lead us out, for the hour has come when I must go. "

She clutched her hands below her bosom to stop its great heaving, andstood as one smitten by the sudden hearing of her sentence. Thesight was pitiful, for her face scarcely changed; the anguish wasexpressionless. Rinaldo pointed sternly to the door. 

"Stay, " Wilfrid interposed. "That wretch may be in the house, and willkill her. "

"She is not thinking of herself, " said Rinaldo. 

"But, stay, " Wilfrid repeated. The woman's way of taking breath shockedand enfeebled him. 

Rinaldo threw the door open. 

"Must you? must you?" her voice broke. 

"Waste no words. "

"You have not seen a priest?"

"I go to him. "

"You die. "

"What is death to me? Be dumb, that I may think well of you till my lastmoment. "

"What is death tome? Be dumb!"

She had spoken with her eyes fixed on his couch. It was the figure ofone upon the scaffold, knitting her frame to hold up a strangled heart. 

"What is death to me? Be dumb!" she echoed him many times on the riseand fall of her breathing, and turned to get him in her eyes. "Be dumb!be dumb!" She threw her arms wide out, and pressed his temples andkissed him. 

The scene was like hot iron to Wilfrid's senses. When he heard hercoolly asking him for his handkerchief to blind him, he had forgottenthe purpose, and gave it mechanically. Nothing was uttered throughoutthe long mountings and descent of stairs. They passed across onecorridor where the walls told of a humming assemblage of men within. Acurrent of keen air was the first salute Wilfrid received from the worldabove; his handkerchief was loosened; he stood foolish as a blind man, weak as a hospital patient, on the steps leading into a small square ofvisible darkness, and heard the door shut behind him. Rinaldo led himfrom the court to the street. 

"Farewell, " he said. "Get some housing instantly; avoid exposure to theair. I leave you. "

Wilfrid spent his tongue in a fruitless and meaningless remonstrance. "And you?" he had the grace to ask. 

"I go straight to find a priest. Farewell. "

So they parted. 

CHAPTER XXX

EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR THE FIVE DAYS OF MILAN

The same hand which brought Rinaldo's letter to his brother delivereda message from Barto Rizzo, bidding Angelo to start at once and head astout dozen or so of gallant Swiss. The letter and the message appearedto be grievous contradictions: one was evidently a note of despair, while the other sang like a trumpet. But both were of a character todraw him swiftly on to Milan. He sent word to his Lugano friends, naminga village among the mountains between Como and Varese, that they mightjoin him there if they pleased. 

Toward nightfall, on the nineteenth of the month, he stood with a smallband of Ticinese and Italian fighting lads two miles distant from thecity. There was a momentary break in long hours of rain; the air wasfull of inexplicable sounds, that floated over them like a toning ofmultitudes wailing and singing fitfully behind a swaying screen. Theybent their heads. At intervals a sovereign stamp on the pulsation of theuproar said, distinct as a voice in the ear--Cannon. "Milan's alive!"Angelo cried, and they streamed forward under the hurry of stars andscud, till thumping guns and pattering musket-shots, the long big boomof surgent hosts, and the muffled voluming and crash of storm-bells, proclaimed that the insurrection was hot. A rout of peasants bearingimmense ladders met them, and they joined with cheers, and rushed tothe walls. As yet no gate was in the possession of the people. The wallsshowed bayonet-points: a thin edge of steel encircled a pit of fire. Angelo resolved to break through at once. The peasants hesitated, buthis own men were of one mind to follow, and, planting his ladder in theditch, he rushed up foremost. The ladder was full short; he called outin German to a soldier to reach his hand down, and the butt-end of amusket was dropped, which he grasped, and by this aid sprang to theparapet, and was seized. "Stop, " he said, "there's a fellow below withmy brandy-flask and portmanteau. " The soldiers were Italians; theylaughed, and hauled away at man after man of the mounting troop, callingalternately "brandy-flask!--portmanteau!" as each one raised a headabove the parapet. "The signor has a good supply of spirits andbaggage, " they remarked. He gave them money for porterage, saying, "Yousee, the gates are held by that infernal people, and a quiet travellermust come over the walls. Viva l'Italia! who follows me?" He carriedaway three of those present. The remainder swore that they and theircomrades would be on his side on the morrow. Guided by the new accessionto his force, Angelo gained the streets. All shots had ceased; thestreets were lighted with torches and hand-lamps; barricades wereup everywhere, like a convulsion of the earth. Tired of receivingchallenges and mounting the endless piles of stones, he sat down at thehead of the Corso di Porta Nuova, and took refreshments from the handsof ladies. The house-doors were all open. The ladies came forth bearingwine and minestra, meat and bread, on trays; and quiet eating anddrinking, and fortifying of the barricades, went on. Men were rubbingtheir arms and trying rusty gun-locks. Few of them had not seen BartoRizzo that day; but Angelo could get no tidings of his brother. He slepton a door-step, dreaming that he was blown about among the angelsof heaven and hell by a glorious tempest. Near morning an officer ofvolunteers came to inspect the barricade defences. Angelo knew him bysight; it was Luciano Romara. He explained the position of the opposingforces. The Marshal, he said, was clearly no street-fighter. Estimatingthe army under his orders in Milan at from ten to eleven thousand men ofall arms, it was impossible for him to guard the gates and then walls, and at the same time fight the city. Nor could he provision his troops. Yesterday the troops had made one: charge and done mischief, but theyhad immediately retired. "And if they take to cannonading us to-day, we shall know what that means, " Romara concluded. Angelo wanted to joinhim. "No, stay here, " said Romara. "I think you are a man who won't giveground. " He had not seen either Rinaldo or Ammiani, but spoke of both ascertain to be rescued. 

Rain and cannon filled the weary space of that day. Some of thebarricades fronting the city gates had been battered down by nightfall;they were restored within an hour. Their defenders entered the housesright and left during the cannonade, waiting to meet the charge; but theAustrians held off. "They have no plan, " Romara said on his second visitof inspection; "they are waiting on Fortune, and starve meanwhile. Wecan beat them at that business. "

Romara took Angelo and his Swiss away with him. The interior of thecity was abandoned by the Imperialists, who held two or three of theprincipal buildings and the square of the Duomo. Clouds were drivingthick across the cold-gleaming sky when the storm-bells burst outwith the wild Jubilee-music of insurrection--a carol, a jangle of alldiscord, savage as flame. Every church of the city lent its iron tongueto the peal; and now they joined and now rolled apart, now joinedagain and clanged like souls shrieking across the black gulfs of anearthquake; they swam aloft with mournful delirium, tumbled together, were scattered in spray, dissolved, renewed, died, as a last wornwave casts itself on an unfooted shore, and rang again as through rentdoorways, became a clamorous host, an iron body, a pressure as of adown-drawn firmament, and once more a hollow vast, as if the abysses ofthe Circles were sounded through and through. To the Milanese it was anintoxication; it was the howling of madness to the Austrians--a tormentand a terror: they could neither sing, nor laugh, nor talk underit. Where they stood in the city, the troops could barely hear theirofficers' call of command. No sooner had the bells broken out than thelength of every street and Corso flashed with the tri-coloured flag;musket-muzzles peeped from the windows; men with great squares ofpavement lined the roofs. Romara mounted a stiff barricade and beheld ascattered regiment running the gauntlet of storms of shot and missiles, in full retreat upon the citadel. On they came, officers in front forthe charge, as usual with the Austrians; fire on both flanks, a furiousmob at their heels, and the barricade before them. They rushed atRomara, and were hurled back, and stood in a riddled lump. SuddenlyRomara knocked up the rifles of the couching Swiss; he yelled to thehouses to stop firing. "Surrender your prisoners, --you shall pass, " hecalled. He had seen one dear head in the knot of the soldiery. Noanswer was given. Romara, with Angelo and his Swiss and the ranks of thebarricade, poured over and pierced the streaming mass, steel for steel. 

"Ammiani! Ammiani!" Romara cried; a roar from the other side, "Barto!Barto! the Great Cat!" met the cry. The Austrians struck up a cheerunder the iron derision of the bells; it was ludicrous, it was as if adoor had slammed on their mouths, ringing tremendous echoes in a vaultedroof. They stood sweeping fire in two oblong lines; a show of militaryarray was preserved like a tattered robe, till Romara drove at theircentre and left the retreat clear across the barricade. Then thewhitecoats were seen flowing over, the motley surging hosts from thecity in pursuit--foam of a storm-torrent hurled forward by the blacktumult of precipitous waters. Angelo fell on his brother's neck; Romaraclasped Carlo Ammiani. These two were being marched from the prison tothe citadel when Barto Rizzo, who had prepared to storm the building, assailed the troops. To him mainly they were indebted for their rescue. 

Even in that ecstasy of meeting, the young men smiled at thepreternatural transport on his features as he bounded by them, mad forslaughter, and mounting a small brass gun on the barricade, sent thecharges of shot into the rear of the enemy. He kissed the black lip ofhis little thunderer in, a rapture of passion; called it his wife, hisnaked wife; the best of mistresses, who spoke only when he charged herto speak; raved that she was fair, and liked hugging; that she was true, and the handsomest daughter of Italy; that she would be the motherof big ones--none better than herself, though they were mountains ofsulphur big enough to make one gulp of an army. 

His wife in the flesh stood at his feet with a hand-grenade and a rifle, daggers and pistols in her belt. Her face was black with powder-smoke asthe muzzle of the gun. She looked at Rinaldo once, and Rinaldo at her;both dropped their eyes, for their joy at seeing one another alive wasmighty. 

Dead Austrians were gathered in a heap. Dead and wounded Milanese weretaken into the houses. Wine was brought forth by ladies and householdwomen. An old crutched beggar, who had performed a deed of singularintrepidity in himself kindling a fire at the door of one of theprincipal buildings besieged by the people, and who showed perforatedrags with a comical ejaculation of thanks to the Austrians for knowinghow to hit a scarecrow and make a beggar holy, was the object ofparticular attention. Barto seated him on his gun, saying that hismistress and beauty was honoured; ladies were proud in waiting on thefine frowzy old man. It chanced during that morning that Wilfrid Piersonhad attached himself to Lieutenant Jenna's regiment as a volunteer. Hehad no arms, nothing but a huge white umbrella, under which he walkeddry in the heavy rain, and passed through the fire like an impassivespectator of queer events. Angelo's Swiss had captured them, and the mobwere maltreating them because they declined to shout for this valorousancient beggarman. "No doubt he's a capital fellow, " said Jenna;"but 'Viva Scottocorni' is not my language;" and the spirited littlesubaltern repeated his "Excuse me, " with very good temper, while oneknocked off his shako, another tugged at his coat-skirts. Wilfrid sangout to the Guidascarpi, and the brothers sprang to him and set themfree; but the mob, like any other wild beast gorged with blood, wantedplay, and urged Barto to insist that these victims should shout the vivain exaltation of their hero. 

"Is there a finer voice than mine?" said Barto, and he roared the 'viva'like a melodious bull. Yet Wilfrid saw that he had been recognized. Inthe hour of triumph Barto Rizzo had no lust for petty vengeance. Themagnanimous devil plumped his gorge contentedly on victory. His ardourblazed from his swarthy crimson features like a blown fire, when scoutscame running down with word that all about the Porta Camosina, Madonnadel Carmine, and the Gardens, the Austrians were reaping the white flagof the inhabitants of that district. Thitherward his cry of "Down withthe Tedeschi!" led the boiling tide. Rinaldo drew Wilfrid and Jenna toan open doorway, counselling the latter to strip the gold from his coatand speak his Italian in monosyllables. A woman of the house gave herpromise to shelter and to pass them forward. Romara, Ammiani, and theGuidascarpi, went straight to the Casa Gonfalonieri, where they hopedto see stray members of the Council of War, and hear a correction ofcertain unpleasant rumours concerning the dealings of the ProvisionalGovernment with Charles Albert. 

The first crack of a division between the patriot force and thearistocracy commenced this day; the day following it was a breach. 

A little before dusk the bells of the city ceased their hammering, andwhen they ceased, all noises of men and musketry seemed childish. Thewoman who had promised to lead Wilfrid and Jenna to the citadel, fearedno longer either for herself or them, and passed them on up the CorsoFrancesco past the Contrada del Monte. Jenna pointed out the Duchess ofGraatli's house, saying, "By the way, the Lenkensteins are here; theyleft Venice last week. Of course you know, or don't you?--and there theymust stop, I suppose. " Wilfrid nodded an immediate good-bye to him, andcrossed to the house-door. His eccentric fashion of acting had given himfame in the army, but Jenna stormed at it now, and begged him to comeon and present himself to General Schoneck, if not to General Pierson. Wilfrid refused even to look behind him. In fact, it was a part of thegallant fellow's coxcombry (or nationality) to play the Englishman. Heremained fixed by the housedoor till midnight, when a body of men in thegarb of citizens, volubly and violently Italian in their talk, struckthrice at the door. Wilfrid perceived Count Lenkenstein among them. The ladies Bianca, Anna, and Lena issued mantled and hooded between thelights of two barricade watchfires. Wilfrid stepped after them. Theyhad the password, for the barricades were crossed. The captain ofthe head-barricade in the Corso demurred, requiring a counter-sign. Straightway he was cut down. He blew an alarm-call, when up sprang ahundred torches. The band of Germans dashed at the barricade as at thetusks of a boar. They were picked men, most of them officers, but ascanty number in the thick of an armed populace. Wilfrid saw the lightedpassage into the great house, and thither, throwing out his arms, hebore the affrighted group of ladies, as a careful shepherd might do. Returning to Count Lenkenstein's side, "Where are they?" the countsaid, in mortal dread. "Safe, " Wilfrid replied. The count frowned at himinquisitively. "Cut your way through, and on!" he cried to three or fourwho hung near him; and these went to the slaughter. 

"Why do you stand by me, sir?" said the count. Interior barricades werepouring their combatants to the spot; Count Lenkenstein was plunged uponthe door-steps. Wilfrid gained half-a-minute's parley by shouting in hisforeign accent, "Would you hurt an Englishman?" Some one took him by thearm, and helping to raise the count, hurried them both into the house. 

"You must make excuses for popular fury in times like these, " thestranger observed. 

The Austrian nobleman asked him stiffly for his name. The name of CountAmmiani was given. "I think you know it, " Carlo added. 

"You escaped from your lawful imprisonment this day, did you not?--youand your cousin, the assassin. I talk of law! I might as justly talk ofhonour. Who lives here?" Carlo contained himself to answer, "The presentoccupant is, I believe, if I have hit the house I was seeking, theCountess d'Isorella. "

"My family were placed here, sir?" Count Lenkenstein inquired ofWilfrid. But Wilfrid's attention was frozen by the sight of Vittoria'slover. A wifely call of "Adalbert" from above quieted the count'sanxiety. 

"Countess d'Isorella, " he said. "I know that woman. She belongs to thesecret cabinet of Carlo Alberto--a woman with three edges. Did she notvisit you in prison two weeks ago? I speak to you, Count Ammiani. Sheapplied to the Archduke and the Marshal for permission to visit you. It was accorded. To the devil with our days of benignity! She was fromTurin. The shuffle has made her my hostess for the nonce. I will go toher. You, sir, " the count turned to Wilfrid--"you will stay below. Areyou in the pay of the insurgents?"

Wilfrid, the weakest of human beings where women were involved with him, did one of the hardest things which can task a young man's fortitude: helooked his superior in the face, and neither blenched, nor frowned, norspoke. 

Ammiani spoke for him. "There is no pay given in our ranks. "

"The licence to rob is supposed to be an equivalent, " said the count. 

Countess d'Isorella herself came downstairs, with profuse apologies forthe absence of all her male domestics, and many delicate dimples abouther mouth in uttering them. Her look at Ammiani struck Wilfrid as havinga peculiar burden either of meaning or of passion in it. The countgrimaced angrily when he heard that his sister Lena was not yet able tobear the fatigue of a walk to the citadel. "I fear you must all be myguests, for an hour at least, " said the countess. 

Wilfrid was left pacing the hall. He thought he had never beheld sosplendid a person, or one so subjugatingly gracious. Her speech andmanner poured oil on the uncivil Austrian nobleman. What perchance hadstricken Lena?

He guessed; and guessed it rightly. A folded scrap of paper signed bythe Countess of Lenkenstein was brought to him. 

It said:--"Are you making common cause with the rebels? Reply. One askswho should be told. "

He wrote:--"I am an outcast of the army. I fight as a volunteer with theK. K. Troops. Could I abandon them in their peril?"

The touch of sentiment he appended for Lena's comfort. He was toostrongly impressed by the new vision of beauty in the house for hisimagination to be flushed by the romantic posture of his devotion to atrailing flag. 

No other message was delivered. Ammiani presently descended and obtaineda guard from the barricade; word was sent on to the barricades inadvance toward the citadel. Wilfrid stood aside as Count Lenkenstein ledthe ladies to the door, bearing Lena on his arm. She passed her loverveiled. The count said, "You follow. " He used the menial second personplural of German, and repeated it peremptorily. 

"I follow no civilian, " said Wilfrid. 

"Remember, sir, that if you are seen with arms in your hands, and arenot in the ranks, you run the chances of being hanged. "

Lena broke loose from her brother; in spite of Anna's sharp remonstranceand the count's vexed stamp of the foot, she implored her lover:--"Comewith us; pardon us; protect me--me! You shall not be treated harshly. They shall not Oh! be near me. I have been ill; I shrink from danger. Benear me!"

Such humble pleading permitted Wilfrid's sore spirit to succumb with therequisite show of chivalrous dignity. He bowed, and gravely opened hisenormous umbrella, which he held up over the heads of the ladies, whileAmmiani led the way. All was quiet near the citadel. A fog of plashingrain hung in red gloom about the many watchfires of the insurgents, butthe Austrian head-quarters lay sombre and still. Close at the gates, Ammiani saluted the ladies. Wilfrid did the same, and heard Lena's callto him unmoved. 

"May I dare to hint to you that it would be better for you to join yourparty?" said Ammiani. 

Wilfrid walked on. After appearing to weigh the matter, he answered, "The umbrella will be of no further service to them to-night. "

Ammiani laughed, and begged to be forgiven; but he could have donenothing more flattering. 

Sore at all points, tricked and ruined, irascible under the sense of hisinjuries, hating everybody and not honouring himself, Wilfrid was fastgrowing to be an eccentric by profession. To appear cool and carelesswas the great effort of his mind. 

"We were introduced one day in the Piazza d'Armi, " said Ammiani. "Iwould have found means to convey my apologies to you for my behaviouron that occasion, but I have been at the mercy of my enemies. LieutenantPierson, will you pardon me? I have learnt how dear you and your familyshould be to me. Pray, accept my excuses and my counsel. The CountessLena was my friend when I was a boy. She is in deep distress. "

"I thank you, Count Ammiani, for your extremely disinterested advice, "said Wilfrid; but the Italian was not cut to the quick by his irony; andhe added: "I have hoisted, you perceive, the white umbrella instead ofwearing the white coat. It is almost as good as an hotel in these times;it gives as much shelter and nearly as much provision, and, I may say, better attendance. Good-night. You will be at it again about daylight, Isuppose?"

"Possibly a little before, " said Ammiani, cooled by the false ring ofthis kind of speech. 

"It's useless to expect that your infernal bells will not burst out likeall the lunatics on earth?"

"Quite useless, I fear. Good-night. "

Ammiani charged one of the men at an outer barricade to follow the whiteumbrella and pass it on. 

He returned to the Countess d'Isorella, who was awaiting him, and alone. 

This glorious head had aroused his first boyish passion. Scandal wasbusy concerning the two, when Violetta d'Asola, the youthfullest widowin Lombardy and the loveliest woman, gave her hand to Count d'Isorella, who took it without question of the boy Ammiani. Carlo's mother assistedin that arrangement; a maternal plot, for which he could thank her onlyafter he had seen Vittoria, and then had heard the buzz of whispersat Violetta's name. Countess d'Isorella proved her friendship to havesurvived the old passion, by travelling expressly from Turin to obtainleave to visit him in prison. It was a marvellous face to look uponbetween prison walls. Rescued while the soldiers were marching him tothe citadel that day, he was called by pure duty to pay his respects tothe countess as soon as he had heard from his mother that she was inthe city. Nor was his mother sorry that he should go. She had patientlysubmitted to the fact of his betrothal to Vittoria, which was hissafeguard in similar perils; and she rather hoped for Violetta to weanhim from his extreme republicanism. By arguments? By influence, perhaps. Carlo's republicanism was preternatural in her sight, and she presumedthat Violetta would talk to him discreetly and persuasively of the nobledesigns of the king. 

Violetta d'Isorella received him with a gracious lifting of her fingersto his lips; congratulating him on his escape, and on the good fortuneof the day. She laughed at the Lenkensteins and the singular Englishman;sat down to a little supper-tray, and pouted humorously as she asked himto feed on confects and wine; the huge appetites of the insurgents haddevoured all her meat and bread. 

"Why are you here?" he said. 

She did well in replying boldly, "For the king. "

"Would you tell another that it is for the king?"

"Would I speak to another as I speak to you?"

Ammiani inclined his head. 

They spoke of the prospects of the insurrection, of the expectedoutbreak in Venice, the eruption of Paris and Vienna, and the new lifeof Italy; touching on Carlo Alberto to explode the truce in a laughingdissension. At last she said seriously, "I am a born Venetian, you know;I am not Piedmontese. Let me be sure that the king betrays the country, and I will prefer many heads to one. Excuse me if I am more womanly justat present. The king has sent his accredited messenger Tartini to theProvisional Government, requesting it to accept his authority. Why not?why not? on both sides. Count Medole gives his adhesion to the king, butyou have a Council of War that rejects the king's overtures--a revoltwithin a revolt. 

"It is deplorable. You must have an army. The Piedmontese once over theTicino, how can you act in opposition to it? You must learn to take amaster. The king is only, or he appears, tricksy because you compel himto wind and counterplot. I swear to you, Italy is his foremost thought. The Star of Italy sits on the Cross of Savoy. "

Ammiani kept his eyelids modestly down. "Ten thousand to plead for him, such as you!" he said. "But there is only one!"

"If you had been headstrong once upon a time, and I had been weak, yousee, my Carlo, you would have been a domestic tyrant, I a rebel. Youwill not admit the existence of a virtue in an opposite opinion. Wisewas your mother when she said 'No' to a wilful boy!"

Violetta lit her cigarette and puffed the smoke lightly. 

"I told you in that horrid dungeon, my Carlo Amaranto--I call you bythe old name--the old name is sweet!--I told you that your Vittoria isenamoured of the king. She blushes like a battle-flag for the king. Ihave heard her 'Viva il Re!' It was musical. "

"So I should have thought. "

"Ay, but my amaranto-innamorato, does it not foretell strife? Wouldyou ever--ever take a heart with a king's head stamped on it into yourarms?"

"Give me the chance!"

He was guilty of this ardent piece of innocence though Violetta hadpitched her voice in the key significant of a secret thing belonging totwo memories that had not always flowed dividedly. 

"Like a common coin?" she resumed. 

"A heart with a king's head stamped on it like a common coin. "

He recollected the sentence. He had once, during the heat of his grieffor Giacomo Piaveni, cast it in her teeth. 

Violetta repeated it, as to herself, tonelessly; a method of making anold unkindness strike back on its author with effect. 

"Did we part good friends? I forget, " she broke the silence. 

"We meet, and we will be the best of friends, " said Ammiani. 

"Tell your mother I am not three years older than her son, --I am thirty. Who will make me young again? Tell her, my Carlo, that the genius forintrigue, of which she accuses me, develops at a surprising rate. Asregards my beauty, " the countess put a tooth of pearl on her soft underlip. 

Ammiani assured her that he would find words of his own for her beauty. 

"I hear the eulogy, I know the sonnet, " said Violetta, smiling, anddescribed the points of a brunette: the thick black banded hair, the full brown eyes, the plastic brows couching over them;--it wasVittoria's face: Violetta was a flower of colour, fair, with but oneshade of dark tinting on her brown eye-brows and eye-lashes, as youmay see a strip of night-cloud cross the forehead of morning. She wasyellow-haired, almost purple-eyed, so rich was the blue of the pupils. Vittoria could be sallow in despondency; but this Violetta never failedin plumpness and freshness. The pencil which had given her aspect theone touch of discord, endowed it with a subtle harmony, like mystery;and Ammiani remembered his having stood once on the Lido of Venice, andeyed the dawn across the Adriatic, and dreamed that Violetta was born ofthe loveliness and held in her bosom the hopes of morning. He dreamed ofit now, feeling the smooth roll of a torrent. 

A cry of "Arms!" rang down the length of the Corso. 

He started to his feet thankfully. 

"Take me to your mother, " she said. "I loathe to hear firing and bealone. "

Ammiani threw up the window. There was a stir of lamps and torchesbelow, and the low sky hung red. Violetta stood quickly thick-shod andhooded. 

"Your mother will admit my companionship, Carlo?"

"She desires to thank you. "

"She has no longer any fear of me?"

"You will find her of one mind with you. "

"Concerning the king!"

"I would say, on most subjects. "

"But that you do not know my mind! You are modest. Confess that you arethinking the hour you have passed with me has been wasted. "

"I am, now I hear the call to arms. "

"If I had all the while entertained you with talk of your Vittoria! Itwould not have been wasted then, my amaranto. It is not wasted for me. If a shot should strike you--"

"Tell her I died loving her with all my soul!" cried Ammiani. 

Violetta's frame quivered as if he had smitten her. 

They left the house. Countess Ammiani's door was the length of abarricade distant: it swung open to them, like all the other house-doorswhich were, or wished to be esteemed, true to the cause, and hospitabletoward patriots. 

"Remember, when you need a refuge, my villa is on Lago Maggiore, "Violetta said, and kissed her finger-tips to him. 

An hour after, by the light of this unlucky little speech, he thoughtof her as a shameless coquette. "When I need a refuge? Is not Milanin arms?--Italy alive? She considers it all a passing epidemic; or, perhaps, she is to plead for me to the king!"

That set him thinking moodily over the things she had uttered ofVittoria's strange and sudden devotion to the king. 

Rainy dawn and the tongues of the churches ushered in the last day ofstreet fighting. Ammiani found Romara and Colonel Corte at the head ofstrong bodies of volunteers, well-armed, ready to march for the Porta'rosa. All three went straight to the house where the ProvisionalGovernment sat, and sword in hand denounced Count Medole as a traitorwho sold his country to the king. Corte dragged him to the window tohear the shouts for the Republic. Medole wrote their names down one byone, and said, "Shall I leave the date vacant?" They put themselvesat the head of their men, and marched in the ringing of the bells. Thebells were their sacro-military music. Barto Rizzo was off to make aspring at the Porta Ticinese. Students, peasants, noble youths of thebest blood, old men and young women, stood ranged in the drenching rain, eager to face death for freedom. At mid-day the bells were answered bycannon and the blunt snap of musketry volleys; dull, savage responses, as of a wounded great beast giving short howls and snarls by theinterminable over-roaring of a cataract. Messengers from the gates camerunning to the quiet centre of the city, where cool men discoursed andplotted. Great news, big lies, were shouted:--Carlo Alberto thunderedin the plains; the Austrians were everywhere retiring; the Marshal wasa prisoner; the flag of surrender was on the citadel! These things werefor the ears of thirsty women, diplomatists, and cripples. 

Countess Ammiani and Countess d'Isorella sat together throughout theagitation of the day. 

The life prayed for by one seemed a wisp of straw flung on this hummingfurnace. 

Countess Ammiani was too well used to defeat to believe readily invictory, and had shrouded her head in resignation too long to hope forwhat she craved. Her hands were joined softly in her lap. Her visage hadthe same unmoved expression when she conversed with Violetta as when shelistened to the ravings of the Corso. 

Darkness came, and the bells ceased not rolling by her open windows: theclouds were like mists of conflagration. 

She would not have the windows closed. The noise of the city had becomefamiliar and akin to the image of her boy. She sat there cloaked. 

Her heart went like a time-piece to the two interrogations to heaven:"Alive?--or dead?"

The voice of Luciano Romara was that of an angel's answering. He enteredthe room neat and trim as a cavalier dressed for social evening duty, saying with his fine tact, "We are all well;" and after talking likea gazette of the Porta Tosa taken by the volunteers, Barto Rizzo'soccupation of the gate opening on the Ticino, and the bursting of thePorta Camosina by the freebands of the plains, he handed a letter toCountess Ammiani. 

"Carlo is on the march to Bergamo and Brescia, with Corte, Sana, andabout fifty of our men, " he said. 

"And is wounded--where?" asked Violetta. 

"Slightly in the hand--you see, he can march, " Romara said, laughingat her promptness to suspect a subterfuge, until he thought, "Now, whatdoes this mean, madam?"

A lamp was brought to Countess Ammiani. She read:

 "MY MOTHER!

 "Cotton-wool on the left fore-finger. They deigned to give me no other memorial of my first fight. I am not worthy of papa's two bullets. I march with Corte and Sana to Brescia. We keep the passes of the Tyrol. Luciano heads five hundred up to the hills to-morrow or next day. He must have all our money. Then go from door to door and beg subscriptions. Yes, my Chief! it is to be like God, and deserving of his gifts to lay down all pride, all wealth. This night send to my betrothed in Turin. She must be with no one but my mother. It is my command. Tell her so. I hold imperatively to it. 

 "I breathe the best air of life. Luciano is a fine leader in action, calm as in a ball-room. What did I feel? I will talk of it with you by-and-by;--my father whispered in my ears; I felt him at my right hand. He said, 'I died for this day. ' I feel now that I must have seen him. This is imagination. We may say that anything is imagination. I certainly heard his voice. Be of good heart, my mother, for I can swear that the General wakes up when I strike Austrian steel. He loved Brescia; so I go there. God preserve my mother! The eyes of heaven are wide enough to see us both. Vittoria by your side, remember! It is my will. 

 "CARLO. "

Countess Ammiani closed her eyes over the letter, as in a dead sleep. "He is more his father than himself, and so suddenly!" she said. Shewas tearless. Violetta helped her to her bed-room under the pretext of adesire to hear the contents of the letter. 

That night, which ended the five days of battle in Milan, while fireswere raging at many gates, bells were rolling over the roof-tops, the army of Austria coiled along the North-eastern walls of the city, through rain and thick obscurity, and wove its way like a vast worm intothe outer land. 

CHAPTER XXXI

EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR VITTORIA DISOBEYS HER LOVER

Countess d'Isorella's peculiar mission to Milan was over with thevictory of the city. She undertook personally to deliver Carlo'sinjunction to Vittoria on her way to the king. Countess Ammiani deemedit sufficient that her son's wishes should be repeated verbally; andas there appeared to be no better messenger than one who was bound forTurin and knew Vittoria's place of residence, she entrusted the duty toVioletta. 

The much which hangs on little was then set in motion:

Violetta was crossing the Ticino when she met a Milanese nobleman whohad received cold greeting from the king, and was returning to Milanwith word that the Piedmontese declaration of war against Austria hadbeen signed. She went back to Milan, saw and heard, and gathereda burden for the royal ears. This was a woman, tender only to therecollection of past days, who used her beauty and her arts as weaponsfor influence. She liked kings because she saw neither master nor dupein a republic; she liked her early lover because she could see nothingbut a victim in any new one. She was fond of Carlo, as greatly occupiedminds may be attached to an old garden where they have aforetime sownfair seed. Jealousy of a rival in love that was disconnected withpolitical business and her large expenditure, had never yet disturbedthe lady's nerves. 

At Turin she found Vittoria singing at the opera, and winning markedapplause from the royal box. She thought sincerely that to tear a primadonna from her glory would be very much like dismissing a successfulGeneral to his home and gabbling family. A most eminent personage agreedwith her. Vittoria was carelessly informed that Count Ammiani had goneto Brescia, and having regard for her safety, desired her to go to Milanto be under the protection of his mother, and that Countess Ammiani waswilling to receive her. 

Now, with her mother, and her maid Giacinta, and Beppo gathered abouther, for three weeks Vittoria had been in full operatic career, working, winning fame, believing that she was winning influence, and establishinga treasury. The presence of her lover in Milan would have called herto the noble city; but he being at Brescia, she asked herself why sheshould abstain from labours which contributed materially to the strengthof the revolution and made her helpful. It was doubtful whether CountessAmmiani would permit her to sing at La Scala; or whether the city couldsupport an opera in the throes of war. And Vittoria was sending moneyto Milan. The stipend paid to her by the impresario, the jewels, thebig bouquets--all flowed into the treasury of the insurrection. Antonio-Pericles advanced her a large sum on the day when the news ofthe Milanese uprising reached Turin: the conditions of the loan hadsimply been that she should continue her engagement to sing in Turin. He was perfectly slavish to her, and might be trusted to advance more. Since the great night at La Scala, she had been often depressed by asecret feeling that there was divorce between her love of her countryand devotion to her Art. Now that both passions were in union, bothactive, each aiding the fire of the other, she lived a consummate life. She could not have abandoned her path instantly though Carlo hadspoken his command to her in person. Such were her first spontaneousseasonings, and Laura Piaveni seconded them; saying, "Money, money! wemust be Jews for money. We women are not allowed to fight, but we canmanage to contribute our lire and soldi; we can forge the sinews ofwar. "

Vittoria wrote respectfully to Countess Ammiani stating why she declinedto leave Turin. The letter was poorly worded. While writing it she hadbeen taken by a sentiment of guilt and of isolation in presuming todisobey her lover. "I am glad he will not see it, " she remarked toLaura, who looked rapidly across the lines, and said nothing. Praiseof the king was in the last sentence. Laura's eyes lingered on ithalf-a-minute. 

"Has he not drawn his sword? He is going to march, " said Vittoria. 

"Oh, yes, " Laura replied coolly; "but you put that to please CountessAmmiani. "

Vittoria confessed she had not written it purposely to defend the king. "What harm?" she asked. 

"None. Only this playing with shades allows men to call us hypocrites. "

The observation angered Vittoria. She had seen the king of late; she hadbreathed Turin incense and its atmosphere; much that could be pleadedon the king's behalf she had listened to with the sympathetic pity whichcan be woman's best judgement, and is the sentiment of reason. She hadalso brooded over the king's character, and had thought that if theChief could have her opportunities for studying this little impressible, yet strangely impulsive royal nature, his severe condemnation of himwould be tempered. In fact, she was doing what makes a woman excessivelytender and opinionated; she was petting her idea of the misunderstoodone: she was thinking that she divined the king's character by mysticalintuition; I will dare to say, maternally apprehended it. And it wasa character strangely open to feminine perceptions, while to masculinecomprehension it remained a dead blank, done either in black or inwhite. 

Vittoria insisted on praising the king to Laura. 

"With all my heart, " Laura said, "so long as he is true to Italy. "

"How, then, am I hypocritical?"

"My Sandra, you are certainly perverse. You admitted that you didsomething for the sake of pleasing Countess Ammiani. "

"I did. But to be hypocritical one must be false. "

"Oh!" went Laura. 

"And I write to Carlo. He does not care for the king; therefore it isneedless for me to name the king to him; and I shall not. "

Laura said, "Very well. " She saw a little deeper than the perversity, though she did not see the springs. In Vittoria's letter to her lover, she made no allusion to the Sword of Italy. 

Countess Ammiani forwarded both letters on to Brescia. 

When Carlo had finished reading them, he heard all Brescia clamouringindignantly at the king for having disarmed volunteers on Lago Maggioreand elsewhere in his dominions. Milan was sending word by every post ofthe overbearing arrogance of the Piedmontese officers and officials, whoclaimed a prostrate submission from a city fresh with the ardour of theglory it had won for itself, and that would fain have welcomed them asbrothers. Romara and others wrote of downright visible betrayal. It wasa time of passions;--great readiness for generosity, equal promptitudefor undiscriminating hatred. Carlo read Vittoria's praise of the kingwith insufferable anguish. "You--you part of me, can write like this!"he struck the paper vehemently. The fury of action transformed thegentle youth. Countess Ammiani would not have forwarded the letteraddressed to herself had she dreamed the mischief it might do. Carlosaw double-dealing in the absence of any mention of the king in his ownletter. 

 "Quit Turin at once, " he dashed hasty lines to Vittoria; "and no 'Viva il Re' till we know what he may merit. Old delusions are pardonable; but you must now look abroad with your eyes. Your words should be the echoes of my soul. Your acts are mine. For the sake of the country, do nothing to fill me with shame. The king is a traitor. I remember things said of him by Agostino; I subscribe to them every one. Were you like any other Italian girl, you might cry for him--who would care! But you are Vittoria. Fly to my mother's arms, and there rest. The king betrays us. Is a stronger word necessary? I am writing too harshly to you;--and here are the lines of your beloved letter throbbing round me while I write; but till the last shot is fired I try to be iron, and would hold your hand and not kiss it--not be mad to fall between your arms--not wish for you--not think of you as a woman, as my beloved, as my Vittoria; I hope and pray not, if I thought there was an ace of work left to do for the country. Or if one could say that you cherished a shred of loyalty for him who betrays it. Great heaven! am I to imagine that royal flatteries--My hand is not my own! You shall see all that it writes. I will seem to you no better than I am. I do not tell you to be a Republican, but an Italian. If I had room for myself in my prayers--oh! one half-instant to look on you, though with chains on my limbs. The sky and the solid ground break up when I think of you. I fancy I am still in prison. Angelo was music to me for two whole days (without a morning to the first and a night to the second). He will be here to-morrow and talk of you again. I long for him more than for battle--almost long for you more than for victory for our Italy. 

 "This is Brescia, which my father said he loved better than his wife. 

 "General Paolo Ammiani is buried here. I was at his tombstone this morning. I wish you had known him. 

 "You remember, we talked of his fencing with me daily. 'I love the fathers who do that. ' You said it. He will love you. Death is the shadow--not life. I went to his tomb. It was more to think of Brescia than of him. Ashes are only ashes; tombs are poor places. My soul is the power. 

 "If I saw the Monte Viso this morning, I saw right over your head when you were sleeping. 

 "Farewell to journalism--I hope, for ever. I jump at shaking off the journalistic phraseology Agostino laughs at. Yet I was right in printing my 'young nonsense. ' I did, hold the truth, and that was felt, though my vehicle for delivering it was rubbish. 

 "In two days Corte promises to sing his song, 'Avanti. ' I am at his left hand. Venice, the passes of the Adige, the Adda, the Oglio are ours. The room is locked; we have only to exterminate the reptiles inside it. Romara, D'Arci, Carnischi march to hold the doors. Corte will push lower; and if I can get him to enter the plains and join the main army I shall rejoice. "

The letter concluded with a postscript that half an Italian regiment, with white coats swinging on their bayonet-points, had just come in. 

It reached Vittoria at a critical moment. 

Two days previously, she and Laura Piaveni had talked with the king. It was an unexpected honour. Countess, d'Isorella conducted them tothe palace. The lean-headed sovereign sat booted and spurred, hissword across his knees; he spoke with a peculiar sad hopefulness of theprospects of the campaign, making it clear that he was risking more thananyone risked, for his stake was a crown. The few words he uttered ofItaly had a golden ring in them; Vittoria knew not why they had it. Hecondemned the Republican spirit of Milan more regretfully than severely. The Republicans were, he said, impracticable. Beyond the desire forchange, they knew not what they wanted. He did not state that he shouldavoid Milan in his march. On the contrary, he seemed to indicate that hewas about to present himself to the people of Milan. "To act against theenemy successfully, we must act as one, under one head, with one aim. "He said this, adding that no heart in Italy had yearned more than hisown for the signal to march for the Mincio and the Adige. 

Vittoria determined to put him to one test. She summoned her boldness tocrave grace for Agostino Balderini to return to Piedmont. The petitionwas immediately granted. Alluding to the libretto of Camilla, the kingcomplimented Vittoria for her high courage on the night of the Fifteenthof the foregoing year. "We in Turin were prepared, though we had onlythen the pleasure of hearing of you, " he said. 

"I strove to do my best to help. I wish to serve our cause now, " shereplied, feeling an inexplicable new sweetness running in her blood. 

He asked her if she did not know that she had the power to movemultitudes. 

"Sire, singing appears so poor a thing in time of war. "

He remarked that wine was good for soldiers, singing better, such avoice as hers best of all. 

For hours after the interview, Vittoria struggled with her deep blushes. She heard the drums of the regiments, the clatter of horses, thebugle-call of assembly, as so many confirmatory notes that it was aroyal hero who was going forth. 

"He stakes a crown, " she said to Laura. 

"Tusk! it tumbles off his head if he refuses to venture something, " wasLaura's response. 

Vittoria reproached her for injustice. 

"No, " Laura said; "he is like a young man for whom his mother has made amatch. And he would be very much in love with his bride if he were quitecertain of winning her, or rather, if she would come a little more thanhalfway to meet him. Some young men are so composed. Genoa and Turinsay, 'Go and try. ' Milan and Venice say, 'Come and have faith in us. ' Myopinion is that he is quite as much propelled as attracted. "

"This is shameful, " said Vittoria. 

"No; for I am quite willing to suspend my judgement. I pray that fortunemay bless his arms. I do think that the stir of a campaign, and acertain amount of success will make him in earnest. "

"Can you look on his face and not see pure enthusiasm?"

"I see every feminine quality in it, my dear. "

"What can it be that he is wanting in?"

"Masculine ambition. "

"I am not defending him, " said Vittoria hastily. 

"Not at all; and I am not attacking him. I can excuse his dread ofRepublicanism. I can fancy that there is reason for him just now tofear Republicanism worse than Austria. Paris and Milan are two grislyphantoms before him. These red spectres are born of earthquake, and aremore given to shaking thrones than are hostile cannonshot. Earthquakesare dreadfuller than common maladies to all of us. Fortune may helphim, but he has not the look of one who commands her. The face is notaquiline. There's a light over him like the ray of a sickly star. "

"For that reason!" Vittoria burst out. 

"Oh, for that reason we pity men, assuredly, my Sandra, but not kings. Luckless kings are not generous men, and ungenerous men are mischievouskings. "

"But if you find him chivalrous and devoted; if he proves his nobleintentions, why not support him?"

"Dandle a puppet, by all means, " said Laura. 

Her intellect, not her heart, was harsh to the king; and her heart wasnot mistress of her intellect in this respect, because she beheld ridingforth at the head of Italy one whose spirit was too much after thepattern of her supple, springing, cowering, impressionable sex, alternately ardent and abject, chivalrous and treacherous, and not to beconfided in firmly when standing at the head of a great cause. 

Aware that she was reading him very strictly by the letters of his pastdeeds, which were not plain history to Vittoria, she declared that shedid not countenance suspicion in dealing with the king, and thatit would be a delight to her to hear of his gallant bearing on thebattle-field. "Or to witness it, my Sandra, if that were possible;--wetwo! For, should he prove to be no General, he has the courage of hisfamily. "

Vittoria took fire at this. "What hinders our following the army?"

"The less baggage the better, my dear. "

"But the king said that my singing--I have no right to think it myself. "Vittoria concluded her sentence with a comical intention of humility. 

"It was a pretty compliment, " said Laura. "You replied that singing isa poor thing in time of war, and I agree with you. We might serve ashospital nurses. "

"Why do we not determine?"

"We are only considering possibilities. "

"Consider the impossibility of our remaining quiet. "

"Fire that goes to flame is a waste of heat, my Sandra. "

The signora, however, was not so discreet as her speech. On all sidesthere was uproar and movement. High-born Italian ladies were offeringtheir hands for any serviceable work. Laura and Vittoria were not alonein the desire which was growing to be resolution to share the hardshipsof the soldiers, to cherish and encourage them, and by seeing, to havethe supreme joy of feeling the blows struck at the common enemy. 

The opera closed when the king marched. Carlo Ammiani's letter washanded to Vittoria at the fall of the curtain on the last night. 

Three paths were open to her: either that she should obey her lover, or earn an immense sum of money from Antonio-Pericles by accepting animmediate engagement in London, or go to the war. To sit in submissiveobedience seemed unreasonable; to fly from Italy impossible. Yet thelatter alternative appealed strongly to her sense of duty, and as itthereby threw her lover's commands into the background, she left itto her heart to struggle with Carlo, and thought over the two finalpropositions. The idea of being apart from Italy while the livingcountry streamed forth to battle struck her inflamed spirit like theshock of a pause in martial music. Laura pretended to take no partin Vittoria's decision, but when it was reached, she showed hera travelling-carriage stocked with lint and linen, wine in jars, chocolate, cases of brandy, tea, coffee, needles, thread, twine, scissors, knives; saying, as she displayed them, "there, my dear, all mymoney has gone in that equipment, so you must pay on the road. "

"This doesn't leave me a choice, then, " said Victoria, joining herhumour. 

"Ah, but think over it, " Laura suggested. 

"No! not think at all, " cried Vittoria. 

"You do not fear Carlo's anger?"

"If I think, I am weak as water. Let us go. "

Countess d'Isorella wrote to Carlo: "Your Vittoria is away after theking to Pavia. They tell me she stood up in her carriage on the Pontedel Po-'Viva il Re d'Italia!' waving the cross of Savoy. As I havepreviously assured you, no woman is Republican. The demonstration wasa mistake. Public characters should not let their personal preferencesbetrumpeted: a diplomatic truism:--but I must add, least of all acantatrice for a king. The famous Greek amateur--the prop of failingfinances--is after her to arrest her for breach of engagement. Youwished to discover an independent mind in a woman, my Carlo; did younot? One would suppose her your wife--or widow. She looked a superbthing the last night she sang. She is not, in my opinion, wanting inheight. If, behind all that innocence and candour, she has any trainedartfulness, she will beat us all. Heaven bless your arms!"

The demonstration mentioned by the countess had not occurred. 

Vittoria's letter to her lover missed him. She wrote from Pavia, aftershe had taken her decisive step. 

Carlo Ammiani went into the business of the war with the belief that hisbetrothed had despised his prayer to her. 

He was under Colonel Corte, operating on the sub-Alpine range of hillsalong the line of the Chiese South-eastward. Here the volunteers, formedof the best blood of Milan, the gay and brave young men, after marchingin the pride of their strength to hold the Alpine passes and bar Austriafrom Italy while the fight went on below, were struck by a suddenparalysis. They hung aloft there like an arm cleft from the body. Weapons, clothes, provisions, money, the implements of war, werewithheld from them. The Piedmontese officers despatched to watch theirproceedings laughed at them like exasperating senior scholars examiningthe accomplishments of a lower form. It was manifest that Count Medoleand the Government of Milan worked everywhere to conquer the people forthe king before the king had done a stroke to conquer the Austriansfor the people; while, in order to reduce them to the condition ofPiedmontese soldiery, the flame of their patriotic enthusiasm wassystematically damped, and instead of apprentices in war, who possessedat any rate the elementary stuff of soldiers, miserable dummies weredrafted into the royal service. The Tuscans and the Romans had goodreason to complain on behalf of their princes, as had the Venetians andthe Lombards for the cause of their Republic. Neither Tuscans, Romans, Venetians, nor Lombards were offering up their lives simply to obtain achange of rulers; though all Italy was ready to bow in allegiance to aking of proved kingly quality. Early in the campaign the cry of treasonwas muttered, and on all sides such became the temper of the Alpinevolunteers, that Angelo and Rinaldo Guidascarpi were forced to jointheir cousin under Corte, by the dispersion of their band, amounting tosomething more than eighteen hundred fighting lads, whom a Piedmontesesuperior officer summoned peremptorily to shout for the king. Theythundered as one voice for the Italian Republic, and instantly broke upand disbanded. This was the folly of the young: Carlo Ammiani confessedthat it was no better; but he knew that a breath of generous confidencefrom the self-appointed champion of the national cause would havesubdued his impatience at royalty and given heart and cheer to hissickening comrades. He began to frown angrily when he thought ofVittoria. "Where is she now?--where now?" he asked himself in the seasonof his most violent wrath at the king. Her conduct grew inseparable inhis mind from the king's deeds. The sufferings, the fierce irony, thevery deaths of the men surrounding him in aims, rose up in accusationagainst the woman he loved. 

CHAPTER XXXI

EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR

THE TREACHERY OF PERICLES--THE WHITE UMBRELLA--THE DEATH OF RINALDOGUIDASCARPI

The king crossed the Mincio. The Marshal, threatened on his left flank, drew in his line from the farther Veronese heights upon a narrowedbattle front before Verona. Here they manoeuvred, and the openingsuccesses fell to the king. Holding Peschiera begirt, with one sharppassage of arms he cleared the right bank of the Adige and stood on thesemicircle of hills, master of the main artery into Tyrol. 

The village of Pastrengo has given its name to the day. It was a day ofintense heat coming after heavy rains. The arid soil steamed; the whitepowder-smoke curled in long horizontal columns across the hazy ring ofthe fight. Seen from a distance it was like a huge downy ball, kickedthis way and that between the cypresses by invisible giants. A pair ofeager-eyed women gazing on a battle-field for the first time could butask themselves in bewilderment whether the fate of countries were verilysettled in such a fashion. Far in the rear, Vittoria and Laura heard thecannon-shots; a sullen dull sound, as of a mallet striking upon rottentimber. They drove at speed. The great thumps became varied by musketryvolleys, that were like blocks of rockboulder tumbled in the roll ofa mountain torrent. These, then, were the voices of Italy and Austriaspeaking the devilish tongue of the final alternative. Cannon, rockets, musketry, and now the run of drums, now the ring of bugles, now thetramp of horses, and the field was like a landslip. A joyful brightblack death-wine seemed to pour from the bugles all about. The womenstrained their senses to hear and see; they could realize nothing ofa reality so absolute; their feelings were shattered, and crowded overthem in patches;--horror, glory, panic, hope, shifted lights withintheir bosoms. The fascination and repulsion of the image of Forcedivided them. They feared; they were prostrate; they sprang in praise. The image of Force was god and devil to their souls. They strove tounderstand why the field was marked with blocks of men who made a plumeof vapour here, and hurried thither. The action of their intellectsresolved to a blank marvel at seeing an imminent thing--an interrogationto almighty heaven treated with method, not with fury streaming forward. Cleave the opposing ranks! Cry to God for fire? Cut them through! Theyhad come to see the Song of Deborah performed before their eyes, andthey witnessed only a battle. Blocks of infantry gathered densely, thinned to a line, wheeled in column, marched: blocks of cavalry changedposts: artillery bellowed from one spot and quickly selected another. Infantry advanced in the wake of tiny smokepuffs, halted, advancedagain, rattled files of shots, became struck into knots, faced halfabout as from a blow of the back of a hand, retired orderly. Cavalrycurved like a flickering scimetar in their rear; artillery plodded toits further station. Innumerable tiny smoke-puffs then preceded a freshadvance of infantry. The enemy were on the hills and looked mightier, for they were revealed among red flashes of their guns, and stood partlyvisible above clouds of hostile smoke and through clouds of their own, which grasped viscously by the skirts of the hills. Yet it seemed astrife of insects, until, one by one, soldiers who had gone into yonderwhite pit for the bloody kiss of death, and had got it on their faces, were borne by Vittoria and Laura knelt in this horrid stream of mortalanguish to give succour from their stores in the carriage. Theirnatural emotions were distraught. They welcomed the sight of sufferingthankfully, for the poor blotted faces were so glad at sight of them. Torture was their key to the reading of the battle. They gazed on thefield no longer, but let the roaring wave of combat wash up to them whatit would. 

The hill behind Pastrengo was twice stormed. When the bluecoats firstfell back, a fine charge of Piedmontese horse cleared the slopes for asecond effort, and they went up and on, driving the enemy from hill tohill. The Adige was crossed by the Austrians under cover of Tyroleserifleshots. 

Then, with Beppo at their heels, bearing water, wine, and brandy, thewomen walked in the paths of carnage, and saw the many faces of death. Laura whispered strangely, "How light-hearted they look!" The woundedcalled their comforters sweet names. Some smoked and some sang, some groaned; all were quick to drink. Their jokes at the dead wereuniversal. They twisted their bodies painfully to stick a cigar betweendead lips, and besprinkle them with the last drops of liquor in theircups, laughing a benediction. These scenes put grievous chains onVittoria's spirit, but Laura evidently was not the heavier for them. Glorious Verona shone under the sunset as their own to come; Peschiera, on the blue lake, was in the hollow of their hands. "Prizes worth anyquantity of blood, " said Laura. Vittoria confessed that she had seenenough of blood, and her aspect provoked Laura to utter, "For God'ssake, think of something miserable;--cry, if you can!"

Vittoria's underlip dropped sickly with the question, "Why?"

Laura stated the physical necessity with Italian naivete. 

"If I can, " said Vittoria, and blinked to get a tear; but laughterhelped as well to relieve her, and it came on their return to thecarriage. They found the spy Luigi sitting beside the driver. Heinformed them that Antonio-Pericles had been in the track of the armyever since their flight from Turin; daily hurrying off with whip ofhorses at the sound of cannon-shot, and gradually stealing back to theextreme rear. This day he had flown from Oliosi to Cavriani, and was, perhaps, retracing his way already as before, on fearful toe-tips. Luigiacted the caution of one who stepped blindfolded across hot iron plates. Vittoria, without a spark of interest, asked why the Signor Antonioshould be following the army. 

"Why, it's to find you, signorina. "

Luigi's comical emphasis conjured up in a jumbled picture the devotion, the fury, the zeal, the terror of Antonio-Pericles--a mixture ofdemoniacal energy and ludicrous trepidation. She imagined his longfigure, fantastical as a shadow, off at huge strides, and back, witheyes sliding swiftly to the temples, and his odd serpent's head raisedto peer across the plains and occasionally to exclaim to the reasonableheavens in anger at men and loathing of her. She laughed ungovernably. Luigi exclaimed that, albeit in disgrace with the signor Antonio, hehad been sent for to serve him afresh, and had now been sent forward toentreat the gracious signorina to grant her sincerest friend and adoreran interview. She laughed at Pericles, but in truth she almost loved theman for his worship of her Art, and representation of her dear peacefulpractice of it. 

The interview between them took place at Oliosi. There, also, she metGeorgiana Ford, the half-sister of Merthyr Powys, who told her thatMerthyr and Augustus Gambier were in the ranks of a volunteer contingentin the king's army, and might have been present at Pastrengo. Georgianaheld aloof from battle-fields, her business being simply to serve asMerthyr's nurse in case of wounds, or to see the last of him in caseof death. She appeared to have no enthusiasm. She seconded strongly thevehement persuasions addressed by Pericles to Vittoria. Her disapprovalof the presence of her sex on fields of battle was precise. Pericles hadfollowed the army to give Vittoria one last chance, he said, and dragher away from this sick country, as he called it, pointing at the dustyland from the windows of the inn. On first seeing her he gasped likeone who has recovered a lost thing. To Laura he was a fool; but Vittoriaenjoyed his wildest outbursts, and her half-sincere humility encouragedhim to think that he had captured her at last. He enlarged on the perilssurrounding her voice in dusty bellowing Lombardy, and on the ardourof his friendship in exposing himself to perils as tremendous, that hemight rescue her. While speaking he pricked a lively ear for the noiseof guns, hearing a gun in everything, and jumping to the window withhorrid imprecations. His carriage was horsed at the doors below. Letthe horses die, he said, let the coachman have sun-stroke. Lethundreds perish, if Vittoria would only start in an hour-intwo--to-night--to-morrow. 

"Because, do you see, "--he turned to Laura and Georgiana, submitting tothe vexatious necessity of seeming reasonable to these creatures, --"sheis a casket for one pearl. It is only one, but it is ONE, mon Dieu! andinscrutable heaven, mesdames, has made the holder of it mad. Her voicehas but a sole skin; it is not like a body; it bleeds to death at ascratch. A spot on the pearl, and it is perished--pfoof! Ah, cruelthing! impious, I say. I have watched, I have reared her. Speak to meof mothers! I have cherished her for her splendid destiny--to see it godown, heels up, among quarrels of boobies! Yes; we have war in Italy. Fight! Fight in this beautiful climate that you may be dominated by ablue coat, not by a white coat. We are an intelligent race; we are acivilized people; we will fight for that. What has a voice of the veryheavens to do with your fighting? I heard it first in England, ina firwood, in a month of Spring, at night-time, fifteen miles and aquarter from the city of London--oh, city of peace! Sandra you will comethere. I give you thousands additional to the sum stipulated. You haveno rival. Sandra Belloni! no rival, I say"--he invoked her in English, "and you hear--you, to be a draggle-tail vivandiere wiz a brandy-bottleat your hips and a reputation going like ze brandy. Ah! pardon, mesdames; but did mankind ever see a frenzy like this girl's? Speak, Sandra. I could cry it like Michiella to Camilla--Speak!"

Vittoria compelled him to despatch his horses to stables. He had relaysof horses at war-prices between Castiglione and Pavia, and a retinueof servants; nor did he hesitate to inform the ladies that, beforeentrusting his person to the hazards of war, he had taken care to beprovided with safe-conduct passes for both armies, as befitted a prudentman of peace--"or sense; it is one, mesdames. "

Notwithstanding his terror at the guns, and disgust at the soldiery andthe bad fare at the inn, Vittoria's presence kept him lingering inthis wretched place, though he cried continually, "I shall haveheart-disease. " He believed at first that he should subdue her; then itbecame his intention to carry her off. 

It was to see Merthyr that she remained. Merthyr came there the dayafter the engagement at Santa Lucia. They had not met since the days atMeran. He was bronzed, and keen with strife, and looked young, but spokenot over-hopefully. He scolded her for wishing to taste battle, andcompared her to a bad swimmer on deep shores. Pericles bounded withdelight to hear him, and said he had not supposed there was so muchsense in Powys. Merthyr confessed that the Austrians had as good asbeaten them at Santa Lucia. The tactical combinations of the Piedmontesewere wretched. He was enamoured of the gallantly of the Duke of Savoy, who had saved the right wing of the army from rout while covering thebackward movement. Why there had been any fight at all at Santa Lucia, where nothing was to be gained, much to be lost, he was incapable oftelling; but attributed it to an antique chivalry on the part of theking, that had prompted the hero to a trial of strength, a bout ofblood-letting. 

"You do think he is a hero?" said Vittoria. 

"He is; and he will march to Venice. "

"And open the opera at Venice, " Pericles sneered. "Powys, mon cher, cure her of this beastly dream. It is a scandal to you to want a woman'shelp. You were defeated at Santa Lucia. I say bravo to anything thatbrings you to reason. Bravo! You hear me. "

The engagement at Santa Lucia was designed by the king to serve as aninstigating signal for the Veronese to rise in revolt; and this was thesecret of Charles Albert's stultifying manoeuvres between Peschieraand Mantua. Instead of matching his military skill against the wary oldMarshal's, he was offering incentives to conspiracy. Distrusting therevolution, which was a force behind him, he placed such reliance on itsefforts in his front as to make it the pivot of his actions. 

"The volunteers North-east of Vicenza are doing the real work for us, I believe, " said Merthyr; and it seemed so then, as it might have beenindeed, had they not been left almost entirely to themselves to do it. 

These tidings of a fight lost set Laura and Vittoria quivering withnervous irritation. They had been on the field of Pastrengo, and it waswon. They had been absent from Santa Lucia. What was the deduction? Notsuch as reason would have made for them; but they were at the mercy ofthe currents of the blood. "Let us go on, " said Laura. Merthyr refusedto convoy them. Pericles drove with him an hour on the road, andreturned in glee, to find Vittoria and Laura seated in their carriage, and Luigi scuffling with Beppo. 

"Padrone, see how I assist you, " cried Luigi. 

Upon this Beppo instantly made a swan's neck of his body and trumpeted:"A sally from the fortress for forage. "

"Whip! whip!" Pericles shouted to his coachman, and the two carriagesparted company at the top of their speed. 

Pericles fell a victim to a regiment of bersaglieri that wanted horses, and unceremoniously stopped his pair and took possession of them on theroute for Peschiera. He was left in a stranded carriage between a dustyditch and a mulberry bough. Vittoria and Laura were not much luckier. They were met by a band of deserters, who made no claim upon the horses, but stood for drink, and having therewith fortified their fine opinionof themselves, petitioned for money. A kiss was their next demand. Moneyand good humour saved the women from indignity. The band of rascals wentoff with a 'Viva l'Italia. ' Such scum is upon every popular rising, asVittoria had to learn. Days of rain and an incomprehensible inactivityof the royal army kept her at a miserable inn, where the walls werebare, the cock had crowed his last. The guns of Peschiera seemed to roamover the plain like an echo unwillingly aroused that seeks a hollow forits further sleep. Laura sat pondering for hours, harsh in manner, as ifshe hated her. "I think, " she said once, "that women are those personswho have done evil in another world:" The "why?" from Vittoria wasuttered simply to awaken friendly talk, but Laura relapsed into hergloom. A village priest, a sleek gentle creature, who shook his headto earth when he hoped, and filled his nostrils with snuff when hedesponded, gave them occasional companionship under the title ofconsolation. He wished the Austrians to be beaten, remarking, however, that they were good Catholics, most fervent Catholics. As the Lorddecided, so it would end! "Oh, delicious creed!" Laura broke out: "Oh, dear and sweet doctrine! that results and developments in a world wherethere is more evil than good are approved by heaven. " She twistedthe mild man in supple steel of her irony so tenderly that Vittoriamarvelled to hear her speak of him in abhorrence when they quittedthe village. "Not to be born a woman, and voluntarily to be a woman!"ejaculated Laura. "How many, how many are we to deduct from the malepopulation of Italy? Cross in hand, he should be at the head of ourarms, not whimpering in a corner for white bread. Wretch! he makes themarrow in my bones rage at him. He chronicled pig that squeaked. "

"Why had she been so gentle with him?"

"Because, my dear, when I loathe a thing I never care to exhaust mydetestation before I can strike it, " said the true Italian. 

They were on the field of Goito; it was won. It was won against odds. At Pastrengo they witnessed an encounter; this was a battle. Vittoriaperceived that there was the difference between a symphony and a lyricsong. The blessedness of the sensation that death can be light and easydispossessed her of the meaner compassion, half made up of cowardice, which she had been nearly borne down by on the field of Pastrengo. Atan angle on a height off the left wing of the royal army the face ofthe battle was plain to her: the movements of the troops were clear asstrokes on a slate. Laura flung her life into her eyes, and knelt andwatched, without summing one sole thing from what her senses received. 

Vittoria said, "We are too far away to understand it. "

"No, " said Laura, "we are too far away to feel it. "

The savage soul of the woman was robbed of its share of tragic emotionby having to hold so far aloof. Flashes of guns were but flashes of gunsup there where she knelt. She thirsted to read the things written bythem; thirsted for their mystic terrors, somewhat as souls of greatprophets have craved for the full revelation of those fitful underlightswhich inspired their mouths. 

Charles Albert's star was at its highest when the Piedmontese drums beatfor an advance of the whole line at Goito. 

Laura stood up, white as furnace-fire. "Women can do some good bypraying, " she said. She believed that she had been praying. That was herpart in the victory. 

Rain fell as from the forehead of thunder. From black eve to black dawnthe women were among dead and dying men, where the lanterns trailed aslow flame across faces that took the light and let it go. They returnedto their carriage exhausted. The ways were almost impassable forcarriage-wheels. While they were toiling on and exchanging theirdrenched clothes, Vittoria heard Merthyr's voice speaking to Beppo onthe box. He was saying that Captain Gambier lay badly wounded; brandywas wanted for him. She flung a cloak over Laura, and handed out theflask with a naked arm. It was not till she saw him again that sheremembered or even felt that he had kissed the arm. A spot of sweet fireburned on it just where the soft fulness of a woman's arm slopes to thebend. He chid her for being on the field and rejoiced in a breath, forthe carriage and its contents helped to rescue his wounded brotherin arms from probable death. Gambier, wounded in thigh and ankle byrifle-shot, was placed in the carriage. His clothes were saturated withthe soil of Goito; but wounded and wet, he smiled gaily, and talkedsweet boyish English. Merthyr gave the driver directions to wind alongup the Mincio. "Georgiana will be at the nearest village--she has aninstinct for battle-fields, or keeps spies in her pay, " he said. 

"Tell her I am safe. We march to cut them (the enemy) off from Verona, and I can't leave. The game is in our hands. We shall give you Venice. "

Georgiana was found at the nearest village. Gambier's wounds had beendressed by an army-surgeon. She looked at the dressing, and said that itwould do for six hours. This singular person had fully qualified herselfto attend on a soldier-brother. She had studied medicine for thatpurpose, and she had served as nurse in a London hospital. Her nerveswere completely under control. She could sit in attendance by a sick-bedfor hours, hearing distant cannon, and the brawl of soldiery andvagabonds in the street, without a change of countenance. Her dresswas plain black from throat to heel, with a skull cap of white, likea Moravian sister. Vittoria reverenced her; but Georgiana's manner inreturn was cold aversion, so much more scornful than disdain that itoffended Laura, who promptly put her finger on the blot in the faircharacter with the word 'Jealousy;' but a single word is too broad amark to be exactly true. "She is a perfect example of your English, "Laura said. "Brave, good, devoted, admirable--ice at the heart. Thejudge of others, of course. I always respected her; I never liked her;and I should be afraid of a comparison with her. Her management of thehousehold of this inn is extraordinary. "

Georgiana condescended to advise Vittoria once more not to dangle afterarmies. 

"I wish to wait here to assist you in nursing our friend, " saidVittoria. 

Georgiana replied that her strength was unlikely to fail. 

After two days of incessant rain, sunshine blazed over 'the wateryMantuan flats. Laura drove with Beppo to see whether the army was inmotion, for they were distracted by rumours. Vittoria clung to herwounded friend, whose pleasure was the hearing her speak. She expectedLaura's return by set of sun. After dark a messenger came to her, sayingthat the signora had sent a carriage to fetch her to Valeggio. Herimmediate supposition was that Merthyr might have fallen. She foundLuigi at the carriage-door, and listened to his mysterious directionsand remarks that not a minute must be lost, without suspicion. He saidthat the signora was in great trouble, very anxious to see the signorinainstantly; there was but a distance of five miles to traverse. 

She thought it strange that the carriage should be so luxuriously fittedwith lights and silken pillows, but her ideas were all of Merthyr, untilshe by chance discovered a packet marked I chocolate, which told her atonce that she was entrapped by Antonio-Pericles. Luigi would not answerher cry to him. After some fruitless tremblings of wrath, she lay backrelieved by the feeling that Merthyr was safe, come what might come toherself. Things could lend to nothing but an altercation with Pericles, and for this scene she prepared her mind. The carriage stopped while shewas dozing. Too proud to supplicate in the darkness, she left it tothe horses to bear her on, reserving her energies for the morning'sinterview, and saying, "The farther he takes me the angrier I shall be. "She dreamed of her anger while asleep, but awakened so frequently duringthe night that morning was at her eyelids before they divided. Toher amazement, she saw the carriage surrounded by Austrian troopers. Pericles was spreading cigars among them, and addressing them affably. The carriage was on a good road, between irrigated flats, that flasheda lively green and bright steel blue for miles away. She drew down theblinds to cry at leisure; her wings were clipped, and she lost heart. Pericles came round to her when the carriage had drawn up at an inn. He was egregiously polite, but modestly kept back any expressions oftriumph. A body of Austrians, cavalry and infantry, were breakingcamp. Pericles accorded her an hour of rest. She perceived that he wasanticipating an outbreak of the anger she had nursed overnight, andbaffled him so far by keeping dumb. Luigi was sent up to her to announcethe expiration of her hour of grace. 

"Ah, Luigi!" she said. "Signorina, only wait, and see how Luigi canserve two, " he whispered, writhing under the reproachfulness of hereyes. At the carriage-door she asked Pericles whither he was taking her. "Not to Turin, not to London, Sandra Belloni!" he replied; "not to aplace where you are wet all night long, to wheeze for ever after it. Goin. " She entered the carriage quickly, to escape from staring officers, whose laughter rang in her ears and humbled her bitterly; she feltherself bringing dishonour on her lover. The carriage continued in thetrack of the Austrians. Pericles was audibly careful to avoid the borderregiments. He showered cigars as he passed; now and then he exhibiteda paper; and on one occasion he brought a General officer to thecarriage-door, opened it and pointed in. A white-helmeted dragoon rodeon each side of the carriage for the remainder of the day. The delightof the supposition that these Austrians were retreating before theinvincible arms of King Carlo Alberto kept her cheerful; but she heardno guns in the rear. A blocking of artillery and waggons compelled ahalt, and then Pericles came and faced her. He looked profoundly ashamedof himself, ready as he was for an animated defence of his proceedings. 

"Where are you taking me, sir?" she said in English. 

"Sandra, will you be a good child? It is anywhere you please, if youwill promise--"

"I will promise nothing. "

"Zen, I lock you up in Verona. "

"In Verona!"

"Sandra, will you promise to me?"

"I will promise nothing. "

"Zen I lock you up in Verona. It is settled. No more of it. I come tosay, we shall not reach a village. I am sorry. We have soldiers fora guard. You draw out a board and lodge in your carriage as in a bed. Biscuits, potted meats, prunes, bon-bona, chocolate, wine--you shallfind all at your right hand and your left. I am desolate in offendingyou. Sandra, if you will promise--"

"I will promise--this is what I will promise, " said Vittoria. 

Pericles thrust his ear forward, and withdrew it as if it had beenslapped. 

She promised to run from him at the first opportunity, to despise himever after, and never to sing again in his hearing. With the darknessLuigi appeared to light her lamp; he mouthed perpetually, "To-morrow, to-morrow. " The watch-fires of Austrians encamped in the fieldsencircled her; and moving up and down, the cigar of Antonio-Pericles wasvisible. He had not eaten or drunk, and he was out there sleepless; hewalked conquering his fears in the thick of war troubles: all for hersake. She watched critically to see whether the cigar-light waspuffed in fretfulness. It burned steadily; and the thought of Periclessupporting patience quite overcame her. In a fit of humour that wasalmost tears, she called to him and begged him to take a place in thecarriage and have food. "If it is your pleasure, " he said; and threw offhis cloak. The wine comforted him. Thereupon he commenced a series ofstrange gesticulations, and ended by blinking at the window, saying, "No, no; it is impossible to explain. I have no voice; I am not, gifted. It is, " he tapped at his chest, "it is here. It is, imprisoned in me. "

"What?" said Vittoria, to encourage him. 

"It can never be explained, my child. Am I not respectful to you? Am Inot worshipful to you? But, no! it can never be explained. Some do callme mad. I know it; I am laughed at. Oh! do I not know zat? Perfectlywell. My ancestors adored Goddesses. I discover ze voice of a Goddess:I adore it. So you call me mad; it is to me what you call me--juste zesame. I am possessed wiz passion for her voice. So it will be till I goto ashes. It is to me ze one zsing divine in a pig, a porpoise world. Itis to me--I talk! It is unutterable--impossible to tell. "

"But I understand it; I know you must feel it, " said Vittoria. 

"But you hate me, Sandra. You hate your Pericles. "

"No, I do not; you are my good friend, my good Pericles. "

"I am your good Pericles? So you obey me?"

"In what?"

"You come to London?"

"I shall not. "

"You come to Turin?"

"I cannot promise. "

"To Milan?"

"No; not yet. "

"Ungrateful little beast! minx! temptress! You seduce me into yourcarriage to feed me, to fill me, for to coax me, " cried Pericles. 

"Am I the person to have abuse poured on me?" Vittoria rejoined, andshe frowned. "Might I not have called you a wretched whimsicalmoney-machine, without the comprehension of a human feeling? You aredoing me a great wrong--to win my submission, as I see, and it halfamuses me; but the pretence of an attempt to carry me off from myfriends is an offence that I should take certain care to punish inanother. I do not give you any promise, because the first promise ofall--the promise to keep one--is not in my power. Shut your eyes andsleep where you are, and in the morning think better of your conduct!"

"Of my conduct, mademoiselle!" Pericles retained this sentence in hishead till the conclusion of her animated speech, --"of my conduct I judgebetter zan to accept of such a privilege as you graciously offer to me;"and he retired with a sour grin, very much subdued by her unexpectedcapacity for expression. The bugles of the Austrians were soon ringing. There was a trifle of a romantic flavour in the notes which Vittoriatried not to feel; the smart iteration of them all about her rubbed itoff, but she was reduced to repeat them, and take them in various keys. This was her theme for the day. 

They were in the midst of mulberries, out of sight of the army; greenmulberries, and the green and the bronze young vine-leaf. It was adelicious day, but she began to fear that she was approaching Verona, and that Pericles was acting seriously. The bronze young vine-leafseemed to her like some warrior's face, as it would look when beaten byweather, burned by the sun. They came now to inns which had been visitedby both armies. Luigi established communication with the innkeepersbefore the latter had stated the names of villages to Pericles, whostood map in hand, believing himself at last to be no more conscious ofhis position than an atom in a whirl of dust. Vittoria still refused togive him any promise, and finally, on a solitary stretch of the road, heappealed to her mercy. She was the mistress of the carriage, he said;he had never meant to imprison her in Verona; his behaviour was simplydictated by his adoration--alas! This was true or not true, but it wascertain that the ways were confounded to them. Luigi, despatchedto reconnoitre from a neighbouring eminence, reported a Piedmonteseencampment far ahead, and a walking tent that was coming on their route. The walking tent was an enormous white umbrella. Pericles advanced tomeet it; after an interchange of opening formalities, he turned aboutand clapped hands. The umbrella was folded. Vittoria recognized the lastman she would then have thought of meeting; he seemed to have jumped outof an ambush from Meran in Tyrol:--it was Wilfrid. Their greeting wasdisturbed by the rushing up of half-a-dozen troopers. The men claimedhim as an Austrian spy. With difficulty Vittoria obtained leave to drivehim on to their commanding officer. It appeared that the white umbrellawas notorious for having been seen on previous occasions threading thePiedmontese lines into and out of Peschiera. These very troopers sworeto it; but they could not swear to Wilfrid, and white umbrellas were notabsolutely uncommon. Vittoria declared that Wilfrid was an old Englishfriend; Pericles vowed that Wilfrid was one of their party. The prisonerwas clearly an Englishman. As it chanced, the officer before whomWilfrid was taken had heard Vittoria sing on the great night at LaScala. "Signorina, your word should pass the Austrian Field-Marshalhimself, " he said, and merely requested Wilfrid to state on his wordof honour that he was not in the Austrian service, to which Wilfridunhesitatingly replied, "I am not. "

Permission was then accorded to him to proceed in the carriage. 

Vittoria held her hand to Wilfrid. He took the fingers and bowed overthem. 

He was perfectly self-possessed, and cool even under her eyes. Likea pedlar he carried a pack on his back, which was his life; for hisbusiness was a combination of scout and spy. 

"You have saved me from a ditch to-day, " he said; "every fellow has somesort of love for his life, and I must thank you for the odd luck of yourcoming by. I knew you were on this ground somewhere. If the rascals hadsearched me, I should not have come off so well. I did not speak falselyto that officer; I am not in the Austrian service. I am a volunteer spy. I am an unpaid soldier. I am the dog of the army--fetching and carryingfor a smile and a pat on the head. I am ruined, and I am working my wayup as best I can. My uncle disowns me. It is to General Schoneck thatI owe this chance of re-establishing myself. I followed the army outof Milan. I was at Melegnano, at Pastrengo, at Santa Lucia. If I getnothing for it, the Lenkensteins at least shall not say that I abandonedthe flag in adversity. I am bound for Rivoli. The fortress (Peschiera)has just surrendered. The Marshal is stealing round to make a dash onVicenza. " So far he spoke like one apart from her, but a flush crossedhis forehead. "I have not followed you. I have obeyed your briefdirections. I saw this carriage yesterday in the ranks of our troops. Isaw Pericles. I guessed who might be inside it. I let it pass me. CouldI do more?"

"Not if you wanted to punish me, " said Vittoria. 

She was afflicted by his refraining from reproaches in his sunken state. 

Their talk bordered the old life which they had known, like a rivulet, coming to falls where it threatens to be e, torrent and a flood; likeflame bubbling the wax of a seal. She was surprised to find herselfexpecting tenderness from him: and, startled by the languor in herveins, she conceived a contempt for her sex and her own weak nature. Tomask that, an excessive outward coldness was assumed. "You can serve asa spy, Wilfrid!"

The answer was ready: "Having twice served as a traitor, I need not beparticular. It is what my uncle and the Lenkensteins call me. I do mybest to work my way up again. Despise me for it, if you please. "

On the contrary, she had never respected him so much. She got herselfinto opposition to him by provoking him to speak with pride of his army;but the opposition was artificial, and she called to Carlo Ammiani inheart. "I will leave these places, cover up my head, and crouch till thestruggle is decided. "

The difficulty was now to be happily rid of Wilfrid by leaving him insafety. Piedmontese horse scoured the neighbourhood, and any mischancethat might befall him she traced to her hand. She dreaded at everyinstant to hear him speak of his love for her; yet how sweet it wouldhave been to hear it, --to hear him speak of passionate love; to shapeit in deep music; to hear one crave for what she gave to another! "I amsinking: I am growing degraded, " she thought. But there was no other wayfor her to quicken her imagination of her distant and offended lover. The sights on the plains were strange contrasts to these conflictinginner emotions: she seemed to be living in two divided worlds. 

Pericles declared anew that she was mistress of the carriage. She issuedorders: "The nearest point to Rivoli, and then to Brescia. "

Pericles broke into shouts. "She has arrived at her reason! Hurrah forBrescia! I beheld you, " he confessed to Wilfrid, --"it was on ze rightof Mincio, my friend. I did not know you were so true for Art, or whata hand I would have reached to you! Excuse me now. Let us whip on. Iam your banker. I shall desire you not to be shot or sabred. You aredeserving of an effigy on a theatral grand stair-case!" His gratitudecould no further express itself. In joy he whipped the horses on. Foolsmight be fighting--he was the conqueror. From Brescia, one leap tookhim in fancy to London. He composed mentally a letter to be forwardedimmediately to a London manager, directing him to cause the appearanceof articles in the journals on the grand new prima donna, whose singinghad awakened the people of Italy. 

Another day brought them in view of the Lago di Garda. The flag ofSardinia hung from the walls of Peschiera. And now Vittoria saw thePastrengo hills--dear hills, that drove her wretched languor out of her, and made her soul and body one again. The horses were going at a gallop. Shots were heard. To the left of them, somewhat in the rear, on higherground, there was an encounter of a body of Austrians and Italians:Tyrolese riflemen and the volunteers. Pericles was raving. He refusedto draw the reins till they had reached the village, where one of thehorses dropped. From the windows of the inn, fronting a clear space, Vittoria beheld a guard of Austrians surrounding two or more prisoners. A woman sat near them with her head buried in her lap. Presently anofficer left the door of the inn and spoke to the soldiers. "That isCount Karl von Lenkenstein, " Wilfrid said in a whisper. Pericles hadbeen speaking with Count Karl and came up to the room, saying, "Weare to observe something; but we are safe; it is only fortune of war. "Wilfrid immediately went out to report himself. He was seen giving hispapers, after which Count Karl waved his finger back to the inn, and hereturned. Vittoria sprang to her feet at the words he uttered. RinaldoGuidascarpi was one of the prisoners. The others Wilfrid professed notto know. The woman was the wife of Barto Rizzo. 

In the great red of sunset the Tyrolese riflemen and a body of Italiansin Austrian fatigue uniform marched into the village. These formed inthe space before the inn. It seemed as if Count Karl were declaiming anindictment. A voice answered, "I am the man. " It was clear and straightas a voice that goes up in the night. Then a procession walked somepaces on. The woman followed. She fell prostrate at the feet of CountKarl. He listened to her and nodded. Rinaldo Guidascarpi stood alonewith bandaged eyes. The woman advanced to him; she put her mouth on hisear; there she hung. 

Vittoria heard a single shot. Rinaldo Guidascarpi lay stretched upon theground and the woman stood over him. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR

COUNT KARL LENKENSTEIN--THE STORY OF THE GUIDASCARPI--THE VICTORY OF THEVOLUNTEERS

The smoke of a pistol-shot thinned away while there was yet silence. 

"It is a saving of six charges of Austrian ammunition, " said Pericles. 

Vittoria stared at the scene, losing faith in her eyesight. She could infact see no distinct thing beyond what appeared as an illuminated coppermedallion, held at a great distance from her, with a dead man and atowering female figure stamped on it. 

The events following were like a rush of water on her senses. There wasfighting up the street of the village, and a struggle in the spacewhere Rinaldo had fallen; successive yellowish shots under the risingmoonlight, cries from Italian lips, quick words of command from Germanin Italian, and one sturdy bull's roar of a voice that called acrossthe tumult to the Austro-Italian soldiery, "Venite fratelli!--come, brothers, come under our banner!" She heard "Rinaldo!" called. 

This was a second attack of the volunteers for the rescue of theircaptured comrades. They fought more desperately than on the hill outsidethe village: they fought with steel. Shot enfiladed them; yet they boreforward in a scattered body up to that spot where Rinaldo lay, shoutingfor him. There they turned, --they fled. 

Then there was a perfect stillness, succeeding the strife as quickly, Vittoria thought, as a breath yielded succeeds a breath taken. 

She accused the heavens of injustice. 

Pericles, prostrate on the floor, moaned that he was wounded. She said, "Bleed to death!"

"It is my soul, it is my soul is wounded for you, Sandra. "

"Dreadful craven man!" she muttered. 

"When my soul is shaking for your safety, Sandra Belloni!" Periclesturned his ear up. "For myself--not; it is for you, for you. "

Assured of the cessation of arms by delicious silence he jumped to hisfeet. 

"Ah! brutes to fight. It is 'immonde;' it is unnatural!"

He tapped his finger on the walls for marks of shot, and discovered ashot-hole in the wood-work, that had passed an arm's length aboveher head, into which he thrust his finger in an intense speculativemeditation, shifting eyes from it to her, and throwing them aloft. 

He was summoned to the presence of Count Karl, with whom he foundCaptain Weisspriess, Wilfrid, and officers of jagers and the Italianbattalion. Barto Rizzo's wife was in a corner of the room. Weisspriessmet him with a very civil greeting, and introduced him to Count Karl, who begged him to thank Vittoria for the aid she had afforded to GeneralSchoneck's emissary in crossing the Piedmontese lines. He spoke inItalian. He agreed to conduct Pericles to a point on the route of hismarch, where Pericles and his precious prima donna--"our very goodfriend, " he said, jovially--could escape the risk of unpleasant mishaps, and arrive at Trent and cities of peace by easy stages. He was marchingfor the neighbourhood of Vicenza. 

A little before dawn Vittoria came down to the carriage. Count Karlstood at the door to hand her in. He was young and handsome, with a softflowing blonde moustache and pleasant eyes, a contrast to his brotherCount Lenkenstein. He repeated his thanks to her, which Pericles had notdelivered; he informed her that she was by no means a prisoner, and wassimply under the guardianship of friends--"though perhaps, signorina, you will not esteem this gentleman to be one of your friends. " Hepointed to Weisspriess. The officer bowed, but kept aloof. Vittoriaperceived a singular change in him: he had become pale and sedate. "Poorfellow! he has had his dose, " Count Karl said. "He is, I beg to assureyou, one of your most vehement admirers. "

A piece of her property that flushed her with recollections, yet madeher grateful, was presently handed to her, though not in her oldenemy's presence, by a soldier. It was the silver-hilted dagger, Carlo's precious gift, of which Weisspriess had taken possession inthe mountain-pass over the vale of Meran, when he fought the duelwith Angelo. Whether intended as a peace-offering, or as a simplerestitution, it helped Vittoria to believe that Weisspriess was nolonger the man he had been. 

The march was ready, but Barto Rizzo's wife refused to move a foot. Theofficers consulted. She, was brought before them. The soldiers sworewith jesting oaths that she had been carefully searched for weapons, andonly wanted a whipping. "She must have it, " said Weisspriess. Vittoriaentreated that she might have a place beside her in the carriage. "It ismore than I would have asked of you; but if you are not afraid of her, "said Count Karl, with an apologetic shrug. 

Her heart beat fast when she found herself alone with the terriblewoman. 

Till then she had never seen a tragic face. Compared with this tawnycolourlessness, this evil brow, this shut mouth, Laura, even on thebattle-field, looked harmless. It was like the face of a dead savage. The eyeballs were full on Vittoria, as if they dashed at an obstacle, not embraced an image. In proportion as they seemed to widen about her, Vittoria shrank. The whole woman was blood to her gaze. 

When she was capable of speaking, she said entreatingly:

"I knew his brother. "

Not a sign of life was given in reply. 

Companionship with this ghost of broad daylight made the flatteringTyrolese feathers at both windows a welcome sight. 

Precautions had been taken to bind the woman's arms. Vittoria offered toloosen the cords, but she dared not touch her without a mark of assent. 

"I know Angelo Guidascarpi, Rinaldo's brother, " she spoke again. 

The woman's nostrils bent inward, as when the breath we draw is keen asa sword to the heart. Vittoria was compelled to look away from her. 

At the mid-day halt Count Karl deigned to justify to her his intendedexecution of Rinaldo--the accomplice in the slaying of his brother CountPaula. He was evidently eager to obtain her good opinion of the Austrianmilitary. "But for this miserable spirit of hatred against us, " he said, "I should have espoused an Italian lady;" and he asked, "Why not? Forthat matter, in all but blood we Lenkensteins are half Italian, exceptwhen Italy menaces the empire. Can you blame us for then drawing thesword in earnest?"

He proffered his version of the death of Count Paul. She kept her ownsilent in her bosom. 

Clelia Guidascarpi, according to his statement, had first been slain byher brothers. Vittoria believed that Clelia had voluntarily submitted todeath and died by her own hand. She was betrothed to an Italian noblemanof Bologna, the friend of the brothers. They had arranged the marriage;she accepted the betrothal. "She loved my brother, poor thing!" saidCount Karl. "She concealed it, and naturally. How could she take acouple of wolves into her confidence? If she had told the pair ofruffians that she was plighted to an Austrian, they would have quietedher at an earlier period. A woman! a girl--signorina! The intolerablecowardice amazes me. It amazes me that you or anyone can uphold thecharacter of such brutes. And when she was dead they lured my brother tothe house and slew him; fell upon him with daggers, stretched him at thefoot of her coffin, and then--what then?--ran! ran for their lives. Onehas gone to his account. We shall come across the other. He is amongthat volunteer party which attacked us yesterday. The body was carriedoff by them; it is sufficient testimony that Angelo Guidascarpi isin the neighbourhood. I should be hunting him now but that I am underorders to march South-east. "

The story, as Vittoria knew it, had a different, though yet a dreadful, colour. 

"I could have hanged Rinaldo, " Count Karl said further. "I suppose therascals feared I should use my right, and that is why they sent theirmad baggage of a woman to spare any damage to the family pride. If Ihad been a man to enjoy vengeance, the rope would have swung for him. Inspite of provocation, I shall simply shoot the other; I pledge my wordto it. They shall be paid in coin. I demand no interest. "

Weisspriess prudently avoided her. Wilfrid held aloof. She sat in gardenshade till the bugle sounded. Tyrolese and Italian soldiers were gibingat her haggard companion when she entered the carriage. Fronting thisdumb creature once more, Vittoria thought of the story of the brothers. She felt herself reading it from the very page. The woman looked thatevil star incarnate which Laura said they were born under. 

This is in brief the story of the Guidascarpi. 

They were the offspring of a Bolognese noble house, neither wealthynor poor. In her early womanhood, Clelia was left to the care of herbrothers. She declined the guardianship of Countess Ammiani because ofher love for them; and the three, with their passion of hatred to theAustrians inherited from father and mother, schemed in concert to throwoff the Austrian yoke. Clelia had soft features of no great mark; by hercolouring she was beautiful, being dark along the eyebrows, with darkeyes, and a surpassing richness of Venetian hair. Bologna and Venicewere married in her aspect. Her brothers conceived her to possess suchforce of mind that they held no secrets from her. They did not know thatthe heart of their sister was struggling with an image of Power when sheuttered hatred of it. She was in truth a woman of a soft heart, with amost impressionable imagination. 

There were many suitors for the hand of Clelia Guidascarpi, though herdowry was not the portion of a fat estate. Her old nurse counselledthe brothers that they should consent to her taking a husband. Theyfulfilled this duty as one that must be done, and she became sorrowfullythe betrothed of a nobleman of Bologna; from which hour she had nocheerfulness. The brothers quitted Bologna for Venice, where there wasthe bed of a conspiracy. On their return they were shaken by rumours oftheir sister's misconduct. An Austrian name was allied to hers inbusy mouths. A lady, their distant relative, whose fame was light, hadwithdrawn her from the silent house, and made display of her. Since shehad seen more than an Italian girl should see, the brothers proposed tothe nobleman her betrothed to break the treaty; but he was of a mind tohurry on the marriage, and recollecting now that she was but a woman, the brothers fixed a day for her espousals, tenderly, without reproach. She had the choice of taking the vows or surrendering her hand. Her oldnurse prayed for the day of her espousals to come with a quicker step. 

One night she surprised Count Paul Lenkenstein at Clelia's window. Rinaldo was in the garden below. He moved to the shadow of a cypress, and was seen moving by the old nurse. The lover took the single kiss hehad come for, was led through the chamber, and passed unchallengedinto the street. Clelia sat between locked doors and darkened windows, feeling colder to the brothers she had been reared with than to allother men upon the earth. They sent for her after a lapse of hours. Herold nurse was kneeling at their feet. Rinaldo asked for the name of herlover. She answered with it. Angelo said, "It will be better for youto die: but if you cannot do so easy a thing as that, prepare widow'sgarments. " They forced her to write three words to Count Paul, callinghim to her window at midnight. Rinaldo fetched a priest: Angelo laid outtwo swords. An hour before the midnight, Clelia's old nurse raised thehouse with her cries. Clelia was stretched dead in her chamber. Thebrothers kissed her in turn, and sat, one at her head, one at her feet. At midnight her lover stood among them. He was gravely saluted, andbidden to look upon the dead body. Angelo said to him, "Had she livedyou should have wedded her hand. She is gone of her own free choice, andone of us follows her. " With the sweat of anguish on his forehead, Count Paul drew sword. The window was barred; six male domestics of thehousehold held high lights in the chamber; the priest knelt beside onecorpse, awaiting the other. 

Vittoria's imagination could not go beyond that scene, but she lookedout on the brother of the slain youth with great pity, and with astrange curiosity. The example given by Clelia of the possible loveof an Italian girl for the white uniform, set her thinking whether somonstrous a fact could ever be doubled in this world. "Could it happento me?" she asked herself, and smiled, as she half-fashioned the wordson her lips, "It is a pretty uniform. "

Her reverie was broken by a hiss of "Traitress!" from the womanopposite. 

She coloured guiltily, tried to speak, and sat trembling. A divinationof intense hatred had perhaps read the thought within her breast: or itwas a mere outburst of hate. The woman's face was like the wearing awayof smoke from a spot whence shot has issued. Vittoria walked for theremainder of the day. That fearful companion oppressed her. She feltthat one who followed armies should be cast in such a frame, and nowdesired with all her heart to render full obedience to Carlo, and abidein Brescia, or even in Milan--a city she thought of shyly. 

The march was hurried to the slopes of the Vicentino, for enemies werethick in this district. Pericles refused to quit the soldiers, thoughCount Karl used persuasion. The young nobleman said to Vittoria, "Beon your guard when you meet my sister Anna. I tell you, we can be asrevengeful as any of you: but you will exonerate me. I do my duty; Iseek to do no more. "

At an inn that they reached toward evening she saw the innkeeper shoot alittle ball of paper at an Italian corporal, who put his foot on it andpicked it up. The soldier subsequently passed through the ranks of hiscomrades, gathering winks and grins. They were to have rested at theinn, but Count Karl was warned by scouts, which was sufficient to makePericles cling to him in avoidance of the volunteers, of whom mainly hewas in terror. He looked ague-stricken. He would not listen to her, orto reason in any shape. "I am on the sea--shall I trust a boat? I stickto a ship, " he said. The soldiers marched till midnight. It was arrangedthat the carriage should strike off for Schio at dawn. The soldiersbivouacked on the slope of one of the low undulations falling to theVicentino plain. Vittoria spread her cloak, and lay under bare sky, notsuffering the woman to be ejected from the carriage. Hitherto Luigi hadavoided her. Under pretence of doubling Count Karl's cloak as a pillowfor her head, he whispered, "If the signorina hears shots let her lie onthe ground flat as a sheet. " The peacefulness surrounding her precludedalarm. There was brilliant moonlight, and the host of stars, all dim;and first they beckoned her up to come away from trouble, and then, through long gazing, she had the fancy that they bent and swam abouther, making her feel that she lay in the hollows of a warm hushed sea. She wished for her lover. 

Men and officers were lying at a stone's-throw distant. The Tyrolesehad lit a fire for cooking purposes, by which four of them stood, and, lifting hands, sang one of their mountain songs, that seemed to her tospring like clear water into air, and fall wavering as a feather falls, or the light about a stone in water. It lulled her to a half-sleep, during which she fancied hearing a broad imitation of a cat's-call fromthe mountains, that was answered out of the camp, and a talk of officersarose in connection with the response, and subsided. The carriage wasin the shadows of the fire. In a little while Luigi and the driver beganputting the horses to, and she saw Count Karl and Weisspriess go upto Luigi, who declared loudly that it was time. The woman inside wasaroused. Weisspriess helped to drag her out. Luigi kept making muchnoise, and apologized for it by saying that he desired to awakenhis master, who was stretched in a secure circle among the Tyrolese. Presently Vittoria beheld the woman's arms thrown out free; the nextminute they were around the body of Weisspriess, and a shrewd cry issuedfrom Count Karl. Shots rang from the outposts; the Tyrolese sprang toarms; "Sandra!" was shouted by Pericles; and once more she heard the'Venite fratelli!' of the bull's voice, and a stream of volunteersdashed at the Tyrolese with sword and dagger and bayonet. TheAustro-Italians stood in a crescent line--the ominous form of incipientmilitary insubordination. Their officers stormed at them, and called forCount Karl and for Weisspriess. The latter replied like a man stifling, but Count Karl's voice was silent. 

"Weisspriess! here, to me!" the captain sang out in Italian. 

"Ammiani! here, to me!" was replied. 

Vittoria struck her hands together in electrical gladness at her lover'svoice and name. It rang most cheerfully. Her home was in the conflictwhere her lover fought, and she muttered with ecstasy, "We have met!we have met!" The sound of the keen steel, so exciting to dream of, paralyzed her nerves in a way that powder, more terrible for a woman'simagination, would not have done, and she could only feebly advance. Itwas a spacious moonlight, but the moonlight appeared to have got of abrassy hue to her eyes, though the sparkle of the steel was white; andshe felt too, and wondered at it, that the cries and the noise went toher throat, as if threatening to choke her. Very soon she found herselfstanding there, watching for the issue of the strife, almost as dead asa weight in scales, incapable of clear vision. 

Matched against the Tyrolese alone, the volunteers had an equal fightin point of numbers, and the advantage of possessing a leader; for CountKarl was down, and Weisspriess was still entangled in the woman's arms. When at last Wilfrid got him free, the unsupported Tyrolese were givingground before Carlo Ammiani and his followers. These fought with sternfury, keeping close up to their enemy, rarely shouting. They presentedsomething like the line of a classic bow, with its arrow-head; while theTyrolese were huddled in groups, and clubbed at them, and fell back forspace, and ultimately crashed upon their betraying brothers in arms, swinging rifles and flying. The Austro-Italians rang out a Viva forItaly, and let them fly: they were swept from the scene. 

Vittoria heard her lover addressing his followers. Then he and Angelostood over Count Karl, whom she had forgotten. Angelo ran up to her, butgave place the moment Carlo came; and Carlo drew her by the hand swiftlyto an obscure bend of the rolling ground, and stuck his sword in theearth, and there put his arms round her and held her fast. 

"Obey me now, " were his first words. 

"Yes, " she answered. 

He was harsh of eye and tongue, not like the gentle youth she had beentorn from at the door of La Scala. 

"Return; make your way to Brescia. My mother is in Brescia. Milan ishateful. I throw myself into Vicenza. Can I trust you to obey?"

"Carlo, what evil have you heard of me?"

"I listen to no tales. "

"Let me follow you to Vicenza and be your handmaid, my beloved. "

"Say that you obey. "

"I have said it. "

He seemed to shut her in his heart, so closely was she enfolded. 

"Since La Scala, " she murmured; and he bent his lips to her ear, whispering, "Not one thought of another woman! and never till I die. "

"And I only of you, Carlo, and for you, my lover, my lover!"

"You love me absolutely?"

"I belong to you. "

"I could be a coward and pray for life to live to hear you say it. "

"I feel I breathe another life when you are away from me. "

"You belong to me; you are my own?"

"You take my voice, beloved. "

"And when I claim you, I am to have you?"

"Am I not in your hands?"

"The very instant I make my claim you will say yes?"

"I shall not have strength for more than to nod. "

Carlo shuddered at the delicious image of her weakness. 

"My Sandra! Vittoria, my soul! my bride!"

"O my Carlo! Do you go to Vicenza? And did you know I was among thesepeople?"

"You will hear everything from little Leone Rufo, who is wounded andaccompanies you to Brescia. Speak of nothing. Speak my name, and look atme. I deserve two minutes of blessedness. "

"Ah! my dearest, if I am sweet to you, you might have many!"

"No; they begin to hum a reproach at me already, for I must be marching. Vicenza will soon bubble on a fire, I suspect. Comfort my mother; shewants a young heart at her elbow. If she is alone, she feeds on everyrumour; other women scatter in emotions what poisons her. And when mybride is with her, I am between them. "

"Yes, Carlo, I will go, " said Vittoria, seeing her duty at last throughtenderness. 

Carlo sprang from her side to meet Angelo, with whom he exchanged somequick words. The bugle was sounding, and Barto Rizzo audible. Luigi cameto, her, ruefully announcing that the volunteers had sacked the carriagebehaved worse than the Austrians; and that his padrone, the signorAntonio-Pericles, was off like a gossamer. Angelo induced her to remainon the spot where she stood till the carriage was seen on the Schioroad, when he led her to it, saying that Carlo had serious work to do. Count Karl Lenkenstein was lying in the carriage, supported by Wilfridand by young Leone Rufo, who sat laughing, with one eye under across-bandage and an arm slung in a handkerchief. Vittoria desired towait that she might see her lover once more; but Angelo entreated herthat she should depart, too earnestly to leave her in doubt of therebeing good reason for it and for her lover's absence. He pointed toWilfrid: "Barto Rizzo captured this man; Carlo has released him. Takehim with you to attend on his superior officer. " She drew Angelo'sobservation to the first morning colours over the peaks. He looked up, and she knew that he remembered that morning of their flight from theinn. Perhaps he then had the image of his brother in his mind, for thecolours seemed to be plucking at his heart, and he said, "I have losthim. "

"God help you, my friend!" said Vittoria, her throat choking. 

Angelo pointed at the insensible nobleman: "These live. I do not grudgehim his breath or his chances; but why should these men take so muchkilling? Weisspriess has risen, as though I struck the blow of a babe. But we one shot does for us! Nevertheless, signorina, " Angelo smiledfirmly, "I complain of nothing while we march forward. "

He kissed his hand to her, and turned back to his troop. The carriagewas soon under the shadows of the mountains. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR THE DEEDS OF BARTO RIZZO--THE MEETINGAT ROVEREDO

At Schio there was no medical attendance to be obtained for Count Karl, and he begged so piteously to be taken on to Roveredo, that, on hispromising to give Leone Rufo a pass, Vittoria decided to work her wayround to Brescia by the Alpine route. She supposed Pericles to have goneoff among the Tyrolese, and wished in her heart that Wilfrid had gonelikewise, for he continued to wear that look of sad stupefaction whichwas the harshest reproach to her. Leone was unconquerably gay in spiteof his wounds. He narrated the doings of the volunteers, with proudeulogies of Carlo Ammiani's gallant leadership; but the devices of BartoRizzo appeared to have struck his imagination most. "He is positively acat--a great cat, " Leone said. "He can run a day; he can fast a week;he can climb a house; he can drop from a crag; and he never lets go hishold. If he says a thing to his wife, she goes true as a bullet to themark. The two make a complete piece of artillery. We are all for Barto, though our captain Carlo is often enraged with him. But there's nogetting on without him. We have found that. "

Rinaldo and Angelo Guidascarpi and Barto Rizzo had done many daringfeats. They had first, heading about a couple of dozen out of a forceof sixty, endeavoured to surprise the fortress Rocca d'Anfo in LakeIdro--an insane enterprise that touched on success, and would have beenan achievement had all the men who followed them been made of the samedesperate stuff. Beaten off, they escaped up the Val di Ledro, andsecretly entered Trent, where they hoped to spread revolt, but theAustrian commandant knew what a quantity of dry wood was in the city, and stamped his heel on sparks. A revolt was prepared notwithstandingthe proclamation of imprisonment and death. Barto undertook to leada troop against the Buon Consiglio barracks, while Angelo andRinaldo cleared the ramparts. It chanced, whether from treachery orextra-vigilance was unknown, that the troops paid domiciliary visits anhour before the intended outbreak, and the three were left to accomplishtheir task alone. They remained in the city several days, hunted fromhouse to house, and finally they were brought to bay at night on theroof of a palace where the Lenkenstein ladies were residing. Bartotook his dagger between his teeth and dropped to the balcony of Lena'schamber. The brothers soon after found the rooftrap opened to them, andLena and Anna conducted them to the postern-door. There Angelo askedwhom they had to thank. The terrified ladies gave their name; uponhearing which, Rinaldo turned and said that he would pay for acharitable deed to the extent of his power, and would not meanly allowthem to befriend persons who were to continue strangers to them. He gavethe name of Guidascarpi, and relieved his brother, as well as himself, of a load of obligation, for the ladies raised wild screams on theinstant. In falling from the walls to the road, Rinaldo hurt his foot. Barto lifted him on his back, and journeyed with him so till at theappointed place he met his wife, who dressed the foot, and led themout of the line of pursuit, herself bending under the beloved load. Heradoration of Rinaldo was deep as a mother's, pure as a virgin's, fieryas a saint's. Leone Rufo dwelt on it the more fervidly from seeingVittoria's expression of astonishment. The woman led them to a cave inthe rocks, where she had stored provision and sat two days expecting thesignal from Trent. They saw numerous bands of soldiers set out along thevalleys--merry men whom it was Barto's pleasure to beguile by shouts, asa relief for his parched weariness upon the baking rock. Accident madeit an indiscretion. A glass was levelled at them by a mounted officer, and they had quickly to be moving. Angelo knew the voice of Weisspriessin the word of command to the soldiers, and the call to him tosurrender. Weisspriess followed them across the mountain track, keeping at their heels, though they doubled and adopted all possiblecontrivances to shake him off. He was joined by Count Karl Lenkensteinon the day when Carlo Ammiani encountered them, with the rear ofColonel Corte's band marching for Vicenza. In the collision betweenthe Austrians and the volunteers, Rinaldo was taken fighting upon hisknee-cap. Leone cursed the disabled foot which had carried the hero inaction, to cast him at the mercy of his enemies; but recollection ofthat sight of Rinaldo fighting far ahead and alone, half-down-like ascuttled ship, stood like a flower in the lad's memory. The volunteersdevoted themselves to liberate or avenge him. It was then that BartoRizzo sent his wife upon her mission. Leone assured Vittoria that Angelowas aware of its nature, and approved it--hoped that the same mightbe done for himself. He shook his head when she asked if Count Ammianiapproved it likewise. 

"Signorina, Count Ammiani has a grudge against Barto, though he can'thelp making use of him. Our captain Carlo is too much of a mere soldier. He would have allowed Rinaldo to be strung up, and Barto does not owehim obedience in those things. "

"But why did this Barto Rizzo employ a woman's hand?"

"The woman was capable. No man could have got permission to move freelyamong the rascal Austrians, even in the character of a deserter. Shedid, and she saved him from the shame of execution. And besides, it washer punishment. You are astonished? Barto Rizzo punishes royally. Henever forgives, and he never persecutes; he waits for his opportunity. That woman disobeyed him once--once only; but once was enough. It occurred in Milan, I believe. She released an Austrian, or didsomething--I don't know the story exactly--and Barto said to her, 'Nowyou can wash out your crime and send your boy to heaven unspotted, withone blow. ' I saw her set out to do it. She was all teeth and eyes, likea frightened horse; she walked like a Muse in a garden. "

Vittoria discovered that her presence among the Austrians had been knownto Carlo. Leone alluded slightly to Barto Rizzo's confirmed suspicionof her, saying that it was his weakness to be suspicious of women. Thevolunteers, however, were all in her favour, and had jeered at Barto onhis declaring that she might, in proof of her willingness to serve thecause, have used her voice for the purpose of subjugating the waveringAustro-Italians, who wanted as much coaxing as women. Count Karl hadbeen struck to earth by Barto Rizzo. "Not with his boasted neatness, Iimagine, " Leone said. In fact, the dagger had grazed an ivory portraitof a fair Italian head wreathed with violets in Count Karl's breast. 

Vittoria recognized the features of Violetta d'Isorella as the originalof the portrait. 

They arrived at Roveredo late in the evening. The wounded man againentreated Vittoria to remain by him till a messenger should bring oneof his sisters from Trent. "See, " she said to Leone, "how I give groundsfor suspicion of me; I nurse an enemy. "

"Here is a case where Barto is distinctly to blame, " the lad replied. "The poor fellow must want nursing, for he can't smoke. "

Anna von Lenkenstein came from Trent to her brother's summons. Vittoriawas by his bedside, and the sufferer had fallen asleep with his headupon her arm. Anna looked upon this scene with more hateful amazementthan her dull eyelids could express. She beckoned imperiously for herto come away, but Vittoria would not allow him to be disturbed, and Annasat and faced her. The sleep was long. The eyes of the two women metfrom time to time, and Vittoria thought that Barto Rizzo's wife, thoughmore terrible, was pleasanter to behold, and less brutal, than Anna. The moment her brother stirred, Anna repeated her imperious gesture, murmuring, "Away! out of my sight!" With great delicacy of touch shedrew the arm from the pillow and thrust it back, and then motioning inan undisguised horror, said, "Go. " Vittoria rose to go. 

"Is it my Lena?" came from Karl's faint lips. 

"It is your Anna. "

"I should have known, " he moaned. 

Vittoria left them. 

Some hours later, Countess Lena appeared, bringing a Trentino doctor. She said when she beheld Vittoria, "Are you our evil genius, then?"Vittoria felt that she must necessarily wear that aspect to them. 

Still greater was Lena's amazement when she looked on Wilfrid. Shepassed him without a sign. 

Vittoria had to submit to an interview with both sisters before herdeparture. Apart from her distress on their behalf, they had alwaysseemed as very weak, flippant young women to her, and she could havesmiled in her heart when Anna pointed to a day of retribution in thefuture. 

"I shall not seek to have you assassinated, " Anna said; "do not supposethat I mean the knife or the pistol. But your day will come, and I canwait for it. You murdered my brother Paul: you have tried to murdermy brother Karl. I wish you to leave this place convinced of onething:--you shall be repaid for it. "

There was no direct allusion either to Weisspriess or to Wilfrid. 

Lena spoke of the army. "You think our cause is ruined because we haveinsurrection on all sides of us: you do not know our army. We can fightthe Hungarians with one hand, and you Italians with the other--with alittle finger. On what spot have we given way? We have to weep, it istrue; but tears do not testify to defeat; and already I am inclined topity those fools who have taken part against us. Some have experiencedthe fruits of their folly. "

This was the nearest approach to a hint at Wilfrid's misconduct. 

Lena handed Leone's pass to Vittoria, and drawing out a little pocketalmanac, said, "You proceed to Milan, I presume. I do not love yoursociety; mademoiselle Belloni or Campa: yet I do not mind making anappointment--the doctor says a month will set my brother on his feetagain, --I will make an appointment to meet you in Milan or Como, oranywhere in your present territories, during the month of August. Thataffords time for a short siege and two pitched battles. "

She appeared to be expecting a retort. 

Vittoria replied, "I could beg one thing on my knees of you, CountessLena. "

"And that is--?" Lena threw her head up superbly. 

"Pardon my old friend the service he did me through friendship. "

The sisters interchanged looks. Lena flushed angrily. 

Anna said, "The person to whom you allude is here. "

"He is attending on your brother. "

"Did he help this last assassin to escape, perchance?"

Vittoria sickened at the cruel irony, and felt that she had perhaps doneill in beginning to plead for Wilfrid. 

"He is here; let him speak for himself: but listen to him, CountessLena. "

"A dishonourable man had better be dumb, " interposed Anna. 

"Ah! it is I who have offended you. "

"Is that his excuse?"

Vittoria kept her eyes on the fiercer sister, who now declined to speak. 

"I will not excuse my own deeds; perhaps I cannot. We Italians are in ahurricane; I cannot reflect. It may be that I do not act more thinkinglythan a wild beast. "

"You have spoken it, " Anna exclaimed. 

"Countess Lena, he fights in your ranks as a common soldier. Heencounters more than a common soldier's risks. "

"The man is brave, --we knew that, " said Anna. 

"He is more than brave, he is devoted. He fights against us, withouthope of reward from you. Have I utterly ruined him?"

"I imagine that you may regard it as a fact that you have utterly ruinedhim, " said Anna, moving to break up the parting interview. Lena turnedto follow her. 

"Ladies, if it is I who have hardened your hearts, I am more guilty thanI thought. " Vittoria said no more. She knew that she had been speakingbadly, or ineffectually, by a haunting flatness of sound, as ofan unstrung instrument, in her ears: she was herself unstrung anddispirited, while the recollection of Anna's voice was like a sombreconquering monotony on a low chord, with which she felt insufficient tocompete. 

Leone was waiting in the carriage to drive to the ferry across theAdige. There was news in Roveredo of the king's advance upon Rivoli;and Leone sat trying to lift and straighten out his wounded arm, withgrimaces of laughter at the pain of the effort, which resolutely refusedto acknowledge him to be an able combatant. At the carriage-door Wilfridbowed once over Vittoria's hand. 

"You see that, " Anna remarked to her sister. 

"I should have despised him if he had acted indifference, " replied Lena. 

She would have suspected him--that was what her heart meant; the artfulshow of indifference had deceived her once. The anger within herdrew its springs much more fully from his refusal to respond to heraffection, when she had in a fit of feminine weakness abased herselfbefore him on the night of the Milanese revolt, than from therecollection of their days together in Meran. She had nothing of hersister's unforgivingness. And she was besides keenly curious to discoverthe nature of the charm Vittoria threw on him, and not on him solely. Vittoria left Wilfrid to better chances than she supposed. "Continuefighting with your army, " she said, when they parted. The deeper shadewhich traversed his features told her that, if she pleased, her swaymight still be active; but she had no emotion to spare for sentimentalregrets. She asked herself whether a woman who has cast her lot inscenes of strife does not lose much of her womanhood and something ofher truth; and while her imagination remained depressed, her answerwas sad. In that mood she pitied Wilfrid with a reckless sense of herinability to repay him for the harm she had done him. The tragedieswritten in fresh blood all about her, together with that ever-presentimage of the fate of Italy hanging in the balance, drew her away frompersonal reflections. She felt as one in a war-chariot, who has not timeto cast more than a glance on the fallen. At the place where the ferryis, she was rejoiced by hearing positive news of the proximity of theRoyal army. There were none to tell her that Charles Albert had heremade his worst move by leaving Vicenza to the operations of the enemy, that he might become master of a point worthless when Vicenza fell intothe enemy's hands. The old Austrian Field-Marshal had eluded him atMantua on that very night when Vittoria had seen his troops in motion. The daring Austrian flank-march on Vicenza, behind the fortresses of theQuadrilateral, was the capital stroke of the campaign. But the presenceof a Piedmontese vanguard at Rivoli flushed the Adige with confidence, and Vittoria went on her way sharing the people's delight. She reachedBrescia to hear that Vicenza had fallen. The city was like a landscapesmitten black by the thunder-cloud. Vittoria found Countess Ammiani ather husband's tomb, stiff, colourless, lifeless as a monument attachedto the tomb. 

CHAPTER XXXV

CLOSE OF THE LOMBARD CAMPAIGN--VITTORIA'S PERPLEXITY

The fall of Vicenza turned a tide that had overflowed its barriers withforce enough to roll it to the Adriatic. From that day it was as if aviolent wind blew East over Lombardy; flood and wind breaking hereand there a tree, bowing everything before them. City, fortress, andbattle-field resisted as the eddy whirls. Venice kept her brave coloursstreaming aloft in a mighty grasp despite the storm, but between Veniceand Milan there was this unutterable devastation, --so sudden a change, so complete a reversal of the shield, that the Lombards were at firstincredulous even in their agony, and set their faces against it as at amonstrous eclipse, as though the heavens were taking false oath of itsbeing night when it was day. From Vicenza and Rivoli, to Sommacampagna, and across Monte Godio to Custozza, to Volta on the right of the Mincio, up to the gates of Milan, the line of fire travelled, with a fantasticoverbearing swiftness that, upon the map, looks like the zig-zagelbowing of a field-rocket. Vicenza fell on the 11th of June; theAustrians entered Milan on the 6th of August. Within that short time theLombards were struck to the dust. 

Countess Ammiani quitted Brescia for Bergamo before the worst hadhappened; when nothing but the king's retreat upon the Lombard capital, after the good fight at Volta, was known. According to the king'sproclamation the Piedmontese army was to defend Milan, and hope was notdead. Vittoria succeeded in repressing all useless signs of grief inthe presence of the venerable lady, who herself showed none, but simplyrecommended her accepted daughter to pray daily. "I can neither confessnor pray, " Vittoria said to the priest, a comfortable, irritableecclesiastic, long attached to the family, and little able to deal withthis rebel before Providence, that would not let her swollen spiritbe bled. Yet she admitted to him that the countess possessed resourceswhich she could find nowhere; and she saw the full beauty of suchinimitable grave endurance. Vittoria's foolish trick of thinking forherself made her believe, nevertheless, that the countess sufferedmore than she betrayed, was less consoled than her spiritual comforterimagined. She continued obstinate and unrepentant, saying, "If mypunishment is to come, it will at least bring experience with it, and Ishall know why I am punished. The misery now is that I do not know, anddo not see, the justice of the sentence. "

Countess Ammiani thought better of her case than the priest did; orshe was more indulgent, or half indifferent. This girl was Carlo'schoice;--a strange choice, but the times were strange, and the girl wasrobust. The channels of her own and her husband's house were drying onall sides; the house wanted resuscitating. There was promise that thegirl would bear children of strong blood. Countess Ammiani would not forone moment have allowed the spiritual welfare of the children to hangin dubitation, awaiting their experience of life; but a certainsatisfaction was shown in her faint smile when her confessor lamentedover Vittoria's proud stony state of moral revolt. She said to heraccepted daughter, "I shall expect you to be prepared to espouse my sonas soon as I have him by my side;" nor did Vittoria's silent bowing ofher face assure her that strict obedience was implied. Precise words--"Iwill, " and "I will not fail"--were exacted. The countess showed someemotion after Vittoria had spoken. "Now, may God end this war quickly, if it is to go against us, " she exclaimed, trembling in her chairvisibly a half-minute, with dropped eyelids and lips moving. 

Carlo had sent word that he would join his mother as early as he wasdisengaged from active service, and meantime requested her to proceed toa villa on Lago Maggiore. Vittoria obtained permission from the countessto order the route of the carriage through Milan, where she wished totake up her mother and her maid Giacinta. For other reasons she wouldhave avoided the city. The thought of entering it was painful with theshrewdest pain. Dante's profoundly human line seemed branded on theforehead of Milan. 

The morning was dark when they drove through the streets of Bergamo. Passing one of the open places, Vittoria beheld a great concourse ofvolunteer youth and citizens, all of them listening to the voice of onewho stood a few steps above them holding a banner. She gave an outcryof bitter joy. It was the Chief. On one side of him was Agostino, in themidst of memorable heads that were unknown to her. The countess refusedto stay, though Vittoria strained her hands together in extreme entreatythat she might for a few moments hear what the others were hearing. "Ispeak for my son, and I forbid it, " Countess Ammiani said. Vittoria fellback and closed her eyes to cherish the vision. All those faces raisedto the one speaker under the dark sky were beautiful. He had breathedsome new glory of hope in them, making them shine beneath the overcastheavens, as when the sun breaks from an evening cloud and flushes thestems of a company of pine-trees. 

Along the road to Milan she kept imagining his utterance until her heartrose with music. A delicious stream of music, thin as poor tears, passedthrough her frame, like a life reviving. She reached Milan in a mood tobear the idea of temporary defeat. Music had forsaken her so long thatcelestial reassurance seemed to return with it. 

Her mother was at Zotti's, very querulous, but determined not toleave the house and the few people she knew. She had, as she told herdaughter, fretted so much on her account that she hardly knew whethershe was glad to see her. Tea, of course, she had given up all thoughtsof; but now coffee was rising, and the boasted sweet bread of Lombardywas something to look at! She trusted that Emilia would soon think ofsinging no more, and letting people rest: she might sing when she wantedmoney. A letter recently received from Mr. Pericles said that Italy washer child's ruin, and she hoped Emilia was ready to do as he advised, and hurry to England, where singing did not upset people, and peoplelived like real Christians, not----Vittoria flapped her hand, andwould not hear of the unchristian crimes of the South. As regarded theexpected defence of Milan, the little woman said, that if it brought ona bombardment, she would call it unpardonable wickedness, and only hopedthat her daughter would repent. 

Zotti stood by, interpreting the English to himself by tones. "Theamiable donnina is not of our persuasion, " he observed. "She remainsdissatisfied with patriotic Milan. I have exhibited to her my dabs ofbread through all the processes of making and baking. It is in vain. Sherejects analogy. She is wilful as a principessina: 'Tis so! 'tis not so!'tis my will! be silent, thou! Signora, I have been treated in that wayby your excellent mother. "

"Zotti has not been paid for three weeks, and he certainly has notmentioned it or looked it, I will say, Emilia. "

"Zotti has had something to think of during the last three weeks, " saidVittoria, touching him kindly on the arm. 

The confectioner lifted his fingers and his big brown eyes after them, expressive of the unutterable thoughts. He informed her that he had laidin a stock of flour, in the expectation that Carlo Alberto would defendthe city: The Milanese were ready to aid him, though some, as Zotticonfessed, had ceased to effervesce; and a great number who wereperfectly ready to fight regarded his tardy appeal to Italian patriotismvery coldly. Zotti set out in person to discover Giacinta. The girlcould hardly fetch her breath when she saw her mistress. She was inLaura's service, and said that Laura had brought a wounded Englishmanfrom the field of Custozza. Vittoria hurried to Laura, with whom shefound Merthyr, blue-white as a corpse, having been shot through thebody. His sister was in one of the Lombard hamlets, unaware of his fall;Beppo had been sent to her. 

They noticed one another's embrowned complexions, but embraced silently. "Twice widowed!" Laura said when they sat together. Laura hushed allspeaking of the war or allusion to a single incident of the miserablecampaign, beyond the bare recital of Vittoria's adventures; yet whenVicenza by chance was mentioned, she burst out: "They are not cities, they are living shrieks. They have been made impious for ever. Burn themto ashes, that they may not breathe foul upon heaven!" She had clung tothe skirts of the army as far as the field of Custozza. "He, " she said, pointing to the room where Merthyr lay, --"he groans less than the othersI have nursed. Generally, when they looked at me, they appeared obligedto recollect that it was not I who had hurt them. Poor souls! some endedin great torment. 'I think of them as the happiest; for pain is a cloakthat wraps you about, and I remember one middle-aged man who died softlyat Custozza, and said, 'Beaten!' To take that thought as your travellingcompanion into the gulf, must be worse than dying of agony; at least, Ithink so. "

Vittoria was too well used to Laura's way of meeting disaster to expectfrom her other than this ironical fortitude, in which the fortitudeleaned so much upon the irony. What really astonished her was theconception Laura had taken of the might of Austria. Laura did notdirectly speak of it, but shadowed it in allusive hints, much as ifshe had in her mind the image of an iron roller going over a field offlowers--hateful, imminent, irresistible. She felt as a leaf that hasbeen flying before the gale. 

Merthyr's wound was severe: Vittoria could not leave him. Her resolutionto stay in Milan brought her into collision with Countess Ammiani, whenthe countess reminded her of her promise, sedately informing her thatshe was no longer her own mistress, and had a primary duty to fulfil. She offered to wait three days, or until the safety of the wounded manwas medically certified to. It was incomprehensible to her that Vittoriashould reject her terms; and though it was true that she would not havelistened to a reason, she was indignant at not hearing one given inmitigation of the offence. She set out alone on her journey, deeplyhurt. The reason was a feminine sentiment, and Vittoria was naturallyunable to speak it. She shrank with pathetic horror from the thought ofMerthyr's rising from his couch to find her a married woman, and desiredmost earnestly that her marriage should be witnessed by him. Young womenwill know how to reconcile the opposition of the sentiment. Had Merthyrbeen only slightly wounded, and sound enough to seem to be able to beara bitter shock, she would not have allowed her personal feelings tocause chagrin to the noble lady. The sight of her dear steadfast friendprostrate in the cause of Italy, and who, if he lived to rise again, might not have his natural strength to bear the thought of her loss withhis old brave firmness, made it impossible for her to act decisively inone direct line of conduct. 

Countess Ammiani wrote brief letters from Luino and Pallanza on LagoMaggiore. She said that Carlo was in the Como mountains; he would expectto find his bride, and would accuse his mother; "but his mother will bespared those reproaches, " she added, "if the last shot fired kills, asit generally does, the bravest and the dearest. "

"If it should!"--the thought rose on a quick breath in Vittoria's bosom, and the sentiment which held her away dispersed like a feeble smoke, andshowed her another view of her features. She wept with longing for loveand dependence. She was sick of personal freedom, tired of the exerciseof her will, only too eager to give herself to her beloved. Theblessedness of marriage, of peace and dependence, came on herimagination like a soft breeze from a hidden garden, like sleep. Butthis very longing created the resistance to it in the depths of hersoul. 'There was a light as of reviving life, or of pain comforted, whenit was she who was sitting by Merthyr's side, and when at times she sawthe hopeless effort of his hand to reach to hers, or during the longstill hours she laid her head on his pillow, and knew that he breathedgratefully. The sweetness of helping him, and of making his breathingpleasant to him, closed much of the world which lay beyond her windowsto her thoughts, and surprised her with an unknown emotion, so strangeto her that when it first swept up her veins she had the fancy of herhaving been touched by a supernatural hand, and heard a flying accord ofinstruments. She was praying before she knew what prayer was. A crucifixhung over Merthyr's head. She had looked on it many times, and looked onit still, without seeing more than the old sorrow. In the night it wasdim. She found herself trying to read the features of the thorn-crownedHead in the solitary night. She and it were alone with a life thatwas faint above the engulphing darkness. She prayed for the life, andtrembled, and shed tears, and would have checked them; they seemed tobe bearing away her little remaining strength. The tears streamed. Noanswer was given to her question, "Why do I weep?" She wept when Merthyrhad passed the danger, as she had wept when the hours went by, withshrouded visages; and though she felt the difference m the springs ofher tears, she thought them but a simple form of weakness showing shadeand light. 

These tears were a vanward wave of the sea to follow; the rising of hervoice to heaven was no more than a twitter of the earliest dawn beforethe coming of her soul's outcry. 

"I have had a weeping fit, " she thought, and resolved to remember ittenderly, as being associated with her friend's recovery, and a singularmasterful power absolutely to look on the Austrians marching up thestreets of Milan, and not to feel the surging hatred, or the nervelessdespair, which she had supposed must be her alternatives. 

It is a mean image to say that the entry of the Austrians into thereconquered city was like a river of oil permeating a lake of vinegar, but it presents the fact in every sense. They demanded nothing more thansubmission, and placed a gentle foot upon the fallen enemy; and whereverthey appeared they were isolated. The deepest wrath of the city was, nevertheless, not directed against them, but against Carlo Alberto, who had pledged his honour to defend it, and had forsaken it. Vittoriacommitted a public indiscretion on the day when the king left Milan toits fate: word whereof was conveyed to Carlo Ammiani, and he wrote toher. 

"It is right that I should tell you what I have heard, " the letter said. "I have heard that my bride drove up to the crowned traitor, after hehad unmasked himself, and when he was quitting the Greppi palace, andthat she kissed his hand before the people--poor bleeding people ofMilan! This is what I hear in the Val d'Intelvi:--that she despisedthe misery and just anger of the people, and, by virtue of her name andmine, obtained a way for him. How can she have acted so as to give acolour to this infamous scandal? True or false, it does not affect mylove for her. Still, my dearest, what shall I say? You keep me dividedin two halves. My heart is out of me; and if I had a will, I think Ishould be harsh with you. You are absent from my mother at a time whenwe are about to strike another blow. Go to her. It is kindness; it ischarity: I do not say duty. I remember that I did write harshly to youfrom Brescia. Then our march was so clear in view that a little thingruffled me. Was it a little thing? But to applaud the Traitor now! Touphold him who has spilt our blood only to hand the country over to theold gaolers! He lent us his army like a Jew, for huge interest. Canyou not read him? If not, cease, I implore you, to think at all foryourself. 

"Is this a lover's letter? I know that my beloved will see the love init. To me your acts are fair and good as the chronicle of a saint. Ifind you creating suspicion--almost justifying it in others, and puttingyour name in the mouth of a madman who denounces you. I shall not speakmore of him. Remember that my faith in you is unchangeable, and I prayyou to have the same in me. 

"I sent you a greeting from the Chief. He marched in the ranks fromBergamo. I saw him on the line of march strip off his coat to shelter ayoung lad from the heavy rain. He is not discouraged; none are who havebeen near him. 

"Angelo is here, and so is our Agostino; and I assure you he loads andfires a carbine much more deliberately than he composes a sonnet. I amafraid that your adored Antonio-Pericles fared badly among our fellows, but I could gather no particulars. 

"Oh! the bright two minutes when I held you right in my heart. That spoton the Vicentino is alone unclouded. If I live I will have that bit ofground. I will make a temple of it. I could reach it blindfolded. "

A townsman of Milan brought this letter to Vittoria. She despatchedLuigi with her reply, which met the charge in a straightforwardaffirmative. 

"I was driving to Zotti's by the Greppi palace, when I saw the king comeforth, and the people hooted him. I stood up, and petitioned to kiss hishand. The people knew me. They did not hoot any more for some time. 

"So that you have heard the truth, and you must judge me by it. I cannoteven add that I am sorry, though I strive to wish that I had not beenpresent. I might wish it really, if I did not feel it to be a cowardlywish. 

"Oh, my Carlo! my lover! my husband! you would not have me go againstmy nature? I have seen the king upon the battle-field. He has deigned tospeak to me of Italy and our freedom. I have seen him facing our enemy;and to see him hooted by the people, and in misfortune and with sadeyes!--he looked sad and nothing else--and besides, I am sure I knowthe king. I mean that I understand him. I am half ashamed to write soboldly, even to you. I say to myself you should know me, at least; andif I am guilty of a piece of vanity, you should know that also. CarloAlberto is quite unlike other men. He worships success as, much; butthey are not, as he is, so much bettered by adversity. Indeed I donot believe that he has exact intentions of any sort, or ever had theintention to betray us, or has done so in reality, that is, meaningly, of his own will. Count Medole and his party did, as you know, offerLombardy to him; and Venice gave herself--brave, noble Venice! Oh! if wetwo were there--Venice has England's sea-spirit. But, did we not flatterthe king? And ask yourself, my Carlo, could a king move in suchan enterprise as a common person? Ought we not to be in union withSardinia? How can we be if we reject her king? Is it not the onlypositive army that, we can look to--I mean regular army? Should we not;make some excuses for one who is not in our position?

"I feel that I push my questions like waves that fall and cannot getbeyond--they crave so for answers agreeing to them. This should makeme doubt myself, perhaps; but they crowd again, and seem so conclusiveuntil I have written them down. I am unworthy to struggle with yourintellect; but I say to myself, how unworthy of you I should be if Idid not use my own, such as it is! The poor king; had to conclude anarmistice to save his little kingdom. Perhaps we ought to think of thatsternly. My heart is; filled with pity. 

"It cannot but be right that you should know the worst; of me. I callyou my husband, and tremble to be permitted to lean my head on yourbosom for hours, my sweet lover! And yet my cowardice, if I had let theking go by without a reverential greeting from me, in his adversity, would have rendered me insufferable to myself. You are hearing me, andI am compelled to say, that rather than behave so basely I would forfeityour love, and be widowed till death should offer us for God to join us. Does your face change to me?

"Dearest, and I say it when the thought of you sets me almost swooning. I find my hands clasped, and I am muttering I know not what, and I amblushing. The ground seems to rock; I can barely breathe; my heart islike a bird caught in the hands of a cruel boy: it will not rest. I feareverything. I hear a whisper, 'Delay not an instant!' and it is likea furnace; 'Hasten to him! Speed!' and I seem to totter forward anddrop--I think I have lost you--I am like one dead. 

"I remain here to nurse our dear friend Merthyr. For that reason I amabsent from your mother. It is her desire that we should be married. 

"Soon, soon, my own soul!

"I seem to be hanging on a tree for you, swayed by such a teazing wind. 

"Oh, soon! or I feel that I shall hate any vestige of will that I havein this head of mine. Not in the heart--it is not there!

"And sometimes I am burning to sing. The voice leaps to my lips; it isquite like a thing that lives apart--my prisoner. 

"It is true, Laura is here with Merthyr. 

"Could you come at once?--not here, but to Pallanza? We shall both makeour mother happy. This she wishes, this she lives for, this consolesher--and oh, this gives me peace! Yes, Merthyr is recovering! I canleave him without the dread I had; and Laura confesses to the femininesentiment, if her funny jealousy of a rival nurse is really simplyfeminine. She will be glad of our resolve, I am sure. And then you willorder all my actions; and I shall be certain that they are such as Iwould proudly call mine; and I shall be shut away from the world. Yes; let it be so! Addio. I reserve all sweet names for you. Addio. InPallanza:--no not Pallanza--Paradise!

"Hush! and do not smile at me:--it was not my will, I discover, but mywant of will, that distracted me. 

"See my last signature of--not Vittoria; for I may sign that again andstill be Emilia Alessandra Ammiani. 

 "SANDRA BELLONI"

The letter was sealed; Luigi bore it away, and a brief letter toCountess Ammiani, in Pallanza, as well. 

Vittoria was relieved of her anxiety concerning Merthyr by the arrivalof Georgiana, who had been compelled to make her way round by Piacenzaand Turin, where she had left Gambier, with Beppo in attendance on him. Georgiana at once assumed all the duties of head-nurse, and the moreresolutely because of her brother's evident moral weakness in sighingfor the hand of a fickle girl to smooth his pillow. "When he is strongeryou can sit beside him a little, " she said to Vittoria, who surrenderedher post without a struggle, and rarely saw him, though Laura told herthat his frequent exclamation was her name, accompanied by a soft lookat his sister--"which would have stirred my heart like poor old Milanlast March, " Laura added, with a lift of her shoulders. 

Georgiana's icy manner appeared infinitely strange to Vittoria whenshe heard from Merthyr that his sister had become engaged to CaptainGambier. 

"Nothing softens these women, " said Laura, putting Georgiana in a class. 

"I wish you could try the effect of your winning Merthyr, " Vittoriasuggested. 

"I remember that when I went to my husband, I likewise wanted everywoman of my acquaintance to be married. " Laura sighed deeply. "Whatis this poor withered body of mine now? It feels like an old volcano, cindery, with fire somewhere:--a charming bride! My dear, if I live tillmy children make me a grandmother, I shall look on the love of men andwomen as a toy that I have played with. A new husband? I must be draggedthrough the Circles of Dante before I can conceive it, and then I shouldloathe the stranger. "

News came that the volunteers were crushed. It was time for Vittoriato start for Pallanza, and she thought of her leave-taking; a finalleave-taking, in one sense, to the friends who had cared too much forher. Laura delicately drew Georgiana aside in the sick-room, which shewould not quit, and alluded to the necessity for Vittoria's departurewithout stating exactly wherefore: but Georgiana was a Welshwoman. Partly to show her accurate power of guessing, and chiefly that shemight reprove Laura's insulting whisper, which outraged and irritatedher as much as if "Oh! your poor brother!" had been exclaimed, she madedisplay of Merthyr's manly coldness by saying aloud, "You mean, thatshe is going to her marriage. " Laura turned her face to Merthyr. He hadstriven to rise on his elbow, and had dropped flat in his helplessness. Big tears were rolling down his cheeks. His articulation failed him, beyond a reiterated "No, no, " pitiful to hear, and he broke intochildish sobs. Georgiana hurried Laura from the room. By-and-by thedoctor was promptly summoned, and it was Georgiana herself, miserablyhumbled, who obtained Vittoria's sworn consent to keep the life inMerthyr by lingering yet awhile. 

Meantime Luigi brought a letter from Pallanza in Carlo's handwriting. This was the burden of it:

"I am here, and you are absent. Hasten!"

CHAPTER XXXVI

A FRESH ENTANGLEMENT

The Lenkenstein ladies returned to Milan proudly in the path of thearmy which they had followed along the city walls on the black Marchmidnight. The ladies of the Austrian aristocracy generally had to beexiles from Vienna, and were glad to flock together even in an aliencity. Anna and Lena were aware of Vittoria's residence in Milan, throughthe interchange of visits between the Countess of Lenkenstein and hersister Signora Piaveni. They heard also of Vittoria's prospective andapproaching marriage to Count Ammiani. The Duchess of Graatli, who hadforborne a visit to her unhappy friends, lest her Austrian face shouldwound their sensitiveness, was in company with the Lenkensteins one day, when Irma di Karski called on them. Irma had come from LagoMaggiore, where she had left her patron, as she was pleased to termAntonio-Pericles. She was full of chatter of that most worthy man'sdeplorable experiences of Vittoria's behaviour to him during the war, and of many things besides. According to her account, Vittoria hadenticed him from place to place with promises that the next day, and thenext day, and the day after, she would be ready to keep her engagementto go to London, and at last she had given him the slip and left him tobe plucked like a pullet by a horde of volunteer banditti, out of whosehands Antonio-Pericles-"one of our richest millionaires in Europe, certainly our richest amateur, " said Irma--escaped in fit outwardcondition for the garden of Eden. 

Count Karl was lying on the sofa, and went into endless invalid'slaughter at the picture presented by Irma of the 'wild man' wanderingsof poor infatuated Pericles, which was exaggerated, though notintentionally, for Irma repeated the words and gestures of Pericles inthe recital of his tribulations. Being of a somewhat similar physicalorganization, she did it very laughably. Irma declared that Pericles wascured of his infatuation. He had got to Turin, intending to quit Italyfor ever, when--"he met me, " said Irma modestly. 

"And heard that the war was at an end, " Count Karl added. 

"And he has taken the superb Villa Ricciardi, on Lago Maggiore, where hewill have a troupe of singers, and perform operas, in which I believeI may possibly act as prima donna. The truth is, I would do anything toprevent him from leaving the country. "

But Irma had more to say; with "I bear no malice, " she commenced it. Thestory she had heard was that Count Ammiani, after plighting himself toa certain signorina, known as Vittoria Campa, had received tidings thatshe was one of those persons who bring discredit on Irma's profession. "Gifted by nature, I can acknowledge, " said Irma; "but devoured byvanity--a perfect slave to the appetite for praise; ready to forfeitanything for flattery! Poor signor Antonio-Pericles!--he knows her. " Andnow Count Ammiani, persuaded to reason by his mother, had given her up. There was nothing more positive, for Irma had seen him in the society ofCountess Violetta d'Isorella. 

Anna and Lena glanced at their brother Karl. 

"I should not allude to what is not notorious, " Irma pursued. "Theyare always together. My dear Antonio-Pericles is most amusing in hisexpressions of delight at it. For my part, though she served me an evilturn once, --you will hardly believe, ladies, that in her jealousy of meshe was guilty of the most shameful machinations to get me out of theway on the night of the first performance of Camilla, --but, for my part, I bear no malice. The creature is an inveterate rebel, and I dislike herfor that, I do confess. "

"The signorina Vittoria Campa is my particular and very dear friend, "said the duchess. 

"She is not the less an inveterate rebel, " said Anna. 

Count Karl gave a long-drawn sigh. "Alas, that she should have broughtdiscredit on Fraulein di Karski's profession!"

The duchess hurried straightway to Laura, with whom was CountSerabiglione, reviewing the present posture of affairs from thecondescending altitudes of one that has foretold it. Laura and Amaliaembraced and went apart. During their absence Vittoria came down tothe count and listened to a familiar illustration of his theory of therelations which should exist between Italy and Austria, derived from thefriendship of those two women. 

"What I wish you to see, signorina, is that such an alliance ispossible; and, if we supply the brains, as we do, is by no means likelyto be degrading. These bears are absolutely on their knees to us forgood fellowship. You have influence, you have amazing wit, you haveunparalleled beauty, and, let me say it with the utmost sadness, youhave now had experience. Why will you not recognize facts? Italianunity! I have exposed the fatuity--who listens? Italian freedom! I donot attempt to reason with my daughter. She is pricked by an envenomedfly of Satan. Yet, behold her and the duchess! It is the very union Ipreach; and I am, I declare to you, signorina, in great danger. I feelit, but I persist. I am in danger" (Count Serabiglione bowed his headlow) "of the transcendent sin of scorn of my species. "

The little nobleman swayed deploringly in his chair. "Nothing is soperilous for a soul's salvation as that. The one sane among madmen! Theone whose reason is left to him among thousands who have forsaken it! Ibeg you to realize the idea. The Emperor, as I am given to understand, is about to make public admission of my services. I shall be all themore hated. Yet it is a considerable gain. I do not deny that I esteemit as a promotion for my services. I shall not be the first martyr inthis world, signorina. "

Count Serabiglione produced a martyr's smile. 

"The profits of my expected posts will be, " he was saying, with areckoning eye cast upward into his cranium for accuracy, when Laurareturned, and Vittoria ran out to the duchess. Amalia repeated Irma'stattle. A curious little twitching of the brows at Violetta d'Isorella'sname marked the reception of it. 

"She is most lovely, " Vittoria said. 

"And absolutely reckless. "

"She is an old friend of Count Ammiani's. "

"And you have an old friend here. But the old friend of a young woman--Ineed not say further than that it is different. "

The duchess used the privilege of her affection, and urged Vittoria notto trifle with her lover's impatience. 

Admitted to the chamber where Merthyr lay, she was enabled to makeallowance for her irresolution. The face of the wounded man was like alake-water taking light from Vittoria's presence. 

"This may go on for weeks, " she said to Laura. 

Three days later, Vittoria received an order from the Government to quitthe city within a prescribed number of hours, and her brain was rackedto discover why Laura appeared so little indignant at the barbarousact of despotism. Laura undertook to break the bad news to Merthyr. Theparting was as quiet and cheerful as, in the opposite degree, Vittoriahad thought it would be melancholy and regretful. "What a Government!"Merthyr said, and told her to let him hear of any changes. "All changesthat please my friends please me. "

Vittoria kissed his forehead with one grateful murmur of farewell to thebravest heart she had ever known. The going to her happiness seemed morelike going to something fatal until she reached the Lago Maggiore. Thereshe saw September beauty, and felt as if the splendour encircling herwere her bridal decoration. But no bridegroom stood to greet her onthe terrace-steps between the potted orange and citron-trees. CountessAmmiani extended kind hands to her at arms' length. 

"You have come, " she said. "I hope that it is not too late. "

Vittoria was a week without sight of her lover: nor did Countess Ammianiattempt to explain her words, or speak of other than common dailythings. In body and soul Vittoria had taken a chill. The silent blameresting on her in this house called up her pride, so that she would notask any questions; and when Carlo came, she wanted warmth to melt her. Their meeting was that of two passionless creatures. Carlo kissed herloyally, and courteously inquired after her health and the health offriends in Milan, and then he rallied his mother. Agostino had arrivedwith him, and the old man, being in one of his soft moods, unvexed byhis conceits, Vittoria had some comfort from him of a dull kind. Sheheard Carlo telling his mother that he must go in the morning. Agostinoreplied to her quick look at him, "I stay;" and it seemed like a littlesaved from the wreck, for she knew that she could speak to Agostino asshe could not to the countess. When his mother prepared to retire, Carlo walked over to his bride, and repeated rapidly and brightly hisinquiries after friends in Milan. She, with a pure response to hisnatural-unnatural manner, spoke of Merthyr Powys chiefly: to whichhe said several times, "Dear fellow!" and added, "I shall always loveEnglishmen for his sake. "

This gave her one throb. "I could not leave him, Carlo. "

"Certainly not, certainly not, " said Carlo. "I should have been happy towait on him myself. I was busy; I am still. I dare say you have guessedthat I have a new journal in my head: the Pallanza Iris is to bethe name of it;--to be printed in three colours, to advocate threeprinciples, in three styles. The Legitimists, the Moderates, and theRepublicans are to proclaim themselves in its columns in prose, poetry, and hotch-potch. Once an editor, always an editor. The authoritiessuspect that something of the sort is about to be planted, so I can onlymake occasional visits here:--therefore, as you will believe, "--Carlolet his voice fall--"I have good reason to hate them still. They maycease to persecute me soon. "

He insisted upon lighting his mother to her room. Vittoria and Agostinosat talking of the Chief and the minor events of the war--of Luciano, Marco, Giulio, and Ugo Corte--till the conviction fastened on themthat Carlo would not return, when Agostino stood up and said, yawningwearily, "I'll talk further to you, my child, tomorrow. "

She begged that it might be now. 

"No; to-morrow, " said he. 

"Now, now!" she reiterated, and brought down a reproof from hisfore-finger. 

"The poetic definition of 'now' is that it is a small boat, my daughter, in which the female heart is constantly pushing out to sea and sinking. 'To-morrow' is an island in the deeps, where grain grows. When I landyou there, I will talk to you. "

She knew that he went to join Carlo after he had quitted her. 

Agostino was true to his promise next day. He brought her nearer to whatshe had to face, though he did not help her vision much. Carlo had gonebefore sunrise. 

They sat on the terrace above the lake, screened from the sunlight bythick myrtle bushes. Agostino smoked his loosely-rolled cigarettes, andVittoria sipped chocolate and looked upward to the summit of Motterone, with many thoughts and images in her mind. 

He commenced by giving her a love-message from Carlo. "Hold fast to itthat he means it: conduct is never a straight index where the heart'sinvolved, " said the chuckling old man; "or it is not in times like ours. You have been in the wrong, and your having a good excuse will not helpyou before the deciding fates. Woman that you are! did you not thinkthat because we were beaten we were going to rest for a very long while, and that your Carlo of yesterday was going to be your Carlo of to-day?"

Vittoria tacitly confessed to it. 

"Ay, " he pursued, "when you wrote to him in the Val d'Intelvi, yousupposed you had only to say, 'I am ready, ' which was then the case. Youmade your summer and left the fruits to hang, and now you are astoundedthat seasons pass and fruits drop. You should have come to this place, if but for a pair of days, and so have fixed one matter in the chapter. This is how the chapter has run on. I see I talk to a stunned head; youare thinking that Carlo's love for you can't have changed: and it hasnot, but occasion has gone and times have changed. Now listen. Thecountess desired the marriage. Carlo could not go to you in Milan withthe sword in his hand. Therefore you had to come to him. He waited foryou, perhaps for his own preposterous lover's sake as much as to makehis mother's heart easy. If she loses him she loses everything, unlesshe leaves a wife to her care and the hope that her House will not beextinct, which is possibly not much more the weakness of old aristocracythan of human nature. 

"Meantime, his brothers in arms had broken up and entered Piedmont, and he remained waiting for you still. You are thinking that he hadnot waited a month. But if four months finished Lombardy, less than onemonth is quite sufficient to do the same for us little beings. He metthe Countess d'Isorella here. You have to thank her for seeing him atall, so don't wrinkle your forehead yet. Luciano Romara is drillinghis men in Piedmont; Angelo Guidascarpi has gone there. Carlo wasconsidering it his duty to join Luciano, when he met this lady, and shehas apparently succeeded in altering his plans. Luciano and his bandwill go to Rome. Carlo fancies that another blow will be struck forLombardy. This lady should know; the point is, whether she can betrusted. She persists in declaring that Carlo's duty is to remain, and--I cannot tell how, for I am as a child among women--she haspersuaded him of her sincerity. Favour me now with your clearestunderstanding, and deliver it from feminine sensations of anydescription for just two minutes. "

Agostino threw away the end of a cigarette and looked for firmness inVittoria's eyes. 

"This Countess d'Isorella is opposed to Carlo's marriage at present. Shesays that she is betraying the king's secrets, and has no reliance ona woman. As a woman you will pardon her, for it is the language of yoursex. You are also denounced by Barto Rizzo, a madman--he went mad asfire, and had to be chained at Varese. In some way or other Countessd'Isorella got possession of him; she has managed to subdue him. Asword-cut he received once in Verona has undoubtedly affected his brain, or caused it to be affected under strong excitement. He is at her villa, and she says--perhaps with some truth--that Carlo would in several wayslose his influence by his immediate marriage with you. The reason musthave weight; otherwise he would fulfil his mother's principal request, and be at the bidding of his own desire. There; I hope I have spokenplainly. "

Agostino puffed a sigh of relief at the conclusion of his task. 

Vittoria had been too strenuously engaged in defending the steadiness ofher own eyes to notice the shadow of an assumption of frankness in his. 

She said that she understood. 

She got away to her room like an insect carrying a load thrice its ownsize. All that she could really gather from Agostino's words was, thatshe felt herself rocking in a tower, and that Violetta d'Isorella wasbeautiful. She had striven hard to listen to him with her wits alone, and her sensations subsequently revenged themselves in this fashion. Thetower rocked and struck a bell that she discovered to be her betrayingvoice uttering cries of pain. She was for hours incapable of meetingAgostino again. His delicate intuition took the harshness off themeeting. He led her even to examine her state of mind, and to discernthe fancies from the feelings by which she was agitated. He saidshrewdly and bluntly, "You can master pain, but not doubt. If you showa sign of unhappiness, remember that I shall know you doubt both what Ihave told you, and Carlo as well. "

Vittoria fenced: "But is there such a thing as happiness?"

"I should imagine so, " said Agostino, touching her cheek, "andslipperiness likewise. There's patience at any rate; only you must digfor it. You arrive at nothing, but the eternal digging constitutes theobject gained. I recollect when I was a raw lad, full of ambition, inlove, and without a franc in my pockets, one night in Paris, I foundmyself looking up at a street lamp; there was a moth in it. He couldn'tget out, so he had very little to trouble his conscience. I think he wasnear happiness: he ought to have been happy. My luck was not so good, oryou wouldn't see me still alive, my dear. "

Vittoria sighed for a plainer speaker. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

ON LAGO MAGGIORE

Carlo's hours were passed chiefly across the lake, in the Piedmontesevalleys. When at Pallanza he was restless, and he shunned the two orthree minutes of privacy with his betrothed which the rigorous Italianlaws besetting courtship might have allowed him to take. He hadperpetually the look of a man starting from wine. It was evident that heand Countess d'Isorella continued to hold close communication, for shecame regularly to the villa to meet him. On these occasions CountessAmmiani accorded her one ceremonious interview, and straightway lockedherself in her room. Violetta's grace of ease and vivacity soared toohigh to be subject to any hostile judgement of her character. She seemedto rely entirely on the force of her beauty, and to care little forthose who did not acknowledge it. She accepted public compliments quiteroyally, nor was Agostino backward in offering them. "And you havea voice, you know, " he sometimes said aside to Vittoria; but she hadforgotten how easily she could swallow great praise of her voice; shehad almost forgotten her voice. Her delight was to hang her head aboveinverted mountains in the lake, and dream that she was just somethingbetter than the poorest of human creatures. She could not avoid puttingher mind in competition with this brilliant woman's, and feelingeclipsed; and her weakness became pitiable. But Countess d'Isorellamentioned once that Pericles was at the Villa Ricciardi, projectingmagnificent operatic entertainments. The reviving of a passion to singpossessed Vittoria like a thirst for freedom, and instantly confused allthe reflected images within her, as the fury of a sudden wind from thehigh Alps scourges the glassy surface of the lake. She begged CountessAmmiani's permission that she might propose to Pericles to sing in hisprivate operatic company, in any part, at the shortest notice. 

"You wish to leave me?" said the countess, and resolutely conceived it. 

Speaking to her son on this subject, she thought it necessary to makesome excuse for a singer's instinct, who really did not live save on thestage. It amused Carlo; he knew when his mother was really angry withpersons she tried to shield from the anger of others; and her not seeingthe wrong on his side in his behaviour to his betrothed was laughable. Nevertheless she had divined the case more correctly than he: thelover was hurt. After what he had endured, he supposed, with all hisforgiveness, that he had an illimitable claim upon his bride's patience. He told his another to speak to her openly. 

"Why not you, my Carlo?" said the countess. 

"Because, mother, if I speak to her, I shall end by throwing out my armsand calling for the priest. "

"I would clap hands to that. "

"We will see; it may be soon or late, but it can't be now. "

"How much am I to tell her, Carlo?"

"Enough to keep her from fretting. "

The countess then asked herself how much she knew. Her habit ofreceiving her son's word and will as supreme kept her ignorant ofanything beyond the outline of his plans; and being told to speak openlyof them to another, she discovered that her acquiescing imaginationsupplied the chief part of her knowledge. She was ashamed also to haveit thought, even by Carlo, that she had not gathered every detail of hisoccupation, so that she could not argue against him, and had to submitto see her dearest wishes lightly swept aside. 

"I beg you to tell me what you think of Countess d'Isorella; not theafterthought, " she said to Vittoria. 

"She is beautiful, dear Countess Ammiani. "

"Call me mother now and then. Yes; she is beautiful. She has a badname. "

"Envy must have given it, I think. "

"Of course she provokes envy. But I say that her name is bad, as envycould not make it. She is a woman who goes on missions, and carriesa husband into society like a passport. You have only thought of herbeauty?"

"I can see nothing else, " said Vittoria, whose torture at the sight ofthe beauty was appeased by her disingenuous pleading on its behalf. 

"In my time Beauty was a sinner, " the countess resumed. "My confessorhas filled my ears with warnings that it is a net to the soul, a weaponfor devils. May the saints of Paradise make bare the beauty of thiswoman. She has persuaded Carlo that she is serving the country. You havelet him lie here alone in a fruitless bed, silly girl. He stayed for youwhile his comrades called him to Vercelli, where they are assembled. The man whom he salutes as his Chief gave him word to go there. Theyare bound for Rome. Ah me! Rome is a great name, but Lombardy is Carlo'snatal home, and Lombardy bleeds. You were absent--how long you wereabsent! If you could know the heaviness of those days of his waiting foryou. And it was I who kept him here! I must have omitted a prayer, forhe would have been at Vercelli now with Luciano and Emilio, and youmight have gone to him; but he met this woman, who has convinced himthat Piedmont will make a Winter march, and that his marriage must bedelayed. " The countess raised her face and drooped her hands from thewrists, exclaiming, "If I have lately omitted one prayer, enlighten me, blessed heaven! I am blind; I cannot see for my son; I am quite blind. Ido not love the woman; therefore I doubt myself. You, my daughter, tellme your thought of her, tell me what you think. Young eyes observe;young heads are sometimes shrewd in guessing. "

Vittoria said, after a pause, "I will believe her to be true, if shesupports the king. " It was hardly truthful speaking on her part. 

"How can Carlo have been persuaded!" the countess sighed. 

"By me?" Victoria asked herself, and for a moment she was exulting. 

She spoke from that emotion when it had ceased to animate her. 

"Carlo was angry with the king. He echoed Agostino, but Agostino doesnot sting as he did, and Carlo cannot avoid seeing what the king hassacrificed. Perhaps the Countess d'Isorella has shown him promises offresh aid in the king's handwriting. Suffering has made Carlo Albertoone with the Republicans, if he had other ambitions once. And Carlodedicates his blood to Lombardy: he does rightly. Dear countess--mymother! I have made him wait for me; I will be patient in waiting forhim. I know that Countess d'Isorella is intimate with the king. Thereis a man named Barto Rizzo, who thinks me a guilty traitress, and sheis making use of this man. That must be her reason for prohibitingthe marriage. She cannot be false if she is capable of uniting extremerevolutionary agents and the king in one plot, I think; I do not know. "Vittoria concluded her perfect expression of confidence with thisatoning doubtfulness. 

Countess Ammiani obtained her consent that she would not quit her side. 

After Violetta had gone, Carlo, though he shunned secret interviews, addressed his betrothed as one who was not strange to his occupationand the trial his heart was undergoing. She could not doubt that she wasbeloved, in spite of the colourlessness and tonelessness of a love thatappealed to her intellect. He showed her a letter he had received fromLaura, laughing at its abuse of Countess d'Isorella, and the sarcasmslevelled at himself. 

In this letter Laura said that she was engaged in something besidesnursing. 

Carlo pointed his finger to the sentence, and remarked, "I must haveyour promise--a word from you is enough--that you will not meddle withany intrigue. "

Vittoria gave the promise, half trusting it to bring the lost bloom oftheir love to him; but he received it as a plain matter of necessity. Certain of his love, she wondered painfully that it should continue sobarren of music. 

"Why am I to pledge myself that I will be useless?" she asked. "Youmean, my Carlo, that I am to sit still, and watch, and wait. "

He answered, "I will tell you this much: I can be struck vitally throughyou. In the game I am playing, I am able to defend myself. If you enterit, distraction begins. Stay with my mother. "

"Am I to know nothing?"

"Everything--in good time. "

"I might--might I not help you, my Carlo?"

"Yes; and nobly too. And I show you the way. "

Agostino and Carlo made an expedition to Turin. Before he went, Carlotook her in his arms. 

"Is it coming?" she said, shutting her eyelids like a child expectingthe report of firearms. 

He pressed his lips to the closed eyes. "Not yet; but are you growingtimid?"

His voice seemed to reprove her. 

She could have told him that keeping her in the dark among unknownterrors ruined her courage; but the minutes were too precious, his touchtoo sweet. In eyes and hands he had become her lover again. The blissfulminutes rolled away like waves that keep the sunshine out at sea. 

Her solitude in the villa was beguiled by the arrival of the score of anoperatic scena, entitled "HAGAR, " by Rocco Ricci, which she fancied thateither Carlo or her dear old master had sent, and she devoured it. Shethought it written expressly for her. With HAGAR she communed duringthe long hours, and sang herself on to the verge of an imagined desertbeyond the mountain-shadowed lake and the last view of her belovedMotterone. Hagar's face of tears in the Brerawas known to her; and Hagarin her 'Addio' gave the living voice to that dumb one. Vittoria revelledin the delicious vocal misery. She expanded with the sorrow of poorHagar, whose tears refreshed her, and parted her from her recentnarrowing self-consciousness. The great green mountain fronted herlike a living presence. Motterone supplied the place of the robust andvenerable patriarch, whom she reproached, and worshipped, but with afathomless burdensome sense of cruel injustice, deeper than the tears orthe voice which spoke of it: a feeling of subjected love that was likea mother's giving suck to a detested child. Countess Ammiani saw theabrupt alteration of her step and look with a dim surprise. "What doyou conceal from me?" she asked, and supplied the answer by charitablyattributing it to news that the signora Piaveni was coming. 

When Laura came, the countess thanked her, saying, "I am a wretchedcompanion for this boiling head. "

Laura soon proved to her that she had been the best, for after very fewhours Vittoria was looking like the Hagar on the canvas. 

A woman such as Violetta d'Isorella was of the sort from which Laurashrank with all her feminine power of loathing; but she spoke of herwith some effort at personal tolerance until she heard of Violetta'sstipulation for the deferring of Carlo's marriage, and contrived toguess that Carlo was reserved and unfamiliar with his betrothed. Thenshe cried out, "Fool that he is! Is it ever possible to come to the endof the folly of men? She has inflamed his vanity. She met him when youwere holding him waiting, and no doubt she commenced with lamentationsover the country, followed by a sigh, a fixed look, a cheerful air, andthe assurance to him that she knew it--uttered as if through the keyholeof the royal cabinet--she knew that Sardinia would break the Salascoarmistice in a mouth:--if only, if the king could be sure of supportfrom the youth of Lombardy. "

"Do you suspect the unhappy king?" Vittoria interposed. 

"Grasp your colours tight, " said Laura, nodding sarcastic approbation ofsuch fidelity, and smiling slightly. "There has been no mention of theking. Countess d'Isorella is a spy and a tool of the Jesuits, takingpay from all parties--Austria as well, I would swear. Their object isto paralyze the march on Rome, and she has won Carlo for them. I am toldthat Barto Rizzo is another of her conquests. Thus she has a madman anda fool, and what may not be done with a madman and a fool? However, Ihave set a watch on her. She must have inflamed Carlo's vanity. He hasit, just as they all have. There's trickery: I would rather behold theboy charging at the head of a column than putting faith in this basecreature. She must have simulated well, " Laura went on talking toherself. 

"What trickery?" said Vittoria. 

"He was in love with the woman when he was a lad, " Laura replied, andpertinently to Vittoria's feelings. This threw the moist shade acrossher features. 

Beppo in Turin and Luigi on the lake were the watch set on Countessd'Isorella; they were useless except to fortify Laura's suspicions. TheDuchess of Graatli wrote mere gossip from Milan. She mentioned that Annaof Lenkenstein had visited with her the tomb of her brother CountPaul at Bologna, and had returned in double mourning; and that MadameSedley--"the sister of our poor ruined Pierson"--had obtained grace, for herself at least, from Anna, by casting herself at Anna's feet, --andthat they were now friends. 

Vittoria felt ashamed of Adela. 

When Carlo returned, the signora attacked him boldly with all herweapons; reproached him; said, "Would my husband have treated me in sucha manner?" Carlo twisted his moustache and stroked his young beardfor patience. They passed from room to balcony and terrace, and Laurabrought him back into company without cessation of her fire of questionsand sarcasms, saying, "No, no; we will speak of these things publicly. "She appealed alternately to Agostino, Vittoria, and Countess Ammiani forsupport, and as she certainly spoke sense, Carlo was reduced to gloomand silence. Laura then paused. "Surely you have punished your brideenough?" she said; and more softly, "Brother of my Giacomo! you areunder an evil spell. "

Carlo started up in anger. Bending to Vittoria, he offered her his handto lead her out, They went together. 

"A good sign, " said the countess. 

"A bad sign!" Laura sighed. "If he had taken me out for explanation! Buttell me, my Agostino, are you the woman's dupe?"

"I have been, " Agostino admitted frankly. 

"You did really put faith in her?"

"She condescends to be so excessively charming. "

"You could not advance a better reason. "

"It is one of our best; perhaps our very best, where your sex isconcerned, signora. "

"You are her dupe no more?"

"No more. Oh, dear no!"

"You understand her now, do you?"

"For the very reason, signora, that I have been her dupe. That is, I ambeginning to understand her. I am not yet in possession of the key. "

"Not yet in possession!" said Laura contemptuously; "but, never mind. Now for Carlo. "

"Now for Carlo. He declares that he never has been deceived by her. "

"He is perilously vain, " sighed the signora. 

"Seriously"--Agostino drew out the length of his beard--"I do notsuppose that he has been--boys, you know, are so acute. He fancies hecan make her of service, and he shows some skill. "

"The skill of a fish to get into the net!"

"My dearest signora, you do not allow for the times. Iremember"--Agostino peered upward through his eyelashes in a way thathe had--"I remember seeing in a meadow a gossamer running away with aspider-thread. It was against all calculation. But, observe: there wereexterior agencies at work: a stout wind blew. The ordinary reckoningis based on calms. Without the operation of disturbing elements, thespider-thread would have gently detained the gossamer. "

"Is that meant for my son?" Countess Ammiani asked slowly, withincredulous emphasis. 

Agostino and Laura, laughing in their hearts at the mother's mysteriousveneration for Carlo, had to explain that 'gossamer' was a poetic, generic term, to embrace the lighter qualities of masculine youth. 

A woman's figure passed swiftly by the window, which led Laura tosuppose that the couple outside had parted. She ran forth, calling toone of them, but they came hand in hand, declaring that they had seenneither woman nor man. "And I am happy, " Vittoria whispered. She lookedhappy, pale though she was. 

"It is only my dreadful longing for rest which makes me pale, " she saidto Laura, when they were alone. "Carlo has proved to me that he is wiserthan I am. "

"A proof that you love Carlo, perhaps, " Laura rejoined. 

"Dearest, he speaks more gently of the king. "

"It may be cunning, or it may be carelessness. "

"Will nothing satisfy you, wilful sceptic? He is quite alive to theCountess d'Isorella's character. He told me how she dazzled him once. "

"Not how she has entangled him now?"

"It is not true. He told me what I should like to dream over withouttalking any more to anybody. Ah, what a delight! to have known him, asyou did, when he was a boy. Can one who knew him then mean harm to him?I am not capable of imagining it. No; he will not abandon poor brokenLombardy, and he is right; and it is my duty to sit and wait. No shadowshall come between us. He has said it, and I have said it. We have butone thing to fear, which is contemptible to fear; so I am at peace. "

"Love-sick, " was Laura's mental comment. Yet when Carlo explained hisposition to her next day, she was milder in her condemnation of him, andeven admitted that a man must be guided by such brains as he possesses. He had conceived that his mother had a right to claim one month fromhim at the close of the war; he said this reddening. Laura nodded. Heconfessed that he was irritated when he met the Countess d'Isorella, with whom, to his astonishment, he found Barto Rizzo. She had picked himup, weak from a paroxysm, on the high-road to Milan. "And she tamed thebrute, " said Carlo, in admiration of her ability; "she saw that he wasplot-mad, and she set him at work on a stupendous plot; agents runningnowhere, and scribblings concentring in her work-basket. You smile atme, as if I were a similar patient, signora. But I am my own agent. Ihave personally seen all my men in Turin and elsewhere. Violetta has notone grain of love for her country; but she can be made to serve it. Asfor me, I have gone too far to think of turning aside and drilling withLuciano. He may yet be diverted from Rome, to strike another blow forLombardy. The Chief, I know, has some religious sentiment about Rome. Somight I have; it is the Head of Italy. Let us raise the body first. Andwe have been beaten here. Great Gods! we will have another fight for iton the same spot, and quickly. Besides, I cannot face Luciano and tellhim why I was away from him in the dark hour. How can I tell him that Iwas lingering to bear a bride to the altar? while he and the rest--poorfellows! Hard enough to have to mention it to you, signora!"

She understood his boyish sense of shame. Making smooth allowances for afeeling natural to his youth and the circumstances, she said, "I am yoursister, for you were my husband's brother in arms, Carlo. We two speakheart to heart: I sometimes fancy you have that voice: you hurt me withit more than you know; gladden me too! My Carlo, I wish to hear whyCountess d'Isorella objects to your marriage. "

"She does not object. "

"An answer that begins by quibbling is not propitious. She opposes it. "

"For this reason: you have not forgotten the bronze butterfly?"

"I see more clearly, " said Laura, with a start. 

"There appears to be no cure for the brute's mad suspicion of her, "Carlo pursued: "and he is powerful among the Milanese. If my darlingtakes my name, he can damage much of my influence, and--you know whatthere is to be dreaded from a fanatic. "

Laura nodded, as if in full agreement with him, and said, aftermeditating a minute, "What sort of a lover is this!"

She added a little laugh to the singular interjection. 

"Yes, I have also thought of a secret marriage, " said Carlo, stung byher penetrating instinct so that he was enabled to read the meaning inher mind. 

"The best way, when you are afflicted by a dilemma of such a character, my Carlo, " the signora looked at him, "is to take a chess-table andmake your moves on it. 'King--my duty;' 'Queen--my passion;' 'Bishop--mysocial obligation;' 'Knight--my what-you-will and my round-the-cornerwishes. ' Then, if you find that queen may be gratified withoutendangering king, and so forth, why, you may follow your inclinations;and if not, not. My Carlo, you are either enviably cool, or you are anenviable hypocrite. "

"The matter is not quite so easily settled as that, " said Carlo. 

On the whole, though against her preconception, Laura thought him anhonest lover, and not the player of a double game. She saw that Vittoriashould have been with him in the critical hour of defeat, when hispassions were down, and heaven knows what weakness of our commonmanhood, that was partly pride, partly love-craving, made his naturewaxen to every impression; a season, as Laura knew, when the mistress ofa loyal lover should not withhold herself from him. A nature tender likeCarlo's, and he bearing an enamoured heart, could not, as Luciano Romarahad done, pass instantly from defeat to drill. And vain as Carlo was(the vanity being most intricate and subtle, like a nervous fluid), hewas very open to the belief that he could diplomatize as well as fight, and lead a movement yet better than follow it. Even so the signora triedto read his case. 

They were all, excepting Countess Ammiani ("who will never, I fear, dome this honour, " Violetta wrote, and the countess said, "Never, " andquoted a proverb), about to pass three or four days at the villa ofCountess d'Isorella. Before they set out, Vittoria received a portentousenvelope containing a long scroll, that was headed "YOUR CRIMES, "and detailing a lest of her offences against the country, from therevelation of the plot in her first letter to Wilfrid, to servicesrendered to the enemy during the war, up to the departure of CharlesAlbert out of forsaken Milan. 

"B. R. " was the undisguised signature at the end of the scroll. 

Things of this description restored her old war-spirit to Vittoria. She handed the scroll to Laura; Laura, in great alarm, passed it on toCarlo. He sent for Angelo Guidascarpi in haste, for Carlo read it asan ante-dated justificatory document to some mischievous design, andhe desired that hands as sure as his own, and yet more vigilant eyes, should keep watch over his betrothed. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

VIOLETTA D'ISORELLA

The villa inhabited by Countess d'Isorella was on the water'sedge, within clear view of the projecting Villa Ricciardi, in thatdarkly-wooded region of the lake which leads up to the Italian-Swisscanton. 

Violetta received here an envoy from Anna of Lenkenstein, direct out ofMilan: an English lady, calling herself Mrs. Sedley, and a particularfriend of Countess Anna. At the first glance Violetta saw that hervisitor had the pretension to match her arts against her own; so, tosound her thoroughly, she offered her the hospitalities of the villafor a day or more. The invitation was accepted. Much to Violetta'sastonishment, the lady betrayed no anxiety to state the exact termsof her mission: she appeared, on the contrary, to have an unboundedsatisfaction in the society of her hostess, and prattled of herself andAntonio-Pericles, and her old affection for Vittoria, with the wiliestsimplicity, only requiring to be assured at times that she spokeintelligible Italian and exquisite French. Violetta supposed her to feelthat she commanded the situation. Patient study of this womanrevealed to Violetta the amazing fact that she was dealing with aborn bourgeoise, who, not devoid of petty acuteness, was unaffectedlyenjoying her noble small-talk, and the prospect of a footing in Italianhigh society. Violetta smiled at the comedy she had been playing in, scarcely reproaching herself for not having imagined it. She proceededto the point of business without further delay. 

Adela Sedley had nothing but a verbal message to deliver. The CountessAnna of Lenkenstein offered, on her word of honour as a noblewoman, to make over the quarter of her estate and patrimony to the Countessd'Isorella, if the latter should succeed in thwarting--something. 

Forced to speak plainly, Adela confessed she thought she knew the natureof that something. 

To preclude its being named, Violetta then diverged from the subject. 

"We will go round to your friend the signor Antonio-Pericles at VillaRicciardi, " she said. "You will see that he treats me familiarly, but heis not a lover of mine. I suspect your 'something' has something to dowith the Jesuits. "

Adela Sedley replied to the penultimate sentence: "It would not surpriseme, indeed, to hear of any number of adorers. "

"I have the usual retinue, possibly, " said Violetta. 

"Dear countess, I could be one of them myself!" Adela burst out withtentative boldness. 

"Then, kiss me. "

And behold, they interchanged that unsweet feminine performance. 

Adela's lips were unlocked by it. 

"How many would envy me, dear Countess d'Isorella!"

She really conceived that she was driving into Violetta's heart by thegreat high-road of feminine vanity. Violetta permitted her to think asshe liked. 

"Your countrywomen, madame, do not make large allowances for beauty, Ihear. "

"None at all. But they are so stiff! so frigid! I know one, a Miss Ford, now in Italy, who would not let me have a male friend, and a character, in conjunction. "

"You are acquainted with Count Karl Lenkenstein?"

Adela blushingly acknowledged it. 

"The whisper goes that I was once admired by him, " said Violetta. 

"And by Count Ammiani. "

"By count? by milord? by prince? by king?"

"By all who have good taste. "

"Was it jealousy, then, that made Countess Anna hate me?"

"She could not--or she cannot now. "

"Because I have not taken possession of her brother. "

"I could not--may I say it?--I could not understand his infatuationuntil Countess Anna showed me the portrait of Italy's most beautifulliving woman. She told me to look at the last of the Borgia family. "

Violetta laughed out clear music. "And now you see her?"

"She said that it had saved her brother's life. It has a star and ascratch on the left cheek from a dagger. He wore it on his heart, and anassassin struck him there: a true romance. Countess Anna said to me thatit had saved one brother, and that it should help to avenge the other. She has not spoken to me of Jesuits. "

"Nothing at all of the Jesuits?" said Violetta carelessly. "Perhaps shewishes to use my endeavours to get the Salaseo armistice prolonged, andtempts me, knowing I am a prodigal. Austria is victorious, you know, butshe wants peace. Is that the case? I do not press you to answer. "

Adela replied hesitatingly: "Are you aware, countess, whether thereis any truth in the report that Countess Lena has a passion for CountAmmiani?"

"Ah, then, " said Violetta, "Countess Lena's sister would naturally wishto prevent his contemplated marriage! We may have read the riddle atlast. Are you discreet? If you are, you will let it be known that I hadthe honour of becoming intimate with you in Turin--say, at the Court. Weshall meet frequently there during winter, I trust, if you care to makea comparison of the Italian with the Austrian and the English nobility. "

An eloquent "Oh!" escaped from Adela's bosom. She had certainly notexpected to win her way with this estimable Italian titled lady thusrapidly. Violetta had managed her so well that she was no longer surewhether she did know the exact nature of her mission, the words of whichshe had faithfully transmitted as having been alone confided to her. Itwas with chagrin that she saw Pericles put his fore-finger on a salientdimple of the countess's cheek when he welcomed them. He puffed andblew like one working simultaneously at bugle and big drum on hearingan allusion to Victoria. The mention of the name of that abominabletraitress was interdicted at Villa Ricciardi, he said; she had draggedhim at two armies' tails to find his right senses at last: Pericleswas cured of his passion for her at last. He had been mad, but he wascured--and so forth, in the old strain. His preparations for a privateoperatic performance diverted him from these fierce incriminations, and he tripped busily from spot to spot, conducting the ladies over thetumbled lower floors of the spacious villa, and calling their admirationon the desolation of the scene. Then they went up to the maestro's room. Pericles became deeply considerate for the master's privacy. "He is myslave; the man has ruined himself for la Vittoria; but I respect theimpersonation of art, " he said under his breath to the ladies as theystood at the door; "hark!" The piano was touched, and the voice ofIrma di Karski broke out in a shrill crescendo. Rocco Ricci within gavetongue to the vehement damnatory dance of Pericles outside. Roccostruck his piano again encouragingly for a second attempt, but Irmawas sobbing. She was heard to say: "This is the fifteenth time you havepulled me down in one morning. You hate me; you do; you hate me. " Roccoran his fingers across the keys, and again struck the octave for Irma. Pericles wiped his forehead, when, impenitent and unteachable, she tookthe notes in the manner of a cock. He thumped at the door violently andentered. 

"Excellent! horrid! brava! abominable! beautiful! My Irma, you havereached the skies. You ascend like a firework, and crown yourself at thetop. No more to-day; but descend at your leisure, my dear, and we willtry to mount again by-and-by, and not so fast, if you please. Ha!your voice is a racehorse. You will learn to ride him with temper andjudgement, and you will go. Not so, my Rocco? Irma, you want repose, mydear. One thing I guarantee to you--you will please the public. It is aminor thing that you should please me. "

Countess d'Isorella led Irma away, and had to bear with many fits ofweeping, and to assent to the force of all the charges of vindictiveconspiracy and inveterate malice with which the jealous creatureassailed Vittoria's name. The countess then claimed her ear forhalf-a-minute. 

"Have you had any news of Countess Anna lately?"

Irma had not; she admitted it despondently. "There is such a vileconspiracy against me in Italy--and Italy is a poor singer's fame--thatI should be tempted to do anything. And I detest la Vittoria. She hassuch a hold on this Antonio-Pericles, I don't see how I can hurt her, unless I meet her and fly at her throat. "

"You naturally detest her, " said the countess. "Repeat Countess Anna'sproposal to you. "

"It was insulting--she offered me money. "

"That you should persuade me to assist you in preventing la Vittoria'smarriage to Count Ammiani?"

"Dear lady, you know I did not try to persuade you. "

"You knew that you would not succeed, my Irma. But Count Ammiani willnot marry her; so you will have a right to claim some reward. I do notthink that la Vittoria is quite idle. Look out for yourself, my child. If you take to plotting, remember it is a game of two. "

"If she thwarts me in one single step, I will let loose that madman onher, " said Irma, trembling. 

"You mean the signor Antonio-Pericles?"

"No; I mean that furious man I saw at your villa, dear countess. "

"Ah! Barto Rizzo. A very furious man. He bellowed when he heard hername, I remember. You must not do it. But, for Count Ammiani's sake, Idesire to see his marriage postponed, at least. "

"Where is she?" Irma inquired. 

The countess shrugged. "Even though I knew, I could not prudently tellyou in your present excited state. "

She went to Pericles for a loan of money. Pericles remarked that therewas not much of it in Turin. "But, countess, you whirl the gold-pieceslike dust from your wheels; and a spy, my good soul, a lovely secretemissary, she will be getting underpaid if she allows herself to wantmoney. There is your beauty; it is ripe, but it is fresh, and it isextraordinary. Yes; there is your beauty. " Before she could obtaina promise of the money, Violetta had to submit to be stripped to hercharacter, which was hard; but on the other hand, Pericles exacted nointerest on his money, and it was not often that he exacted a return ofit in coin. Under these circumstances, ladies in need of money can findit in their hearts to pardon mere brutality of phrase. Periclespromised to send it to the countess on one condition; which conditionhe cancelled, saying dejectedly, "I do not care to know where she is. Iwill not know. "

"She has the score of Hagar, wherever she is, " said Violetta, "and whenshe hears that you have done the scene without her aid, you will havestuck a dagger in her bosom. "

"Not, " Pericles cried in despair, "not if she should hear Irma's Hagar!To the desert with Irma. It is the place for a crab-apple. Bravo, Abraham! you were wise. "

Pericles added that Montini was hourly expected, and that there was tobe a rehearsal in the evening. 

When she had driven home, Violetta found Barto Rizzo's accusatorypaper laid on her writing-desk. She gathered the contents in a carelessglance, and walked into the garden alone, to look for Carlo. 

He was leaning on the balustrade of the terrace, near the water-gate, looking into the deep clear lake-water. Violetta placed herself besidehim without a greeting. 

"You are watching fish for coolness, my Carlo?"

"Yes, " he said, and did not turn to her face. 

"You were very angry when you arrived?"

She waited for his reply. 

"Why do you not speak, Carlino?"

"I am watching fish for coolness, " he said. 

"Meantime, " said Violetta, "I am scorched. "

He looked up, and led her to an arch of shade, where he sat quitesilent. 

"Can anything be more vexing than this?" she was reduced to exclaim. 

"Ah!" said he, "you would like the catalogue to be written out for youin a big bold hand, possibly, with a terrific initials at the end of thepage. "

"Carlo, you have done worse than that. When I saw you first here, whatcrimes did you not accuse me of? what names did you not scatter on myhead? and what things did I not, confess to? I bore the unkindness, for you were beaten, and you wanted a victim. And, my dear friend, considering that I am after all a woman, my forbearance has subsequentlybeen still greater. "

"How?" he asked. Her half-pathetic candour melted him. 

"You must, have a lively memory for the uses of forgetfulness, Carlo, When you had scourged me well, you thought it proper to raise me up andgive me comfort. I was wicked for serving the king, and therefore thecountry, as a spy; but I was to persevere, and cancel my iniquities bybetraying those whom I served to you. That was your instructive precept. Have I done it or not? Answer, too have I done it for any payment beyondyour approbation? I persuaded you to hope for Lombardy, and without anyvaunting of my own patriotism. You have seen and spoken to the menI directed you to visit. If their heads master yours, I shall bereprobated for it, I know surely; but I am confident as yet that you canmatch them. In another month I expect to see the king over the Ticinoonce more, and Carlo in Brescia with his comrades. You try to penetratemy eyes. That's foolish; I can make them glass. Read me by what I sayand what I do. I do not entreat you to trust me; I merely beg that youwill trust your own judgement of me by what I have helped you to dohitherto. You and I, my dear boy, have had some trifling together. Admitthat another woman would have refused to surrender you as I did whenyour unruly Vittoria was at last induced to come to you from Milan. Or, another woman would have had her revenge on discovering that she hadbeen a puppet of soft eyes and a lover's quarrel with his mistress. Instead of which, I let you go. I am opposed to the marriage, it's true;and you know why. "

Carlo had listened to Violetta, measuring the false and the true in thisrecapitulation of her conduct with cool accuracy until she alluded totheir personal relations. Thereat his brows darkened. 

"We had I some trifling together, " he said, musingly. 

"Is it going to be denied in these sweeter days?" Violetta reddened. 

"The phrase is elastic. Suppose my bride were to hear it?"

"It was addressed to your ears, Carlo. "

"It cuts two ways. Will you tell me when it was that I last had thehappiness of saluting you, lip to lip?"

"In Brescia--before I had espoused an imbecile--two nights before mymarriage--near the fountain of the Greek girl with a pitcher. "

Pride and anger nerved the reply. It was uttered in a rapid lowbreath. Coming altogether unexpectedly, it created an intense momentaryrevulsion of his feelings by conjuring up his boyish love in a scenemore living than the sunlight. 

He lifted her hand to his mouth. He was Italian enough, though a lover, to feel that she deserved more. She had reddened deliciously, andtherewith hung a dewy rosy moisture on her underlids. Raising her eyes, she looked like a cut orange to a thirsty lip. He kissed her, saying, "Pardon. "

"Keep it secret, you mean?" she retorted. "Yes, I pardon that wish ofyours. I can pardon much to my beauty. "

She stood up as majestically as she had spoken. 

"You know, my Violetta, that I am madly in love. "

"I have learnt it. "

"You know it:--what else would?... If I were not lost in love, could Isee you as I do and let Brescia be the final chapter?"

Violetta sighed. "I should have preferred its being so rather than thissuperfluous additional line to announce an end, like a foolish staff onthe edge of a cliff. You thought that you were saluting a leper, or asaint?"

"Neither. If ever we can talk together again, as we have done, " Carlosaid gloomily, "I will tell you what I think of myself. "

"No, but Richelieu might have behaved.... Ah! perhaps not quite in thesame way, " she corrected her flowing apology for him. "But then, he wasa Frenchman. He could be flighty without losing his head. Dear ItalianCarlo! Yes, in the teeth of Barto Rizzo, and for the sake of thecountry, marry her at once. It will be the best thing for you; reallythe best. You want to know from me the whereabout of Barto Rizzo. He maybe in the mountain over Stresa, or in Milan. He also has thrown off myyoke, such as it was! I do assure you, Carlo, I have no command overhim: but, mind, I half doat on the wretch. No man made me desperatelyin love with myself before he saw me, when I stopped his raving in themiddle of the road with one look of my face. There was foam on his beardand round his eyes; the poor wretch took out his handkerchief, and hesobbed. I don't know how many luckless creatures he had killed on hisway; but when I took him into my carriage--king, emperor, orator onstilts, minister of police not one has flattered me as he did, by justgazing at me. Beauty can do as much as music, my Carlo. "

Carlo thanked heaven that Violetta had no passion in her nature. She hadnone: merely a leaning toward evil, a light sense of shame, a desirefor money, and in her heart a contempt for the principles she did notpossess, but which, apart from the intervention of other influences, could occasionally sway her actions. Friendship, or rather the shadowyrecovery of a past attachment that had been more than friendship, inclined her now and then to serve a master who failed distinctly torepresent her interests; and when she met Carlo after the close of thewar, she had really set to work in hearty kindliness to rescue him fromwhat she termed "shipwreck with that disastrous Republican crew. " He hadobtained greater ascendency over her than she liked; yet she would haveforgiven it, as well as her consequent slight deviation from directallegiance to her masters in various cities, but for Carlo's commandingpersonal coolness. She who had tamed a madman by her beauty, wasoutraged, and not unnaturally, by the indifference of a former lover. 

Later in the day, Laura and Vittoria, with Agostino, reached the villa;and Adela put her lips to Vittoria's ear, whispering: "Naughty! whenare you to lose your liberty to turn men's heads?" and then she heaveda sigh with Wilfrid's name. She had formed the acquaintance of Countessd'Isorella in Turin, she said, and satisfactorily repeated her lesson, but with a blush. She was little more than a shade to Vittoria, whowondered what she had to live for. After the early evening dinner, whensunlight and the colours of the sun were beyond the western mountains, they pushed out on the lake. A moon was overhead, seeming to drop loweron them as she filled with light. 

Agostino and Vittoria fell upon their theme of discord, as usual--theKing of Sardinia. 

"We near the vesper hour, my daughter, " said Agostino; "you wouldprovoke me to argumentation in heaven itself. I am for peace. I rememberlooking down on two cats with arched backs in the solitary arena of theVerona amphitheatre. We men, my Carlo, will not, in the decay of time, so conduct ourselves. "

Vittoria looked on Laura and thought of the cannon-sounding hours, whoseechoes rolled over their slaughtered hope. The sun fell, the moon shone, and the sun would rise again, but Italy lay face to earth. They had seenher together before the enemy. That recollection was a joy that stood, though the winds beat at it, and the torrents. She loved her friend'sworn eyelids and softly-shut mouth; the after-glow of battle seemed onthem; the silence of the field of carnage under heaven;--and the patientturning of Laura's eyes this way and that to speakers upon commonthings, covered the despair of her heart as with a soldier's cloak. 

Laura met the tender study of Vittoria's look, and smiled. 

They neared the Villa Ricciardi, and heard singing. The villa waslighted profusely, so that it made a little mock-sunset on the lake. 

"Irma!" said Vittoria, astonished at the ring of a well-known voice thatshot up in firework fashion, as Pericles had said of it. Incredulous, she listened till she was sure; and then glanced hurried questions atall eyes. Violetta laughed, saying, "You have the score of Rocco Ricci'sHagar. "

The boat drew under the blazing windows, and half guessing, halfhearing, Vittoria understood that Pericles was giving an entertainmenthere, and had abjured her. She was not insensible to the slight. Thisfeeling, joined to her long unsatisfied craving to sing, led her to beintolerant of Irma's style, and visibly vexed her. 

Violetta whispered: "He declares that your voice is cracked: show him!Burst out with the 'Addio' of Hagar. May she not, Carlo? Don't youpermit the poor soul to sing? She cannot contain herself. "

Carlo, Adela, Agostino, and Violetta prompted her, and, catching a pausein the villa, she sang the opening notes of Hagar's 'Addio' with her oldglorious fulness of tone and perfect utterance. 

The first who called her name was Rocco Ricci, but Pericles was thefirst to rush out and hang over the boat. "Witch! traitress!infernal ghost! heart of ice!" and in English "humbug!" and in French"coquin!":--these were a few of the titles he poured on her. Rocco Ricciand Montini kissed hands to her, begging her to come to them. She wasvery willing outwardly, and in her heart most eager; but Carlo badethe rowers push off. Then it was pitiful to hear the shout of abjectsupplication from Pericles. He implored Count Ammiani's pardon, Vittoria's pardon, for telling her what she was; and as the boat drewfarther away, he offered her sums of money to enter the villa and singthe score of Hagar. He offered to bear the blame of her bad behaviour tohim, said he would forget it and stamp it out; that he would pay forthe provisioning of a regiment of volunteers for a whole month; thathe would present her marriage trousseau to her--yes, and let her marry. "Sandra! my dear! my dear!" he cried, and stretched over the parapetspeechless, like a puppet slain. 

So strongly did she comprehend the sincerity of his passion forher voice that she could or would see nothing extravagant in thisdemonstration, which excited unrestrained laughter in every key from hercompanions in the boat. When the boat was about a hundred yards from theshore, and in full moonlight, she sang the great "Addio" of Hagar. Atthe close of it, she had to feel for her lover's hand blindly. No onespoke, either at the Villa Ricciardi, or about her. Her voice possessedthe mountain-shadowed lake. 

The rowers pulled lustily home through chill air. 

Luigi and Beppo were at the villa, both charged with news from Milan. Beppo claiming the right to speak first, which Luigi granted with amagnificent sweep of his hand, related that Captain Weisspriess, ofthe garrison, had wounded Count Medole in a duel severely. He brought aletter to Vittoria from Merthyr, in which Merthyr urged her to preventCount Ammiani's visiting Milan for any purpose whatever, and said thathe was coming to be present at, her marriage. She was reading this whileLuigi delivered his burden; which was, that in a subsequent duel, theslaughtering captain had killed little Leone Rufo, the gay and gallantboy, Carlo's comrade, and her friend. 

Luigi laughed scornfully at his rival, and had edged away--out of sightbefore he could be asked who had sent him. Beppo ignominiously confessedthat he had not heard of this second duel. At midnight he was onhorseback, bound for Milan, with a challenge to the captain from Carlo, who had a jealous fear that Luciano at Vercelli might have outstrippedhim. Carlo requested the captain to guarantee him an hour's immunity inthe city on a stated day, or to name any spot on the borders ofPiedmont for the meeting. The challenge was sent with Countess Ammiani'sapprobation and Laura's. Vittoria submitted. 

That done, Carlo gave up his heart to his bride. A fight in prospect wasthe hope of wholesome work after his late indecision and doubleplay. They laughed at themselves, accused hotly, and humbly excusedthemselves, praying for mutual pardon. 

She had behaved badly in disobeying his mandate from Brescia. 

Yes, but had he not been over-imperious?

True; still she should have remembered her promise in the Vicentino. 

She did indeed; but how could she quit her wounded friend Merthyr?

Perhaps not: then, why had she sent word to him from Milan that shewould be at Pallanza?

This question knocked at a sealed chamber. She was silent, and Carlo hadto brood over something as well. He gave her hints of his foolish pique, his wrath and bitter baffled desire for her when, coming to Pallanza, hecame to an empty house. But he could not help her to see, for he didnot himself feel, that he had been spurred by silly passions, pique, andwrath, to plunge instantly into new political intrigue; and that some ofhis worst faults had become mixed up with his devotion to his country. Had he taken Violetta for an ally in all purity of heart? The kiss hehad laid on the woman's sweet lips had shaken his absolute beliefin that. He tried to set his brain travelling backward, in order tocontemplate accurately the point of his original weakness. It beingalmost too severe a task for any young head, Carlo deemed it sufficientthat he should say--and this he felt--that he was unworthy of hisbeloved. 

Could Vittoria listen to such stuff? She might have kissed him to stopthe flow of it, but kissings were rare between them; so rare, that whenthey had put mouth to mouth, a little quivering spire of flame, dim atthe base, stood to mark the spot in their memories. She moved her hand, as to throw aside such talk. Unfretful in blood, chaste and keen, she atleast knew the foolishness of the common form of lovers' trifling whenthere is a burning love to keep under, and Carlo saw that she did, andadored her for this highest proof of the passion of her love. 

"In three days you will be mine, if I do not hear from Milan? withinfive, if I do?" he said. 

Vittoria gave him the whole beauty of her face a divine minute, andbowed it assenting. Carlo then led her to his mother, before whom heembraced her for the comfort of his mother's heart. They decided thatthere should be no whisper of the marriage until the couple were one. Vittoria obtained the countess's permission to write for Merthyr toattend her at the altar. She had seen Weisspriess fall in combat, andshe had perfect faith in her lover's right hand. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

ANNA OF LENKENSTEIN

Captain Weisspriess replied to Carlo Ammiani promptly, naming Camerlataby Como, as the place where he would meet him. 

He stated at the end of some temperate formal lines, that he had givenCount Ammiani the preference over half-a-dozen competitors for thehonour of measuring swords with him; but that his adversary must notexpect him to be always ready to instruct the young gentlemen of theLombardo-Venetian province in the arts of fence; and therefore he beggedto observe, that his encounter with Count Ammiani would be the lastoccasion upon which he should hold himself bound to accept a challengefrom Count Ammiani's countrymen. 

It was quite possible, the captain said, drawing a familiar illustrationfrom the gaming-table, to break the stoutest Bank in the world by aperpetual multiplication of your bets, and he was modest enough toremember that he was but one man against some thousands, to contend withall of whom would be exhausting. 

Consequently the captain desired Count Ammiani to proclaim to hiscountrymen that the series of challenges must terminate; and herequested him to advertize the same in a Milanese, a Turin, and aNeapolitan journal. 

"I am not a butcher, " he concluded. "The task you inflict upon me isscarcely bearable. Call it by what name you will, it is having ten shotsto one, which was generally considered an equivalent to murder. My swordis due to you, Count Ammiani; and, as I know you to be an honourablenobleman, I would rather you were fighting in Venice, though your causeis hopeless, than standing up to match yourself against me. Let me add, that I deeply respect the lady who is engaged to be united to you, andwould not willingly cross steel either with her lover or her husband. Ishall be at Camerlata at the time appointed. If I do not find you there, I shall understand that you have done me the honour to take my humbleadvice, and have gone where your courage may at least appear to havedone better service. I shall sheathe my sword and say no more about it. "

All of this, save the concluding paragraph, was written under the eyesof Countess Anna of Lenkenstein. 

He carried it to his quarters, where he appended the as he deemedit--conciliatory passage: after which he handed it to Beppo, in a squareof the barracks, with a buon'mano that Beppo received bowing, andtossed to an old decorated regimental dog of many wounds and a veteran'sgravity. For this offence a Styrian grenadier seized him by theshoulders, lifting him off his feet and swinging him easily, while thedog arose from his contemplation of the coin and swayed an expectanttail. The Styrian had dashed Beppo to earth before Weisspriess couldinterpose, and the dog had got him by the throat. In the struggle Beppotore off the dog's medal for distinguished conduct on the field ofbattle. He restored it as soon as he was free, and won unanimousplaudits from officers and soldiers for his kindly thoughtfulness andthe pretty manner with which he dropped on one knee, and assuaged thegrowls, and attached the medal to the old dog's neck. Weisspriess walkedaway. Beppo then challenged his Styrian to fight. The case was laidbefore a couple of sergeants, who shook their heads on hearing hiscondition to be that of a serving-man, the Styrian was ready to waiveconsiderations of superiority; but the "judge" pronounced their veto. Asoldier in the Imperial Royal service, though he was merely a private inthe ranks, could not accept a challenge from civilians below the rankof notary, secretary, hotel- or inn-keeper, and suchlike: servants andtradesmen he must seek to punish in some other way; and they also hadtheir appeal to his commanding officer. So went the decision of themilitary tribunal, until the Styrian, having contrived to make Beppounderstand, by the agency of a single Italian verb, that he wanted ablow, Beppo spun about and delivered a stinging smack on the Styrian'scheek; which altered the view of the case, for, under peculiarcircumstances--supposing that he did not choose to cut him down--asoldier might condescend to challenge his civilian inferiors: "inour regiment, " said the sergeants, meaning that they had relaxed thestringency of their laws. 

Beppo met his Styrian outside the city walls, and laid him flat. Hedeclined to fight a second; but it was represented to him, by the aidof an interpreter, that the officers of the garrison were subjected tosuccessive challenges, and that the first trial of his skill might havebeen nothing finer than luck; and besides, his adversary had a rightto call a champion. "We all do it, " the soldiers assured him. "Now yourblood's up you're ready for a dozen of us;" which was less true ofa constitution that was quicker in expending its heat. He stood outagainst a young fellow almost as limber as himself, much taller, andlonger in the reach, by whom he was quickly disabled with cuts on thighand head. Seeing this easy victory over him, the soldiers, previouslyquite civil, cursed him for having got the better of their fallencomrade, and went off discussing how he had done the trick, leaving himto lie there. A peasant carried him to a small suburban inn, wherehe remained several days oppressed horribly by a sense that he hadforgotten something. When he recollected what it was, he entrusted thecaptain's letter to his landlady;--a good woman, but she chanced tohave a scamp of a husband, who snatched it from her and took it to hismarket. Beppo supposed the letter to be on its Way to Pallauza, when itwas in General Schoneck's official desk; and soon after the breath of ascandalous rumour began to circulate. 

Captain Weisspriess had gone down to Camerlata, accompanied by a ColonelVolpo, of an Austro-Italian regiment, and by Lieutenant Jenna. AtCamerlata a spectacled officer, Major Nagen, joined them. Weisspriesswas the less pleased with his company on hearing that he had come towitness the meeting, in obedience to an express command of a personwho was interested in it. Jenna was the captain's friend: Volpo wasseconding him for the purpose of getting Count Ammiani to listen toreason from the mouth of a countryman. There could be no doubt in thecaptain's mind that this Major Nagen was Countess Anna's spy as wellas his rival, and he tried to be rid of him; but in addition tothe shortness of sight which was Nagen's plea for pushing his thintransparent nose into every corner, he enjoyed at will an intermittentdeafness, and could hear anything without knowing of it. Brotherofficers said of Major Nagen that he was occasionally equally senselessin the nose, which had been tweaked without disturbing the repose of hisfeatures. He waited half-an-hour on the ground after the appointed time, and then hurried to Milan. Weisspriess waited an hour. Satisfied thatCount Ammiani was not coming, he exacted from Volpo and from Jenna theirword of honour as Austrian officers that they would forbear-to cast anyslur on the courage of his adversary, and would be so discreet on thesubject as to imply that the duel was a drawn affair. They pledgedthemselves accordingly. "There's Nagen, it's true, " said Weisspriess, as a man will say and feel that he has done his best to prevent a thinginevitable. 

Milan, and some of the journals of Milan, soon had Carlo Ammiani's nameup for challenging Weisspriess and failing to keep his appointment. Itgrew to be discussed as a tremendous event. The captain received fifteenchallenges within two days; among these a second one from LucianoRomara, whom he was beginning to have a strong desire to encounter. Herepressed it, as quondam drunkards fight off the whisper of their lipsfor liquor. "No more blood, " was his constant inward cry. He wantedpeace; but as he also wanted Countess Anna of Lenkenstein and herestates, it may possibly be remarked of him that what he wanted he didnot want to pay for. 

At this period Wilfrid had resumed the Austrian uniform as a commonsoldier in the ranks of the Kinsky regiment. General Schoneck hadobtained the privilege for him from the Marshal, General Piersonrefusing to lift a finger on his behalf. Nevertheless the uncle was notsorry to hear the tale of his nephew's exploits during the campaign, orof the eccentric intrepidity of the white umbrella; and both to pleasehim, and to intercede for Wilfrid, the tatter's old comrades recitedhis deeds as a part of the treasured familiar history of the army in itslate arduous struggle. 

General Pierson was chiefly anxious to know whether Countess Lena wouldbe willing to give her hand to Wilfrid in the event of his restorationto his antecedent position in the army. He found her extremely excitedabout Carlo Ammiani, her old playmate, and once her dear friend. Shewould not speak of Wilfrid at all. To appease the chivalrous littlewoman, General Pierson hinted that his nephew, being under theprotection of General Schoneck, might get some intelligence fromthat officer. Lena pretended to reject the notion of her coming intocommunication with Wilfrid for any earthly purpose. She said to herself, however, that her object was pre-eminently unselfish; and as the Generalpointedly refused to serve her in a matter that concerned an Italiannobleman, she sent directions to Wilfrid to go before General Schoeneckthe moment he was off duty, and ask his assistance, in her name, toelucidate the mystery of Count Ammiani's behaviour. The answer was atransmission of Captain Weisspriess's letter to Carlo. Lena causedthe fact of this letter having missed its way to be circulated in thejournals, and then she carried it triumphantly to her sister, saying:

"There! I knew these reports were abase calumny. "

"Reports, to what effect?" said Anna. 

"That Carlo Ammiani had slunk from a combat with your duellist. "

"Oh! I knew that myself, " Anna remarked. 

"You were the loudest in proclaiming it. "

"Because I intend to ruin him. "

"Carlo Ammiani? What has he done to you?"

Anna's eyes had fallen on the additional lines of the letter which shehad not dictated. She frowned and exclaimed:

"What is this? Does the man play me false? Read those lines, Lena, andtell me, does the man mean to fight in earnest who can dare to writethem? He advises Ammiani to go to Venice. It's treason, if it is notcowardice. And see here--he has the audacity to say that he deeplyrespects the lady Ammiani is going to marry. Is Ammiani going to marryher? I think not. "

Anna dashed the letter to the floor. 

"But I will make use of what's within my reach, " she said, picking itup. 

"Carlo Ammiani will marry her, I presume, " said Lena. 

"Not before he has met Captain Weisspriess, who, by the way, hasobtained his majority. And, Lena, my dear, write to inform him that wewish to offer him our congratulations. He will be a General officer ingood time. "

"Perhaps you forget that Count Ammiani is a perfect swordsman, Anna. "

"Weisspriess remembers it for me, perhaps;--is that your idea, Lena?"

"He might do so profitably. You have thrown him on two swords. "

"Merely to provoke the third. He is invincible. If he were not, wherewould his use be?"

"Oh, how I loathe revenge!" cried Lena. 

"You cannot love!" her sister retorted. "That woman calling herselfVittoria Campa shall suffer. She has injured and defied me. How was itthat she behaved to us at Meran? She is mixed up with assassins; she isinsolent--a dark-minded slut; and she catches stupid men. My brother, mycountry, and this weak Weisspriess, as I saw him lying in the Ultenthal, cry out against her. I have no sleep. I am not revengeful. Say it, sayit, all of you! but I am not. I am not unforgiving. I worship justice, and a black deed haunts me. Let the wicked be contrite and washed intears, and I think I can pardon them. But I will have them on theirknees. I hate that woman Vittoria more than I hate Angelo Guidascarpi. Look, Lena. If both were begging for life to me, I would send him to thegallows and her to her bedchamber; and all because I worship justice, and believe it to be the weapon of the good and pious. You have a baby'sheart; so has Karl. He declines to second Weisspriess; he will havenothing to do with duelling; he would behold his sisters mocked in thestreets and pass on. He talks of Paul's death like a priest. Priestsare worthy men; a great resource! Give me a priests lap when I need it. Shall I be condemned to go to the priest and leave that woman singing?If I did, I might well say the world's a snare, a sham, a pitfall, ahorror! It's what I don't think in any degree. It's what you think, though. Yes, whenever you are vexed you think it. So do the priests, andso do all who will not exert themselves to chastise. I, on the contrary, know that the world is not made up of nonsense. Write to Weisspriessimmediately; I must have him here in an hour. "

Weisspriess, on visiting the ladies to receive their congratulations, was unprepared for the sight of his letter to Carlo Ammiani, which Annathrust before him after he had saluted her, bidding him read it aloud. He perused it in silence. He was beginning to be afraid of his mistress. 

"I called you Austria once, for you were always ready, " Anna said, andwithdrew from him, that the sung of her words might take effect. 

"God knows, I have endeavoured to earn the title in my humble way, "Weisspriess appealed to Lena. 

"Yes, Major Weisspriess, you have, " she said. "Be Austria still, andforbear toward these people as much as you can. To beat them is enough, in my mind. I am rejoiced that you have not met Count Ammiani, for ifyou had, two friends of mine, equally dear and equally skilful, wouldhave held their lives at one another's mercy. "

"Equally!" said Weisspriess, and pulled out the length of his moustache. 

"Equally courageous, " Lena corrected herself. "I never distrusted CountAmmiani's courage, nor could distrust yours. "

"Equally dear!" Weisspriess tried to direct a concentrated gaze on her. 

Lena evaded an answer by speaking of the rumour of Count Ammiani'smarriage. 

Weisspriess was thinking with all the sagacious penetration of themilitary mind, that perhaps this sister was trying to tell him that shewould be willing to usurp the piece of the other in his affections; andif so, why should she not?

"I may cherish the idea that I am dear to you, Countess Lena?"

"When you are formally betrothed to my sister, you will know you arevery dear to me, Major Weisspriess. "

"But, " said he, perceiving his error, "how many persons am I to call outbefore she will consent to a formal betrothal?"

Lena was half smiling at the little tentative bit of sentiment she hadso easily turned aside. Her advice to him was to refuse to fight, seeingthat he had done sufficient for glory and his good name. 

He mentioned Major Nagen as a rival. 

Upon this she said: "Hear me one minute. I was in my sister's bed-roomon the first night when she knew of your lying wounded in the Ultenthal. She told you just now that she called you Austria. She adores ourAustria in you. The thought that you had been vanquished seemed like ourAustria vanquished, and she is so strong for Austria that it is reallyout of her power to fancy you as defeated without suspecting foul play. So when she makes you fight, she thinks you safe. Many are to go downbecause you have gone down. Do you not see? And now, Major Weisspriess, I need not expose my sister to you any more, I hope, or depreciate MajorNagen for your satisfaction. "

Weisspriess had no other interview with Anna for several days. Sheshunned him openly. Her carriage moved off when he advanced to meet herat the parade, or review of arms; and she did not scruple to speak inpublic with Major Nagen, in the manner of those who have begun to speaktogether in private. The offender received his punishment gracefully, as men will who have been taught that it flatters them. He refused everychallenge. From Carlo Ammiani there came not a word. 

It would have been a deadly lull to any fiery temperament engaged inplotting to destroy a victim, but Anna had the patience of hatred--thatabsolute malignity which can measure its exultation rather by thegathering of its power to harm than by striking. She could lay it aside, or sink it to the bottom of her emotions, at will, when circumstancesappeared against it. And she could do this without fretful regrets, without looking to the future. The spirit of her hatred extracted itsown nourishment from things, like an organized creature. When foiledshe became passive, and she enjoyed--forced herself compliantly toenjoy--her redoubled energy of hatred voluptuously, if ever a turn inevents made wreck of her scheming. She hated Vittoria for many reasons, all of them vague within her bosom because the source of them wasindefinite and lay in the fact of her having come into collision with anopposing nature, whose rivalry was no visible rivalry, whose triumphwas an ignorance of scorn--a woman who attracted all men, who scatteredinjuries with insolent artlessness, who never appealed to forgiveness, and was a low-born woman daring to be proud. By repute Anna wasimplacable, but she had, and knew she had, the capacity for magnanimityof a certain kind; and her knowledge of the existence of thisunsuspected fund within her justified in some degree her recklessefforts to pull her enemy down on her knees. It seemed doubly right thatshe should force Vittoria to penitence, as being good for the woman, andan end that exonerated her own private sins committed to effect it. 

Yet she did not look clearly forward to the day of Vittoria's imploringfor mercy. She had too many vexations to endure: she was an insufficientschemer, and was too frequently thwarted to enjoy that ulteriorprospect. Her only servile instruments were Major Nagen, and Irma, whocame to her from the Villa Ricciardi, hot to do her rival any deadlyinjury; but though willing to attempt much, these were apparently ableto perform little more than the menial work of vengeance. Major Nagenwrote in the name of Weisspriess to Count Ammiani, appointing a secondmeeting at Como, and stating that he would be at the villa of theDuchess of Graatli there. Weisspriess was unsuspectingly taken down tothe place by Anna and Lena. There was a gathering of such guests as theduchess alone among her countrywomen could assemble, under the patronageof the conciliatory Government, and the duchess projected to give aseries of brilliant entertainments in the saloons of the Union, asshe named her house-roof. Count Serabiglione arrived, as did numerousModerates and priest-party men, Milanese garrison officers and others. Laura Piaveni travelled with Countess d'Isorella and the happy AdelaSedley, from Lago Maggiore. 

Laura came, as she cruelly told her friend, for the purpose of makingVictoria's excuses to the duchess. "Why can she not come herself?"Amalia persisted in asking, and began to be afflicted with womanlycuriosity. Laura would do nothing but shrug and smile, and repeather message. A little after sunset, when the saloons were lighted, Weisspriess, sitting by his Countess Anna's side, had a slip of paperplaced in his hands by one of the domestics. He quitted his postfrowning with astonishment, and muttered once, "My appointment!" Lauranoticed that Anna's heavy eyelids lifted to shoot an expressive glanceat Violetta d'Isorella. She said: "Can that have been anything hostile, do you suppose?" and glanced slyly at her friend. 

"No, no, " said Amalia; "the misunderstanding is explained, and MajorWeisspriess is just as ready as Count Ammiani to listen to reason. Besides, Count Ammiani is not so unfriendly but that if he came so nearhe would come up to me, surely. "

Laura brought Amalia's observation to bear upon Anna and Violetta byturning pointedly from one to the other as she said: "As for reason, perhaps you have chosen the word. If Count Ammiani attended anappointment this time, he would be unreasonable. "

A startled "Why?"--leaped from Anna's lips. She reddened at herimpulsive clumsiness. 

Laura raised her shoulders slightly: "Do you not know?" The expressionof her face reproved Violetta, as for remissness in transmitting secretintelligence. "You can answer why, countess, " she addressed thelatter, eager to exercise her native love of conflict with thisdoubtfully-faithful countrywoman;--the Austrian could feel that she hadbeaten her on the essential point, and afford to give her any number ofdialectical victories. 

"I really cannot answer why, " Violetta said; "unless Count Ammiani is, as I venture to hope, better employed. "

"But the answer is charming and perfect, " said Laura. 

"Enigmatical answers are declared to be so when they come from uswomen, " the duchess remarked; "but then, I fancy, women must not be thehearers, or they will confess that they are just as much bewildered andirritated as I am. Do speak out, my dearest. How is he better employed?"

Laura passed her eyes around the group of ladies. "If any hero of yourshad won the woman he loves, he would be right in thinking it folly to bebound by the invitation to fight, or feast, or what you will, within aspace of three months or so; do you not agree with me?"

The different emotions on many visages made the scene curious. 

"Count Ammiani has married her!" exclaimed the duchess. 

"My old friend Carlo is really married!" said Lena. 

Anna stared at Violetta. 

The duchess, recovering from her wonder, confirmed the news by sayingthat she now knew why M. Powys had left Milan in haste, three or fourdays previously, as she was aware that the bride had always wished himto be present at the ceremony of her marriage. 

"Signora, may I ask you, were you present?" Violetta addressed Laura. 

"I will answer most honestly that I was not, " said Laura. 

"The marriage was a secret one; perhaps?"

"Even for friends, you see. "

"Necessarily, no doubt, " Lena said, with an idea of easing her sister'sstupefaction by a sarcasm foreign to her sentiments. 

Adela Sedley, later in exactly comprehending what had been spoken, glanced about for some one who would not be unsympathetic to herexclamation, and suddenly beheld her brother entering the room withWeisspriess. "Wilfrid! Wilfrid! do you know she is married?"

"So they tell me, " Wilfrid replied, while making his bow to the duchess. He was much broken in appearance, but wore his usual collected manner. Who had told him of the marriage? A person downstairs, he said; notCount Ammiani; not signor Balderini; no one whom he saw present, no onewhom he knew. 

"A very mysterious person, " said the duchess. 

"Then it's true after all, " cried Laura. "I did but guess it. " Sheassured Violetta that she had only guessed it. 

"Does Major Weisspriess know it to be true?" The question came fromAnna. 

Weisspriess coolly verified it, on the faith of a common servant'scommunication. 

The ladies could see that some fresh piece of mystery lay between himand Wilfrid. 

"With whom have you had an interview, and what have you heard?" askedLena, vexed by Wilfrid's pallid cheeks. 

Both men stammered and protested, out of conceit, and were as foolish asmen are when pushed to play at mutual concealment. 

The duchess's chasseur, Jacob Baumwalder Feckelwitz, stepped up to hismistress and whispered discreetly. She gazed straight at Laura. Afterhesitation she shook her head, and the chasseur retired. Amalia thencame to the rescue of the unhappy military wits that were standing across-fire of sturdy interrogation. 

"Do you not perceive what it is?" she said to Anna. "Major Weisspriessmeets Private Pierson at the door of my house, and forgets that he iswell-born and my guest. I may be revolutionary, but I declare that inplain clothes Private Pierson is the equal of Major Weisspriess. Ifbravery made men equals, who would be Herr Pierson's superior? Ire hasdone me the honour, at a sacrifice of his pride, I am sure, to come hereand meet his sister, and rejoice me with his society. Major Weisspriess, if I understand the case correctly, you are greatly to blame. "

"I beg to assert, " Weisspriess was saying as the duchess turned hershoulder on him. 

"There is really no foundation, " Wilfrid began, with similar simplicity. 

"What will sharpen the wits of these soldiers!" the duchess murmureddolefully to Laura. 

"But Major Weisspriess was called out of his room by a message--was thatfrom Private Pierson?" said Anna. 

"Assuredly; I should presume so, " the duchess answered for them. 

"Ay; undoubtedly, " Weisspriess supported her. 

"Then, " Laura smiled encouragement to Wilfrid, "you know nothing ofCount Ammiani's marriage after all?"

Wilfrid launched his reply on a sharp repression of his breath, "Nothingwhatever. "

"And the common servant's communication was not made to you?" Annainterrogated Weisspriess. 

"I simply followed in the track of Pierson, " said that officer, maskinghis retreat from the position with a duck of his head and a smile, toothon lip. 

"How could you ever suppose, child, that a common servant would besent to deliver such tidings? and to Major Weisspriess!" the duchessinterposed. 

This broke up the Court of inquiry. 

Weisspriess shortly after took his leave, on the plea that he wished toprove his friendliness by accompanying Private Pierson, who had to be onduty early next day in Milan. Amalia had seen him breaking from Annain extreme irritation, and he had only to pledge his word that he wasreally bound for Milan to satisfy her. "I believe you to be at hearthumane, " she said meaningly. 

"Duchess, you may be sure that I would not kill an enemy save on thepoint of my sword, " he answered her. 

"You are a gallant man, " said Amalia, and pride was in her face as shelooked on him. 

She willingly consented to Wilfrid's sudden departure, as it was evidentthat some shot had hit him hard. 

On turning to Laura, the duchess beheld an aspect of such shrewd disgustthat she was provoked to exclaim: "What on earth is the matter now?"

Laura would favour her with no explanation until they were alone in theduchess's boudoir, when she said that to call Weisspriess a gallant manwas an instance of unblushing adulation of brutal strength: "Gallant forslaying a boy? Gallant because he has force of wrist?"

"Yes; gallant;--an honour to his countrymen: and an example to some ofyours, " Amalia rejoined. 

"See, " cried Laura, "to what a degeneracy your excess of nationalsentiment reduces you!"

While she was flowing on, the duchess leaned a hand across her shoulder, and smiling kindly, said she would not allow her to utter words that shewould have to eat. "You saw my chasseur step up to me this evening, myLaura? Well, not to torment you, he wished to sound an alarm cry afterAngelo Guidascarpi. I believe my conjecture is correct, that AngeloGuidascarpi was seen by Major Weisspriess below, and allowed to passfree. Have you no remark to make?"

"None, " said Laura. 

"You cannot admit that he behaved like a gallant man?" Laura sigheddeeply. "Perhaps it was well for you to encourage him!"

The mystery of Angelo's interview with Weisspriess was cleared thenext night, when in the midst of a ball-room's din, Aennchen, Amalia'sfavourite maid, brought a letter to Laura from Countess Ammiani. Thesewere the contents:

"DEAREST SIGNORA, "You now learn a new and blessed thing. God make the marriage fruitful!I have daughter as well as son. Our Carlo still hesitated, for hearingof the disgraceful rumours in Milan, he fancied a duty lay there for himto do. Another menace came to my daughter from the madman Barto Rizzo. God can use madmen to bring about the heavenly designs. We decided thatCarlo's name should cover her. My son was like a man who has awakenedup. M. Powys was our good genius. He told her that he had promised youto bring it about. He, and Angelo, and myself, were the witnesses. Somuch before heaven! I crossed the lake with them to Stress. I was hertirewoman, with Giacinta, to whom I will give a husband for the tears ofjoy she dropped upon the bed. Blessed be it! I placed my daughter in myCarlo's arms. Both kissed their mother at parting. 

"This is something fixed. I had great fears during the war. You do notyet know what it is to have a sonless son in peril. Terror and remorsehaunted me for having sent the last Ammiani out to those fields, unattached to posterity. 

"An envelope from Milan arrived on the morning of his nuptials. It wasintercepted by me. The German made a second appointment at Como. Angeloundertook to assist me in saving my son's honour. So my Carlo hadnothing to disturb his day. Pray with me, Laura Piaveni, that the dayand the night of it may prove fresh springs of a river that shall passour name through the happier mornings of Italy! I commend you to God, mydear, and am your friend, "MARCCELLINA, COUNTESS AMMIANI. 

"P. S. Countess Alessandra will be my daughter's name. "

The letter was read and re-read before the sweeter burden it containedwould allow Laura to understand that Countess Ammiani had violated aseal and kept a second hostile appointment hidden from her son. 

"Amalia, you detest me, " she said, when they had left the guests for ashort space, and the duchess had perused the letter, "but acknowledgeAngelo Guidascarpi's devotion. He came here in the midst of you Germans, at the risk of his life, to offer battle for his cousin. "

The duchess, however, had much more to say for the magnanimity of MajorWeisspriess, who, if he saw him, had spared him; she compelled Laura toconfess that Weisspriess must have behaved with some nobleness, whichLaura did, humming and I 'brumming, ' and hinting at the experience hehad gained of Angelo's skill. Her naughtiness provoked first, and thenaffected Amalia; in this mood the duchess had the habit of putting on agrand air of pitying sadness. Laura knew it well, and never could makehead against it. She wavered, as a stray floating thing detached from aneddy whirls and passes on the flood. Close on Amalia's bosom she sobbedout: "Yes; you Austrians have good qualities some: many! but you chooseto think us mean because we can't readily admit them when we are underyour heels. Just see me; what a crumb feeds me! I am crying with delightat a marriage!"

The duchess clasped her fondly. 

"It's not often one gets you so humble, my Laura. "

"I am crying with delight at a marriage! Amalia, look at me: you wouldsuppose it a mighty triumph. A marriage! two little lovers lying cheekto cheek! and me blessing heaven for its goodness! and there may be deadmen unburied still on the accursed Custozza hill-top!"

Amalia let her weep. The soft affection which the duchess bore to herwas informed with a slight touch of envy of a complexion that could betorn with tears one minute, and the next be fit to show in public. No other thing made her regard her friend as a southern--that is, aforeign-woman. 

"Be patient, " Laura said. 

"Cry; you need not be restrained, " said Amalia. 

"You sighed. "

"No!"

"A sort of sigh. My fit's over. Carlo's marriage is too surprising anddelicious. I shall be laughing presently. I hinted at his marriage--Ithought it among the list of possible things, no more--to see if thatcrystal pool, called Violetta d'Isorella, could be discoloured bystirring. Did you watch her face? I don't know what she wanted withCarlo, for she's cold as poison--a female trifler; one of those womenwhom I, and I have a chaste body, despise as worse than wantons; butshe certainly did not want him to be married. It seems like avictory--though we're beaten. You have beaten us, my dear!"

"My darling! it is your husband kisses you, " said Amalia, kissingLaura's forehead from a full heart. 

CHAPTER XL

THROUGH THE WINTER

Weisspriess and Wilfrid made their way toward Milan together, silentlysmoking, after one attempt at conversation, which touched on Vittoria'smarriage; but when they reached Monza the officer slapped his degradedbrother in arms upon the shoulder, and asked him whether he had anyinclination to crave permission to serve in Hungary. For his own part, Weisspriess said that he should quit Italy at once; he had here toskewer the poor devils, one or two weekly, or to play the mightilygenerous; in short, to do things unsoldierly; and he was desirous ofgetting away from the country. General Schoneck was at Monza, and mightarrange the matter for them both. Promotion was to be looked for inHungary; the application would please the General; one battle wouldrestore the lieutenant's star to Wilfrid's collar. Wilfrid, who had beenoffended by his companion's previous brooding silence, nodded briefly, and they stopped at Monza, where they saw General Schoneck in themorning, and Wilfrid being by extraordinary favour in civilian's dressduring his leave of absence, they were jointly invited to the General'stable at noon, though not to meet any other officer. General Schoneckagreed with Weisspriess that Hungary would be a better field forWilfrid; said he would do his utmost to serve them in the manner theywished, and dismissed them after the second cigar. They strolled aboutthe city, glad for reasons of their own to be out of Milan as long asthe leave permitted. At night, when they were passing a palace in oneof the dark streets, a feather, accompanied by a sharp sibilation fromabove, dropped on Wilfrid's face. Weisspriess held the feather up, andjudged by its length that it was an eagle's, and therefore belonging tothe Hungarian Hussar regiment stationed in Milan. "The bird's aloft, " heremarked. His voice aroused a noise of feet that was instantly still. He sent a glance at the doorways, where he thought he discerned men. Fetching a whistle in with his breath, he unsheathed his sword, andseeing that Wilfrid had no weapon, he pushed him to a gate of thepalace-court that had just cautiously turned a hinge. Wilfrid found hishand taken by a woman's hand inside. The gate closed behind him. He wasled up to an apartment where, by the light of a darkly-veiled lamp, he beheld a young Hungarian officer and a lady clinging to his neck, praying him not to go forth. Her Italian speech revealed how mattersstood in this house. The officer accosted Wilfrid: "But you are not oneof us!" He repeated it to the lady: "You see, the man is not one of us!"

She assured him that she had seen the uniform when she dropped thefeather, and wept protesting it. 

"Louis, Louis! why did you come to-night! why did I make you come! Youwill be slain. I had my warning, but I was mad. "

The officer hushed her with a quick squeeze of her inter-twistedfingers. 

"Are you the man to take a sword and be at my back, sir?" he said;and resumed in a manner less contemptuous toward the civil costume: "Irequest it for the sole purpose of quieting this lady's fears. "

Wilfrid explained who and what he was. On hearing that he was GeneralPierson's nephew the officer laughed cheerfully, and lifted the veilfrom the lamp, by which Wilfrid knew him to be Colonel Prince Radocky, a most gallant and the handsomest cavalier in the Imperial service. Radocky laughed again when he was told of Weisspriess keeping guardbelow. 

"Aha! we are three, and can fight like a pyramid. "

He flourished his hand above the lady's head, and called for a sword. The lady affected to search for one while he stalked up and down inthe jaunty fashion of a Magyar horseman; but the sword was not to bediscovered without his assistance, and he was led away in search of it. The moment he was alone Wilfrid burst into tears. He could bear anythingbetter than the sight of fondling lovers. When they rejoined him, Radocky had evidently yielded some point; he stammered and worked hisunderlip on his moustache. The lady undertook to speak for him. Happilyfor her, she said, Wilfrid would not compromise her; and taking herlover's hand, she added with Italian mixture of wit and grace: "Happilyfor me, too, he does. The house is surrounded by enemies; it is a reignof terror for women. I am dead, if they slay him; but if they recognizehim, I am lost. "

Wilfrid readily leaped to her conclusion. He offered his opera-hat andcivil mantle to Radocky, who departed in them, leaving his militarycloak in exchange. During breathless seconds the lady hung kneeling atthe window. When the gate opened there was a noise as of feet preparingto rush; Weisspriess uttered an astonished cry, but addressed Radocky as"my Pierson!" lustily and frequently; and was heard putting a number ofmeaningless questions, laughing and rallying Pierson till the two passedout of hearing unmolested. The lady then kissed a Cross passionately, and shivered Wilfrid's manhood by asking him whether he knew what lovewas. She went on:

"Never, never love a married woman! It's a past practice. Never! Thrusta spike in the palm of your hands drink scalding oil, rather than dothat. "

"The Prince Radocky is now safe, " Wilfrid said. 

"Yes, he is safe; and he is there, and I am here: and I cannot followhim; and when will he come to me?"

The tones were lamentable. She struck her forehead, after she had mutelythrust her hand to right and left to show the space separating her fromher lover. 

Her voice changed when she accepted Wilfrid's adieux, to whose fate inthe deadly street she appeared quite indifferent, though she gave himone or two prudent directions, and expressed a hope that she might be ofservice to him. 

He was set upon as soon as he emerged from the gateway; the cavalrycloak was torn from his back, and but for the chance circumstance of hisswearing in English, he would have come to harm. A chill went throughhis blood on hearing one of his assailants speak the name of BartoRizzo. The English oath stopped an arm that flashed a dagger half itslength. Wilfrid obeyed a command to declare his name, his country, and his rank. "It's not the prince! it's not the Hungarian!" went manywhispers; and he was drawn away by a man who requested him to deliverhis reasons for entering the palace, and who appeared satisfied byWilfrid's ready mixture of invention and fact. But the cloak! Wilfridstated boldly that the cloak was taken by him from the Duchess ofGraatli's at Como; that he had seen a tall Hussar officer slip it offhis shoulders; that he had wanted a cloak, and had appropriated it. He had entered the gate of the palace because of a woman's hand thatplucked at the skirts of this very cloak. 

"I saw you enter, " said the man; "do that no more. We will not havethe blood of Italy contaminated--do you hear? While that half-AustrianMedole is tip-toeing 'twixt Milan and Turin, we watch over his honour, to set an example to our women and your officers. You have outwitted usto-night. Off with you!"

Wilfrid was twirled and pushed through the crowd till he got free ofthem. He understood very well that they were magnanimous rascals whocould let an accomplice go, though they would have driven steel into theprincipal. 

Nothing came of this adventure for some time. Wilfrid's reflections(apart from the horrible hard truth of Vittoria's marriage, againstwhich he dashed his heart perpetually, almost asking for anguish) hadleisure to examine the singularity of his feeling a commencement ofpride in the clasping of his musket;--he who on the first day of hisdegradation had planned schemes to stick the bayonet-point between hisbreast-bones: he thought as well of the queer woman's way in CountessMedole's adjuration to him that he should never love a marriedwoman;--in her speaking, as it seemed, on his behalf, when it was but anoutcry of her own acute wound. Did he love a married woman? He wantedto see one married woman for the last time; to throw a frightful look onher; to be sublime in scorn of her; perhaps to love her all the betterfor the cruel pain, in the expectation of being consoled. While doingduty as a military machine, these were the pictures in his mind; andso well did his routine drudgery enable him to bear them, that whenhe heard from General Schoneck that the term of his degradation was tocontinue in Italy, and from his sister that General Pierson refusedto speak of him or hear of him until he had regained his goldshoulder-strap, he revolted her with an ejaculation of gladness, andswore brutally that he desired to have no advancement; nothing but sleepand drill; and, he added conscientiously, Havannah cigars. "He hasgrown to be like a common soldier, " Adela said to herself with anamazed contemplation of the family tie. Still, she worked on his behalf, having, as every woman has, too strong an instinct as to what is naturalto us to believe completely in any eccentric assertion. She carried thetale of his grief and trials and his romantic devotion to the Imperialflag, daily to Countess Lena; persisting, though she could not win aresponsive look from Lena's face. 

One day on the review-ground, Wilfrid beheld Prince Radocky bending fromhis saddle in conversation with Weisspriess. The prince galloped up toGeneral Pierson, and stretched his hand to where Wilfrid was postedas marker to a wheeling column, kept the hand stretched out, and spokefuriously, and followed the General till he was ordered to head hisregiment. Wilfrid began to hug his musket less desperately. Littlepresents--feminine he knew by the perfumes floating round them, --glovesand cigars, fine handkerchiefs, and silks for wear, came to hisbarracks. He pretended to accuse his sister of sending them. She inhonest delight accused Lena. Lena then accused herself of not havingdone so. 

It was winter: Vittoria had been seen in Milan. Both Lena and Wilfridspontaneously guessed her to be the guilty one. He made a funeral pyreof the gifts and gave his sister the ashes, supposing that she hadguessed with the same spirited intuition. It suited Adela to relate thislover's performance to Lena. "He did well!" Lena said, and kissed Adelafor the first time. Adela was the bearer of friendly messages to thepoor private in the ranks. From her and from little Jenna, Wilfrid heardthat he was unforgotten by Countess Lena, and new hopes mingled withgratitude caused him to regard his situation seriously. He confessed tohis sister that the filthy fellows, his comrades, were all but too muchfor him, and asked her to kiss him, that he might feel he was not oneof them. But he would not send a message in reply to Lena. "That is alsowell!" Lena said. Her brother Karl was a favourite with General Pierson. She proposed that Adela and herself should go to Count Karl, and urgehim to use his influence with the General. This, however, Adela wasdisinclined to do; she could not apparently say why. When Lena went tohim, she was astonished to hear that he knew every stage of her advanceup to the point of pardoning her erratic lover; and even knew as muchas that Wilfrid's dejected countenance on the night when Vittoria'smarriage was published in the saloon of the duchess on Lake Como, hadgiven her fresh offence. He told her that many powerful advocates weredoing their best for the down-fallen officer, who, if he were shot, orkilled, would still be gazetted an officer. "A nice comfort!" said Lena, and there was a rallying exchange of banter between them, out ofwhich she drew the curious discovery that Karl had one of his strongadmirations for the English lady. "Surely!" she said to herself; "Ithought they were all so cold. " And cold enough the English lady seemedwhen Lena led to the theme. "Do I admire your brother, Countess Lena?Oh! yes;--in his uniform exceedingly. "

Milan was now full. Wilfrid had heard from Adela that Count Ammianiand his bride were in the city and were strictly watched. Why did notconspirators like these two take advantage of the amnesty? Why were theynot in Rome? Their Chief was in Rome; their friends were in Rome. Whywere they here? A report, coming from Countess d'Isorella, said thatthey had quarrelled with their friends, and were living for love alone. As she visited the Lenkensteins--high Austrians--some believed her; andas Count Ammiani and his bride had visited the Duchess of Graatli, itwas thought possible. Adela had refused to see Vittoria; she did noteven know the house where Count Ammiani dwelt; so Wilfrid was reducedto find it for himself. Every hour when off duty the miserablesentimentalist wandered in that direction, nursing the pangs of adelicious tragedy of emotions; he was like a drunkard going to hisdraught. As soon as he had reached the head of the Corso, he wheeledand marched away from it with a lofty head, internally grinning at hisabject folly, and marvelling at the stiff figure of an Austrian commonsoldier which flashed by the windows as he passed. He who can uniteprudence and madness, sagacity and stupidity, is the true buffoon; nor, vindictive as were his sensations, was Wilfrid unaware of the contrastof Vittoria's soul to his own, that was now made up of antics. He couldnot endure the tones of cathedral music; but he had at times to kneeland listen to it, and be overcome. 

On a night in the month of February, a servant out of livery addressedhim at the barrack-gates, requesting him to go at once to a certainhotel, where his sister was staying. He went, and found there, not hissister, but Countess Medole. She smiled at his confusion. Both she andthe prince, she said, had spared no effort to get him reinstated inhis rank; but his uncle continually opposed the endeavours of all hisfriends to serve him. This interview was dictated by the prince's wish, so that he might know them to be a not ungrateful couple. Wilfrid'sembarrassment in standing before a lady in private soldier's uniform, enabled him with very peculiar dignity to declare that his presentdegradation, from the General's point of view, was a just punishment, and he did not crave to have it abated. She remarked that it must endsoon. He made a dim allusion to the littleness of humanity. She laughed. "It's the language of an unfortunate lover, " she said, and straightway, in some undistinguished sentence, brought the name of CountessAlessandra Ammiani tingling to his ears. She feared that she couldnot be of service to him there; "at least, not just yet, " the ladyastonished him by remarking. "I might help you to see her. If you takemy advice you will wait patiently. You know us well enough to understandwhat patience will do. She is supposed to have married for love. Whethershe did or not, you must allow a young married woman two years' grace. "

The effect of speech like this, and more in a similar strain of frankcorruptness, was to cleanse Wilfrid's mind, and nerve his heart, and hedenied that he had any desire to meet the Countess Ammiani, unless hecould perform a service that would be agreeable to her. 

The lady shrugged. "Well, that is one way. She has enemies, of course. "

Wilfrid begged for their names. 

"Who are they not?" she replied. "Chiefly women, it is true. "

He begged most earnestly for their names; he would have pleadedeloquently, but dreaded that the intonation of one in his low garb mightbe taken for a whine; yet he ventured to say that if the countess didimagine herself indebted to him in a small degree, the mention of twoor three of the names of Countess Alessandra Ammiani's enemies wouldsatisfy him. 

"Countess Lena von Lenkenstein, Countess Violetta d'Isorella, signorinaIrma di Karski. "

She spoke the names out like a sum that she was paying down in goldpieces, and immediately rang the bell for her servant and carriage, as if she had now acquitted her debt. Wilfrid bowed himself forth. Aresolution of the best kind, quite unconnected with his interests or hislove, urged him on straight to the house of the Lenkensteins, where hesent up his name to Countess Lena. After a delay of many minutes, CountLenkenstein accompanied by General Pierson came down, both evidentlyaffecting not to see him. The General barely acknowledged his salute. 

"Hey! Kinsky!" the count turned in the doorway to address him bythe title of his regiment; "here; show me the house inhabited by theCountess d'Isorella during the revolt. "

Wilfrid followed them to the end of the street, pointing his finger tothe house, and saluted. 

"An Englishman did me the favour--from pure eccentricity, of course--tosave my life on that exact spot, General, " said the count. "Yourcountrymen usually take the other side; therefore I mention it. "

As Wilfrid was directing his steps to barracks (the little stir tohis pride superinduced by these remarks having demoralized him), CountLenkenstein shouted: "Are you off duty?" Wilfrid had nearly replied thathe was, but just mastered himself in time. "No, indeed!" said the count, "when you have sent up your name to a lady. " This time General Piersonput two fingers formally to his cap, and smiled grimly at the private'srigid figure of attention. If Wilfrid's form of pride had consentedto let him take delight in the fact, he would have seen at once thatprosperity was ready to shine on him. He nursed the vexations much tootenderly to give prosperity a welcome; and even when along with Lena, and convinced of her attachment, and glad of it, he persisted in drivingat the subject which had brought him to her house; so that the veilof opening commonplaces, pleasant to a couple in their position, wasplucked aside. His business was to ask her why she was the enemy ofCountess Alessandra Ammiani, and to entreat her that she should not seekto harm that lady. He put it in a set speech. Lena felt that it ought tohave come last, not in advance of their reconciliation. "I will answeryou, " she said. "I am not the Countess Alessandra Ammiani's enemy. "

He asked her: "Could you be her friend?"

"Does a woman who has a husband want a friend?"

"I could reply, countess, in the case of a man who has a bride. "

By dint of a sweet suggestion here and there, love-making crossed thetopic. It appeared that General Pierson had finally been attacked, onthe question of his resistance to every endeavour to restore Wilfrid tohis rank, by Count Lenkenstein, and had barely spoken the words--that ifWilfrid came to Countess Lena of his own free-will, unprompted, to begher forgiveness, he would help to reinstate him, when Wilfrid's name wasbrought up by the chasseur. All had laughed, "Even I, " Lena confessed. And then the couple had a pleasant petitish wrangle;--he was requestedto avow that he had came solely, or principally, to beg forgiveness ofher, who had such heaps to forgive. No; on his honour, he had come forthe purpose previously stated, and on the spur of his hearing that shewas Countess Alessandra Ammiani's deadly enemy. "Could you believe thatI was?" said Lena; "why should I be?" and he coloured like a lad, whichsign of an ingenuousness supposed to belong to her set, made Lena boldto take the upper hand. She frankly accused herself of jealousy, thoughshe did not say of whom. She almost admitted that when the time forreflection came, she should rejoice at his having sought her to pleadfor his friend rather than for her forgiveness. In the end, but witha drooping pause of her bright swift look at Wilfrid, she promised toassist him in defeating any machinations against Vittoria's happiness, and to keep him informed of Countess d'Isorella's movements. Wilfridnoticed the withdrawing fire of the look. "By heaven! she doubts mestill, " he ejaculated inwardly. 

These half-comic little people have their place in the history of highernatures and darker destinies. Wilfrid met Pericles, from whom he heardthat Vittoria, with her husband's consent, had pledged herself to singpublicly. "It is for ze Lombard widows, " Pericles apologized on herbehalf; "but, do you see, I only want a beginning. She thaerst for zestage; and it is, after marriage, a good sign. Oh! you shall hear, myfriend; marriage have done her no hurt--ze contrary! You shall hearHymen--Cupids--not a cold machine; it is an organ alaif! She has privilysung to her Pericles, and ser, and if I wake not very late on Judgement. Day, I shall zen hear--but why should I talk poetry to you, to make youlaugh? I have a divin' passion for zat woman. Do I not give her to ahusband, and say, Be happy! onnly sing! Be kissed! be hugged! only givePericles your voice. By Saint Alexandre! it is to say to ze heavens, Move on your way, so long as you drop rain on us r--you smile--you lookkind. "

Pericles accompanied him into a caffe, the picture of an enamoured happyman. He waived aside contemptuously all mention of Vittoria's havingenemies. She had them when, as a virgin, she had no sense. As a woman, she had none, for she now had sense. Had she not brought her husband tobe sensible, so that they moved together in Milanese society, insteadof stupidly fighting at Rome? so that what he could not take tohimself--the marvellous voice--he let bless the multitude! "She is theBeethoven of singers, " Pericles concluded. Wilfrid thought so on thenight when she sang to succour the Lombard widows. It was at a concert, richly thronged; ostentatiously thronged with Austrian uniforms. He fancied that he could not bear to look on her. He left the housethinking that to hear her and see her and feel that she was one upon theearth, made life less of a burden. 

This evening was rendered remarkable by a man's calling out, "You are atraitress!" while Vittoria stood before the seats. She became pale, andher eyelids closed. No thinness was subsequently heard in her voice. The man was caught as he strove to burst through the crowd at theentrance-door, and proved to be a petty bookseller of Milan, by nameSarpo, known as an orderly citizen. When taken he was inflamed withliquor. Next day the man was handed from the civil to the militaryauthorities, he having confessed to the existence of a plot in the city. Pericles came fuming to Wilfrid's quarters. Wilfrid gathered from himthat Sarpo's general confession had been retracted: it was too foolishto snare the credulity of Austrian officials. Sarpo stated that he hadfabricated the story of a plot, in order to escape the persecutions of aterrible man, and find safety in prison lodgings vender Government. Theshort confinement for a civic offence was not his idea of safety; hedesired to be sheltered by Austrian soldiers and a fortress, and saidthat his torments were insupportable while Barto Rizzo was at large. This infamous Republican had latterly been living in his house, eatinghis bread, and threatening death to him unless he obeyed every command. Sarpo had undertaken his last mission for the purpose of supplying hislack of resolution to release himself from his horrible servitude by anyother means; not from personal animosity toward the Countess AlessandraAmmiani, known as la Vittoria. When seized, fear had urged him toescape. Such was his second story. The points seemed irreconcilableto those who were not in the habit of taking human nature into theircalculations of a possible course of conduct; even Wilfrid, though hewas aware that Barto Rizzo hated Vittoria inveterately, imagined Sarpo'sfirst lie to have necessarily fathered a second. But the second storywas true: and the something like lover's wrath with which the outrageto Vittoria fired Pericles, prompted him to act on it as truth. Hetold Wilfrid that he should summon Barto Rizzo to his presence. Asthe Government was unable to exhibit so much power, Wilfrid lookedsarcastic; whereupon Pericles threw up his chin crying: "Oh! you shallknow my resources. Now, my friend, one bit of paper, and a messenger, and zen home to my house, to Tokay and cigarettes, and wait to see. "He remarked after pencilling a few lines, "Countess d'Isorella is herenemy? hein!"

"Why, you wouldn't listen to me when I told you, " said Wilfrid. 

"No, " Pericles replied while writing and humming over his pencil; "myear is a pelican-pouch, my friend; it--and Irma is her enemy also?--ittakes and keeps, but does not swallow till it wants. I shall hear you, and I shall hear my Sandra Vittoria, and I shall not know you havespoken, when by-and-by I tinkle, tinkle, a bell of my brain, and yourword walks in, --'quite well?'--'very well! '--sit down'--'if it isze same to you, I prefer to stand'--'good; zen I examine you. 'My motto:--'Time opens ze gates: my system: 'it is your doctor ofregiment's system when your twelve, fifteen, forty recruits strip tohim:--'Ah! you, my man, have varicose vein: no soldier in our regiment, you!' So on. Perhaps I am not intelligible; but, hear zis. I speak notoften of my money; but I say--it is in your ear--a man of millions, heis a king!" The Greek jumped up and folded a couple of notes. "I willnot have her disturbed. Let her sing now and awhile to Pericles and hispublic: and to ze Londoners, wiz your permission, Count Ammiani, onesaison. I ask no more, and I am satisfied, and I endow your oldestchild, signor Conte--it is said! For its mama was a good girl, a bravegirl; she troubled Pericles, because he is an intellect; but he forgiveswhen he sees sincerity--rare zing! Sincerity and genius: it may be zeyare as man and wife in a bosom. He forgives; it is not onnly voice hecraves, but a soul, and Sandra, your countess, she has a soul--I am nota Turk. I say, it is a woman in whom a girl I did see a soul! A womanwhen she is married, she is part of ze man; but a soul, it is for everalone, apart, confounded wiz nobody! For it I followed Sandra, yourcountess. It was a sublime devotion of a dog. Her voice tsrilled, hersoul possessed me, Your countess is my Sandra still. I shall be pleasedif child-bearing trouble her not more zan a very little; but, enfin! sheis married, and you and I, my friend Wilfrid, we must accept ze decree, and say, no harm to her out of ze way of nature, by Saint Nicolas! orany what saint you choose for your invocation. Come along. And speed myletters by one of your militaires at once off. Are Pericles' millionsgold of bad mint? If so, he is an incapable. He presumes it is not so. Come along; we will drink to her in essence of Tokay. You shall witnesstwo scenes. Away!"

Wilfrid was barely to be roused from his fit of brooding into whichPericles had thrown him. He sent the letters, and begged to be left tosleep. The image of Vittoria seen through this man's mind was new, andbrought a new round of torments. "The devil take you, " he cried whenPericles plucked at his arm, "I've sent the letters; isn't that enough?"He was bitterly jealous of the Greek's philosophic review of theconditions of Vittoria's marriage; for when he had come away from theconcert, not a thought of her being a wife had clouded his resignationto the fact. He went with Pericles, nevertheless, and was compelled toacknowledge the kindling powers of the essence of Tokay. "Where do youget this stuff?" he asked several times. Pericles chattered of England, and Hagar's 'Addio, ' and 'Camilla. ' What cabinet operas would he notgive! What entertainments! Could an emperor offer such festivities tohis subjects? Was a Field Review equal to Vittoria's voice? He stungWilfrid's ears by insisting on the mellowed depth, the soft humanwarmth, which marriage had lent to the voice. At a late hour his valetannounced Countess d'Isorella. "Did I not say so?" cried Pericles, andcorrected himself: "No, I did not say so; it was a surprise to you, myfriend. You shall see; you shall hear. Now you shall see what a friendPericles can be when a person satisfy him. " He pushed Wilfrid into hisdressing-room, and immediately received the countess with an outburstof brutal invectives--pulling her up and down the ranked regiment ofher misdeeds, as it were. She tried dignity, tried anger, she affectedamazement, she petitioned for the heads of his accusations, and, asnothing stopped him, she turned to go. Pericles laughed when shehad left the room. Irma di Karski was announced the next minute, andCountess d'Isorella re-appeared beside her. Irma had a similar greeting. "I am lost, " she exclaimed. "Yes, you are lost, " said Pericles; "a wordfrom me, and the back of the public is humped at you--ha! contessa, you touched Mdlle. Irma's hand? She is to be on her guard, and never tothink she is lost till down she goes? You are a more experienced woman!I tell you I will have no nonsense. I am Countess Alessandra Ammiani'sfriend. You two, you women, are her enemies. I will ruin you both. Youwould prevent her singing in public places--you, Countess d'Isorella, because you do not forgive her marriage to Count Ammiani; you, Irma, to spite her for her voice. You would hiss her out of hearing, you twomiserable creatures. Not another soldo for you! Not one! and to-morrow, countess, I will see my lawyer. Irma, begone, and shriek to yourwardrobe! Countess d'Isorella, I have the extreme honour. "

Wilfrid marvelled to hear this titled and lovely woman speaking almostin tones of humility in reply to such outrageous insolence. She craveda private interview. Irma was temporarily expelled, and then Violettastooped to ask what the Greek's reason for his behaviour could be. Sheadmitted that it was in his power to ruin her, as far as money went. "Perhaps a little farther, " said Pericles; "say two steps. If one ison a precipice, two steps count for something. " But, what had she done?Pericles refused to declare it. This set her guessing with a charmingnaivete. Pericles called Irma back to assist her in the task, andquitted them that they might consult together and hit upon the rightthing. His object was to send his valet for Luigi Saracco. He hadseen that no truth could be extracted from these women, save forcibly. Unaware that he had gone out, Wilfrid listened long enough to hearIrma say, between sobs: "Oh! I shall throw myself upon his mercy. Oh, Countess d'Isorella, why did you lead me to think of vengeance! I amlost! He knows everything. Oh, what is it to me whether she lives withher husband! Let them go on plotting. I am not the Government. I am sureI don't much dislike her. Yes, I hate her, but why should I hurt myself?She will wear those jewels on her forehead; she will wear that necklacewith the big amethysts, and pretend she's humble because she doesn'tcarry earrings, when her ears have never been pierced! I am lost! Yes, you may say, lookup! I am only a poor singer, and he can ruin me. Oh!Countess d'Isorella, oh! what a fearful punishment. If Countess Annashould betray Count Ammiani to-night, nothing, nothing, will save me. I will confess. Let us both be beforehand with her--or you, it does notmatter for a noble lady. "

"Hush!" said Violetta. "What dreadful fool is this I sit with? You mayhave done what you think of doing already. "

She walked to the staircase door, and to that of the suite. Anhonourable sentiment, conjoined to the knowledge that he had heardsufficient, induced Wilfrid to pass on into the sleeping apartment amoment or so before Violetta took this precaution. The potent liquor ofPericles had deprived him of consecutive ideas; he sat nursing a thunderin his head, imagining it to be profound thought, till Pericles flungthe door open. Violetta and Irma had departed. "Behold! I have it; zeaddress of your rogue Barto Rizzo, " said Pericles, in the manner of onewhose triumph is absolutely due to his own shrewdness. "Are two women amatch for me? Now, my friend, you shall see. Barto Rizzo is too cleverfor zis government, which cannot catch him. I catch him, and I teach himhe may touch politics--it is not for him to touch Art. What! to houndmen to interrupt her while she sings in public places? What next! ButI knew my Countess d'Isorella could help me, and so I sent for her toconfront Irma, and dare to say she knew not Barto's dwelling--and why? Iwill tell you a secret. A long-flattered woman, my friend, she has had, you will think, enough of it; no! she is like avarice. If it is worshipof swine, she cannot refuse it. Barto Rizzo worships her; so it is adeduction--she knows his abode--I act upon that, and I arrive at my end. I now send him to ze devil. "

Barto Rizzo, after having evaded the polizia of the city during athree months' steady chase, was effectually captured on the doorstep ofVittoria's house in the Corso Francesco, by gendarmes whom Pericles hadset on his track. A day later Vittoria was stabbed at about the samehour, on the same spot. A woman dealt the blow. Vittoria was returningfrom an afternoon drive with Laura Piaveni and the children. She saw awoman seated on the steps as beggarwomen sit, face in lap. Anxious toshield her from the lacquey, she sent the two little ones up to her withsmall bits of money. But, as the woman would not lift her head, she andLaura prepared to pass her, Laura coming last. The blow, like all suchunexpected incidents, had the effect of lightning on those present;the woman might have escaped, but after she had struck she sat downimpassive as a cat by the hearth, with a round-eyed stare. 

The news that Vittoria had been assassinated traversed the city. Carlowas in Turin, Merthyr in Rome. Pericles was one of the first who reachedthe house; he was coming out when Wilfrid and the Duchess of Graatlidrove up; and he accused the Countess d'Isorella flatly of havinginstigated the murder. He was frantic. They supposed that she must havesuccumbed to the wound. The duchess sent for Laura. There was a pressof carriages and soft-humming people in the street; many women andmen sobbing. Wilfrid had to wait an hour for the duchess, who broughtcomfort when she came. Her first words were reassuring. "Ah!" she said, "did I not do well to make you drive here with me instead of with Lena?Those eyes of yours would be unpardonable to her. Yes, indeed; though acorpse were lying in this house; but Countess Alessandra is safe. I haveseen her. I have held her hand. "

Wilfrid kissed the duchess's hand passionately. 

What she had said of Lena was true: Lena could only be generous upon theafter-thought; and when the duchess drove Wilfrid back to her, he hadto submit to hear scorn: and indignation against all Italians, whowere denounced as cut-throats, and worse and worse and worse, malesand females alike. This way grounded on her sympathy for Vittoria. ButWilfrid now felt toward the Italians through his remembrance of thatdevoted soul's love of them, and with one direct look he bade hisbetrothed good-bye, and they parted. 

It was in the early days of March that Merthyr, then among theRepublicans of Rome, heard from Laura Piaveni. Two letters reached him, one telling of the attempted assassination, and a second explainingcircumstances connected with it. The first summoned him to Milan; theother left it to his option to make the journey. He started, carryingkind messages from the Chief to Vittoria, and from Luciano Ramara theoffer of a renewal of old friendship to Count Ammiani. His politicalobject was to persuade the Lombard youth to turn their whole strengthupon Rome. The desire of his heart was again to see her, who had been sonearly lost to all eyes for ever. 

Laura's first letter stated brief facts. "She was stabbed thisafternoon, at half-past two, on the steps of her house, by a womancalled the wife of Barto Rizzo. She caught her hands up under her throatwhen she saw the dagger. Her right arm was penetrated just above thewrist, and half-an-inch in the left breast, close to the centre bone. She behaved firmly. The assassin only struck once. No visible danger;but you should come, if you have no serious work. "

"Happily, " ran the subsequent letter, of two days' later date, "theassassin was a woman, and one effort exhausts a woman; she struckonly once, and became idiotic. Sandra has no fever. She had her witsready--where were mine?--when she received the wound. While I had her inmy arms, she gave orders that the woman should be driven out of the cityin her carriage. The Greek, her mad musical adorer, accuses Countessd'Isorella. Carlo has seen this person--returns convinced of herinnocence. That is not an accepted proof; but we have one. It seems thatRizzo (Sandra was secret about it and about one or two other things)sent to her commanding her to appoint an hour detestable style! I cansee it now; I fear these conspiracies no longer:--she did appoint anhour; and was awaiting him when the gendarmes sprang on the man at herdoor. 

"He had evaded them several weeks, so we are to fancy that his wifecharged Countess Alessandra with the betrayal. This appears a reasonableand simple way of accounting for the deed. So I only partly give creditto it. But it may be true. 

"The wound has not produced a shock to her system--very, veryfortunately. On the whole, a better thing could not have happened. Should I be more explicit? Yes, to you; for you are not of those who seetoo much in what is barely said. The wound, then, my dear good friend, has healed another wound, of which I knew nothing. Bergamasc andBrescian friends of her husband's, have imagined that she interrupted ordiverted his studies. He also discovered that she had an opinion of herown, and sometimes he consulted it; but alas! they are lovers, and heknew not when love listened, or she when love spoke; and there was gravebusiness to be done meanwhile. Can you kindly allow that the case wasopen to a little confusion? I know that you will. He had to hear manyviolent reproaches from his fellow-students. These have ceased. I sendthis letter on the chance of the first being lost on the road; and itwill supplement the first pleasantly to you in any event. She lies herein the room where I write, propped on high pillows, the right arm boundup, and says: 'Tell Merthyr I prayed to be in Rome with my husband, and him, and the Chief. Tell him I love my friend. Tell him I think hedeserves to be in Rome. Tell him--' Enter Countess Ammiani to reproveher for endangering the hopes of the house by fatiguing herself. Sandrasends a blush at me, and I smile, and the countess kisses her. I sendyou a literal transcript of one short scene, so that you may feel athome with us. 

"There is a place called Venice, and there is a place called Rome, andboth places are pretty places and famous places; and there is a thingcalled the fashion; and these pretty places and famous places set thefashion: and there is a place called Milan, and a place called Bergamo, and a place called Brescia, and they all want to follow the fashion, forthey are giddy-pated baggages. What is the fashion, mama? The fashion, my dear, is &c. &c. &c. :--Extract of lecture to my little daughter, Amalia, who says she forgets you; but Giacomo sends his manly love. Oh, good God! should I have blood in my lips when I kissed him, if I knewthat he was old enough to go out with a sword in his hand a week hence?I seem every day to be growing more and more all mother. This month infront of us is full of thunder. Addio!"

When Merthyr stood in sight of Milan an army was issuing from the gates. 

CHAPTER XLI

THE INTERVIEW

Merthyr saw Laura first. He thought that Vittoria must be lying on hercouch: but Laura simply figured her arm in a sling, and signified, morethan said, that Vittoria was well and taking the air. She then beggedhungrily for news of Rome, and again of Rome, and sat with her handsclasped in her lap to listen. She mentioned Venice in a short breath ofpraise, as if her spirit could not repose there. Rome, its hospitals, its municipal arrangements, the names of the triumvirs, the prospects ofthe city, the edicts, the aspects of the streets, the popularity ofthe Government, the number of volunteers ranked under the magicalRepublic--of these things Merthyr talked, at her continual instigation, till, stopping abruptly, he asked her if she wished to divert him fromany painful subject. "No, no!" she cried, "it's only that I want to feelan anchor. We are all adrift. Sandra is in perfect health. Our bodies, dear Merthyr, are enjoying the perfection of comfort. Nothing is donehere except to keep us from boiling over. "

"Why does not Count Ammiani come to Rome?" said Merthyr. 

"Why are we not all in Rome? Yes, why! why! We should make a carnival ofour own if we were. "

"She would have escaped that horrible knife, " Merthyr sighed. 

"Yes, she would have escaped that horrible knife. But see the differencebetween Milan and Rome, my friend! It was a blessed knife here. It hasgiven her husband back to her; it has destroyed the intrigues againsther. It seems to have been sent--I was kneeling in the cathedral thismorning, and had the very image crossing my eyes--from the saints ofheaven to cut the black knot. Perhaps it may be the means of sending usto Rome. "

Laura paused, and, looking at him, said, "It is so utterly impossiblefor us women to comprehend love without folly in a man; the trait bywhich we recognize it! Merthyr, you dear Englishman, you shall knoweverything. Do we not think a tisane a weak washy drink, when we arestrong? But we learn, when we lie with our chins up, and our ten toeslike stopped organ-pipes--as Sandra says--we learn then that it meansfresh health and activity, and is better than rivers of your fierywines. You love her, do you not?"

The question came with great simplicity. 

"If I can give a proof of it, I am ready to answer, " said Merthyr, insome surprise. 

"Your whole life is the proof of it. The women of your country areintolerable to me, Merthyr: but I do see the worth of the men. Sandrahas taught me. She can think of you, talk of you, kiss the vision ofyou, and still be a faithful woman in our bondage of flesh; and to usyou know what a bondage it is: How can that be? I should have asked, ifI had not seen it. Dearest, she loves her husband, and she loves you. She has two husbands, and she turns to the husband of her spirit whenthat, or any, dagger strikes her bosom. Carlo has an unripe mind. Theyhave been married but a little more than four months; and he reveresher and loves her. ".... Laura's voice dragged. "Multiply the months bythousands, we shall not make those two lives one. It is the curse ofman's education in Italy? He can see that she has wits and courage. Hewill not consent to make use of them. You know her: she is not one totalk of these things. She, who has both heart and judgement--she ismerely a little boat tied to a big ship. Such is their marriage. Shecannot influence him. She is not allowed to advise him. And she is theone who should lead the way. And--if she did, we should now be withinsight of the City. "

Laura took his hand. She found it moist, though his face was calm andhis chest heaved regularly. An impish form of the pity women feel for usat times moved her to say, "Your skin is as bronzed as it was lastyear. Sandra spoke of it. She compared it to a young vine-leaf. I wonderwhether girls have really an admonition of what is good for them whilethey are going their ways like destined machines?"

"Almost all men are of flesh and blood, " said Merthyr softly. 

"I spoke of girls. "

"I speak of men. "

"Blunt--witted that I am! Of course you did. But do not imagine that sheis not happy with her husband. They are united firmly. "

"The better for her, and him, and me, " said Merthyr. 

Laura twisted an end of her scarf with fretful fingers. "Carlo Alberthas crossed the Ticino?"

"Is about to do so, " Merthyr rejoined. 

"Will Rome hold on if he is defeated?"

"Rome has nothing to fear on that side. "

"But you do not speak hopefully of Rome. "

"I suppose I am thinking of other matters. "

"You confess it!"

The random conversation wearied him. His foot tapped the floor. 

"Why do you say that?" he asked. 

"Verily, for no other reason than that I have a wicked curiosity, andthat you come from Rome, " said Laura, now perfectly frank, and believingthat she had explained her enigmatical talk, if she had not furnished anexcuse for it. Merthyr came from the City which was now encircled byan irradiating halo in her imagination, and a fit of spontaneousinexplicable feminine tenderness being upon her at the moment of theirmeeting, she found herself on a sudden prompted to touch and probe andbrood voluptuously over an unfortunate lover's feelings, supposing thatthey existed. For the glory of Rome was on him, and she was at the sametime angry with Carlo Ammiani. It was the form of passion her dedicatedwidowhood could still be subject to in its youth; the sole one. By thischance Merthyr learnt what nothing else would have told him. 

Her tale of the attempted assassination was related with palpableindifference. She stated the facts. "The woman seemed to gasp whileshe had her hand up; she struck with no force; and she has since beeninanimate, I hear. The doctor says that a spasm of the heart seized herwhen she was about to strike. It has been shaken--I am not sure that hedoes not say displaced, or unseated--by some one of her black tempers. She shot Rinaldo Guidascarpi dead. Perhaps it was that. I am informedthat she worshipped the poor boy, and has been like a trapped she-wolfsince she did it. In some way she associated our darling with Rinaldo'sdeath, like the brute she is. The ostensible ground for her futilebit of devilishness was that she fancied Sandra to have betrayed BartoRizzo, her husband, into the hands of the polizia. He wrote to theCountess Alessandra--such a letter!--a curiosity!--he must see her andcross-examine her to satisfy himself that she was a true patriot, &c. You know the style: we neither of us like it. Sandra was waiting toreceive him when they pounced on him by the door. Next day the womanstruck at her. Decidedly a handsome woman. She is the exact contrastto the Countess Violetta in face, in everything. Heart-disease willcertainly never affect that pretty spy! But, mark, " pursuedLaura, warming, "when Carlo arrived, tears, penitence, heaps ofself-accusations: he had been unkind to her even on Lake Orta, wherethey passed their golden month; he had neglected her at Turin; he hadspoken angry words in Milan; in fact, he had misused his treasure, andbegged pardon;--'If you please, my poor bleeding angel, I am sorry. Butdo not, I entreat, distract me with petitions of any sort, though I willperform anything earthly to satisfy you. Be a good little boat in thewake of the big ship. I will look over at you, and chirrup now andthen to you, my dearest, when I am not engaged in pilotingextraordinary. '--Very well; I do not mean to sneer at the unhappy boy, Merthyr; I love him; he was my husband's brother in arms; the sweetestlad ever seen. He is in the season of faults. He must command; he mustbe a chief; he fancies he can intrigue poor thing! It will pass. And sowill the hour to be forward to Rome. But I call your attention to this:when he heard of the dagger--I have it from Colonel Corte, who was withhim at the time in Turin--he cried out Violetta d'Isorella's name. Why? After he had buried his head an hour on Sandra's pillow, he wentstraight to Countess d'Isorella, and was absent till night. The woman ishideous to me. No; don't conceive that I think her Sandra's rival. Sheis too jealous. She has him in some web. If she has not ruined him, shewill. She was under my eyes the night she heard of his marriage: I sawhow she will look at seventy! Here is Carlo at the head of a plot shehas prepared for him; and he has Angelo Guidascarpi, and Ugo Corte, Marco Sana, Giulio Bandinelli, and about fifty others. They have allbeen kept away from Rome by that detestable -----, you object to hearbad names cast on women, Merthyr. Hear Agostino! The poor old man comesdaily to this house to persuade Carlo to lead his band to Rome. It isso clearly Rome--Rome, where all his comrades are; where the chief standmust be made by the side of Italy's Chief. Worst sign of all, it hasbeen hinted semi-officially to Carlo that he may upon applicationbe permitted to re-issue his journal. Does not that show that theGovernment wishes to blindfold him, and keep him here, and knows hisplans?"

Laura started up as the door opened, and Vittoria appeared leaning uponCarlo's arm. Countess Ammiani, Countess d'Isorella, and Pericles werebehind them. Laura's children followed. 

When Merthyr rose, Vittoria was smiling in Carlo's face at somethingthat had been spoken. She was pale, and her arm was in a sling, butthere was no appearance of her being unnerved. Merthyr waited for herrecognition of him. She turned her eyes from Carlo slowly. The softdull smile in them died out as it were with a throb, and then her headdrooped on one shoulder, and she sank to the floor. 

CHAPTER XLII

THE SHADOW ON CONSPIRACY

Merthyr left the house at Laura's whispered suggestion. He was agitatedbeyond control, for Vittoria had fallen with her eyes fixed on him; andat times the picture of his beloved, her husband, and Countess Ammiani, and the children bending over her still body, swam before him like adark altar-piece floating in incense, so lost was he to the reality ofthat scene. He did not hear Beppo, his old servant, at his heels. Aftera while he walked calmly, and Beppo came up beside him. Merthyr shookhis hand. 

"Ah, signor Mertyrio! ah, padrone!" said Beppo. 

Merthyr directed his observation to a regiment of Austrians marchingdown the Corso Venezia to the Ticinese gate. 

"Yes, they are ready enough for us, " Beppo remarked. "Perhaps CarloAlberto will beat them this time. If he does, viva to him! If they beathim, down goes another Venetian pyramid. The Countess Alessandra--"Beppo's speech failed. 

"What of your mistress?" said Merthyr. 

"When she dies, my dear master, there's no one for me but the Madonna toserve. "

"Why should she die, silly fellow?"

"Because she never cries. "

Merthyr was on the point of saying, "Why should she cry?" His heart wastoo full, and he shrank from inquisitive shadows of the thing known tohim. 

"Sit down at this caffe with me, " he said. "It's fine weather for March. The troops will camp comfortably. Those Hungarians never require tents. Did you see much sacking of villages last year?"

"Padrone, the Imperial command is always to spare the villages. "

"That's humane. "

"Padrone, yes; if policy is humanity. "

"It's humanity not carried quite as far as we should wish it. "

Beppo shrugged and said: "It won't leave much upon the conscience if wekill them. "

"Do you expect a rising?" said Merthyr. 

"If the Ticino overflows, it will flood Milan, " was the answer. 

"And your occupation now is to watch the height of the water?"

"My occupation, padrone? I am not on the watch-tower. " Beppo winked, adding: "I have my occupation. " He threw off the effort or pretence tobe discreet. "Master of my soul! this is my occupation. I drink coffee, but I do not smoke, because I have to kiss a pretty girl, who means toobject to the smell of the smoke. Via! I know her! At five she draws meinto the house. "

"Are you relating your amours to me, rascal?" Merthyr interposed. 

"Padrone, at five precisely she draws me into the house. She is a Germangirl. Pardon me if I make no war on women. Her name is Aennchen, whichone is able to say if one grimaces;--why not? It makes her laugh; andGerman girls are amiable when one can make them laugh. 'Tis so that theybegin to melt. Behold the difference of races! I must kiss her to melther, and then have a quarrel. I could have it after the first, or thefiftieth with an Italian girl; but my task will be excessively difficultwith a German girl, if I am compelled to allow myself to favour her withone happy solicitation for a kiss, to commence with. We shall see. Itis, as my abstention from tobacco declares, an anticipated catastrophe. "

"Long-worded, long-winded, obscure, affirmatizing by negatives, confessing by implication!--where's the beginning and end of you, andwhat's your meaning?" said Merthyr, who talked to him as one may talk toan Italian servant. 

"The contessa, my mistress, has enemies. Padrone, I devote myself to herservice. "

"By making love to a lady's maid?"

"Padrone, a rat is not born to find his way up the grand staircase. Shehas enemies. One of them was the sublime Barto Rizzo--admirable--thoughI must hate him. He said to his wife: 'If a thing happens to me, stab tothe heart the Countess Alessandra Ammiani. '"

"Inform me how you know that?" said Merthyr. 

Beppo pointed to his head, and Merthyr smiled. To imagine, invent, andbelieve, were spontaneous with Beppo when has practical sagacity was noton the stretch. He glanced at the caffe clock. 

"Padrone, at eleven to-night shall I see you here? At eleven I shallcome like a charged cannon. I have business. I have seen my mistress'sblood! I will tell you: this German girl lets me know that some onedetests my mistress. Who? I am off to discover. But who is the damnedcreature? I must coo and kiss, while my toes are dancing on hot plates, to find her out. Who is she? If she were half Milan... "

His hands waved in outline the remainder of the speech, and he rose, butsat again. He had caught sight of the spy, Luigi Saracco, addressing thesignor Antonio-Pericles in his carriage. Pericles drove on. The horsespresently turned, and he saluted Merthyr. 

"She has but one friend in Milan: it is myself, " was his introductoryremark. "My poor child! my dear Powys, she is the best--'I cannot singto you to-day, dear Pericles'--she said that after she had opened hereyes; after the first mist, you know. She is the best child upon earth. I could wish she were a devil, my Powys. Such a voice should be in aniron body. But she has immense health. The doctor, who is also mine, feels her pulse. He assures me it goes as Time himself, and Time, myfriend, you know, has the intention of going a great way. She is good:she is too good. She makes a baby of Pericles, to whom what is woman?Have I not the sex in my pocket? Her husband, he is a fool, ser. "Pericles broke thundering into a sentence of English, fell in love withit, and resumed in the same tongue: "I--it is I zat am her guard, hersafety. Her husband--oh! she must marry a young man, little donkey zatshe is! We accept it as a destiny, my Powys. And he plays false to her. Good; I do not object. But, imagine in your own mind, my Powys--insteadof passion, of rage, of tempest, she is frozen wiz a repose. Do you, hein? sink it will come out, "--Pericles eyed Merthyr with a subtlesmile askew, --"I have sot so;--it will come out when she is one day ina terrible scene ... Mon Dieu! it was a terrible scene for me when Ilooked on ze clout zat washed ze blood of ze terrible assassination. Sogoes out a voice, possibly! Divine, you say? We are a machine. Now, you behold, she has faints. It may happen at my concert where she singsto-morrow night. You saw me in my carriage speaking to a man. He is myspy--my dog wiz a nose. I have set him upon a woman. If zat woman has aplot for to-morrow night to spoil my concert, she shall not knowwhere she shall wake to-morrow morning after. Ha! here is militarymusic--twenty sossand doors jam on horrid hinge; and right, left, right, left, to it, confound! like dolls all wiz one face. Look atyour soldiers, Powys. Put zem on a stage, and you see all backgroundpeople--a bawling chorus. It shows to you how superior it is--a stageto life! Hark to such music! I cannot stand it; I am driven away; I amviolent; I rage. "

Pericles howled the name of his place of residence, with an offer oflodgings in it, and was carried off writhing his body as he passed afine military marching band. 

The figure of old Agostino Balderini stood in front of Merthyr. They exchanged greetings. At the mention of Rome, Agostino frownedimpatiently. He spoke of Vittoria in two or three short exclamations, and was about to speak of Carlo, but checked his tongue. "Judge foryourself. Come, and see, and approve, if you can. Will you come? There'sa meeting; there's to be a resolution. Question--Shall we second theKing of Sardinia, Piedmont, and Savoy? If so, let us set this pumpkin, called Milan, on its legs. I shall be an attentive listener like you, myfriend. I speak no more. "

Merthyr went with him to the house of a carpenter, where in one of theuppermost chambers communicating with the roof, Ugo Corte, Marco Sana, Giulio Bandinelli, and others, sat waiting for the arrival of CarloAmmiani; when he came Carlo had to bear with the looks of mastiffs forbeing late. He shook Merthyr's hand hurriedly, and as soon as the doorwas fastened, began to speak. His first sentence brought a grunt ofderision from Ugo Corte. It declared that there was no hope of a risingin Milan. Carlo swung round upon the Bergamasc. "Observe our leader, "Agostino whispered to Merthyr; "it would be kindness to give him aduel. " More than one tumult of outcries had to be stilled before Merthyrgathered any notion of the designs of the persons present. Bergamascsneered at Brescian, and both united in contempt of the Milanese, who, having a burden on their minds, appealed at once to their individualwillingness to use the sword in vindication of Milan against itstraducers. By a great effort, Carlo got some self-mastery. He admitted, colouring horribly, that Brescia and Bergamo were ready, and Milan wasnot; therefore those noble cities (he read excerpts from letters showingtheir readiness) were to take the lead, and thither on the morrow-nighthe would go, let the tidings from the king's army be what they might. 

Merthyr quitted the place rather impressed by his eloquence, butunfavourably by his feverish look. Countess d'Isorella had been referredto as one who served the cause ably and faithfully. In alluding toher, Carlo bit his lip; he did not proceed until surrounding murmurs ofsatisfaction encouraged him to continue a sort of formal eulogy of thelady, which proved to be a defence against foregone charges, for Corteretracted an accusation, and said that he had no fault to find with thecountess. A proposal to join the enterprise was put to Merthyr, but hisengagement with the Chief in Rome saved him from hearing much of themarvellous facilities of the plot. "I should have wished to see youto-night, " Carlo said as they were parting. Merthyr named his hotel. Carlo nodded. "My wife is still slightly feeble, " he said. 

"I regret it, " Merthyr rejoined. 

"She is not ill. "

"No, it cannot be want of courage, " Merthyr spoke at random. 

"Yes, that's true, " said Carlo, as vacantly. "You will see her while Iam travelling. "

"I hope to find the Countess Alessandra well enough to receive me. "

"Always; always, " said Carlo, wishing apparently to say more. Merthyrwaited an instant, but Carlo broke into a conventional smile of adieu. 

"While he is travelling, " Merthyr repeated to Agostino, who had stood byduring the brief dialogue, and led the way to the Corso. 

"He did not say how far!" was the old man's ejaculation. 

"But, good heaven! if you think he's on an unfortunate errand, why don'tyou stop him, advise him?" Merthyr broke out. 

"Advise him! stop him! my friend. I would advise him, if I had thepatience of angels; stop him, if I had the power of Lucifer. Did you notsee that he shunned speaking to me? I have been such a perpetual dish ofvinegar under his nose for the last month, that the poor fellow sniffswhen I draw near. He must go his way. He leads a torrent that must sweephim on. Corte, Sana, and the rest would be in Rome now, but for him. Soshould I. Your Agostino, however, is not of Bergamo, or of Brescia; heis not a madman; simply a poor rheumatic Piedmontese, who discerns thepoint where a united Italy may fix its standard. I would start for Rometo-morrow, if I could leave her--my soul's child!" Agostino raised hishand: "I do love the woman, Countess Alessandra Ammiani. I say, she is apeerless woman. Is she not?"

"There is none like her, " said Merthyr. 

"A peerless woman, recognized and sacrificed! I cannot leave her. If theGovernment here would lay hands on Carlo and do their worst at once, Iwould be off. They are too wary. I believe that they are luring him tohis ruin. I can give no proofs, but I judge by the best evidence. Whatavails my telling him? I lose my temper the moment I begin to speak. Acurst witch beguiles the handsome idiot--poor darling lad that he is!She has him--can I tell you how? She has got him--got him fast!--Thenature of the chains are doubtless innocent, if those which a womanthrows round us be ever distinguishable. He loves his wife--he is not amonster. "

"He appears desperately feverish, " said Merthyr. 

"Did you not notice it? Yes, like a man pushed by his destiny out of thepath. He is ashamed to hesitate; he cannot turn back. Ahead of him hesees a gulf. That army of Carlo Alberto may do something under its Pole. Prophecy is too easy. I say no more. We may have Lombardy open; and ifso, my poor boy's vanity will be crowned: he will only have the king andhis army against him then. "

Discoursing in this wise, they reached the caffe where Beppo hadappointed to meet his old master, and sat amid here and there awhitecoat, and many nods and whispers over such news as the privilegedjournals and the official gazette afforded. 

Beppo's destination was to the Duchess of Graatli's palace. Nearing it, he perceived Luigi endeavouring to gain a passage beside the burly formof Jacob Baumwalder Feckelwitz, who presently seized him and hurled himinto the road. As Beppo was sidling up the courtway, Jacob sprang back;Luigi made a rush; Jacob caught them both, but they wriggled out of hisclutch, and Luigi, being the fearfuller, ran the farthest. While he wasout of hearing, Beppo told Jacob to keep watch upon Luigi, as the bearerof an amorous letter from a signor of quality to Aennchen, the which hehimself desired to obtain sight of; "for the wench has caused methree sleepless nights, " he confessed frankly. Jacob affected not tounderstand. Luigi and Beppo now leaned against the wall on either sideof him and baited him till he shook with rage. 

"He is the lord of the duchess, his mistress--what a lucky fellow!"said Luigi. "When he's dog at the gates no one can approach her. When heisn't, you can fancy what!"--"He's only a mechanical contrivance; he'snot a man, " said Beppo. "He's the principal flea-catcher of the palace, "said Luigi--"here he is all day, and at night the devil knows where hehunts. "--Luigi hopped in a half-circle round the exacerbated Jacob, andfinally provoked an assault that gave an opening to Beppo. They allran in, Luigi last. Jacob chased Beppo up the stairs, lost him, andremembered what he had said of the letter borne by Luigi, for whomhe determined to lie in waiting. "Better two in there than one, " hethought. The two courted his Aennchen openly; but Luigi, as the bearerof an amorous letter from the signor of quality, who could be no otherthan signor Antonio-Pericles, was the one to be intercepted. Like otherjealous lovers, Jacob wanted to read Aennchen's answer, to be cured ofhis fatal passion for the maiden, and on this he set the entire force ofhis mind. 

Running up by different staircases, Beppo and Luigi came upon Aennchennearly at the same time. She turned a cold face on Beppo, and requestedLuigi to follow her. Astonished to see him in such favour, Beppo wasready to provoke the quarrel before the kiss when she returned; butshe said that she had obeyed her mistress's orders, and was obeying theduchess in refusing to speak of them, or of anything relating to them. She had promised him an interview in that little room leading into theduchess's boudoir. He pressed her to conduct him. "Ah; then it's not forme you come, " she said. Beppo had calculated that the kiss would openhis way to the room, and the quarrel disembarrass him of his prettycompanion when there. "You have come to listen to conversation again, "said Aennchen. "Ach! the fool a woman is to think that you Italians haveany idea except self-interest when you, when you... Talk nonsense tous. Go away, if you please. Good-evening. " She dropped a curtsey with asurly coquetry, charming of its kind. Beppo protested that the roomwas dear to him because there first he had known for one blissfulhalf-second the sweetness of her mouth. 

"Who told you that persons who don't like your mistress are going totalk in there?" said Aennchen. 

"You, " said Beppo. 

Aennchen drew up in triumph: "And now will you pretend that you didn'tcome up here to go in there to listen to what they say?"

Beppo clapped hands at her cleverness in trapping him. "Hush, " said allher limbs and features, belying the previous formal "good-evening. "He refused to be silent, thinking it a way of getting to the littleantechamber. "Then, I tell you, downstairs you go, " said Aennchenstiffly. 

"Is it decided?" Beppo asked. "Then, good-evening. You detestableGerman girls can't love. One step--a smile: another step--a kiss. Youtit-for-tat minx! Have you no notion of the sacredness of the sentimentswhich inspires me to petition that the place for our interview should bethere where I tasted ecstatic joy for the space of a flash of lightning?I will go; but it is there that I will go, and I will await you there, signorina Aennchen. Yes, laugh at me! laugh at me!"

"No; really, I don't laugh at you, signor Beppo, " said Aennchen, protesting in denial of what she was doing. "This way. "

"No, it's that way, " said Beppo. 

"It's through here. " She opened a door. "The duchess has a receptionto-night, and you can't go round. Ach! you would not betray me?"

"Not if it were the duchess herself, " said Beppo; "he would refuse tosatisfy man's natural vanity, in such a case. "

Eager to advance to the little antechamber, he allowed Aennchen to waitbehind him. He heard the door shut and a lock turn, and he was in thedark, and alone, left to take counsel of his fingers' ends. 

"She was born to it, " Beppo remarked, to extenuate his outwittedcunning, when he found each door of the room fast against him. 

On the following night Vittoria was to sing at a concert in the Duchessof Graatli's great saloon, and the duchess had humoured Pericles byconsenting to his preposterous request that his spy should have anopportunity of hearing Countess d'Isorella and Irma di Karski in privateconversation together, to discover whether there was any plot of anysort to vex the evening's entertainment; as the jealous spite of thosetwo women, Pericles said, was equal to any devilry on earth. It happenedthat Countess d'Isorella did not come. Luigi, in despair, --was thehearer of a quick question and answer dialogue, in the obscure Germantongue, between Anna von Lenkenstein and Irma di Karski; but a happypeep between the hanging curtains gave him sight of a letter passingfrom Anna's hands to Irma's. Anna quitted her. Irma, was looking at thesuperscription of the letter, an the act of passing in her steps, whenLuigi tore the curtains apart, and sprang on her arm like a cat. Beforeher shrieks could bring succour, Luigi was bounding across the courtwith the letter in his possession. A dreadful hug awaited him; hispockets were ransacked, and he was pitched aching into the street. JacobBaumwalder Feckelwitz went straightway under a gas-lamp, where he readthe address of the letter to Countess d'Isorella. He doubted; he hada half-desire to tear the letter open. But a rumour of the attack uponIrma had spread among the domestics and Jacob prudently went up to hismistress. The duchess was sitting with Laura. She received the letter, eyed: it all over, and held it to a candle. 

Laura's head was bent in dark meditation. The sudden increase of lightaroused her, and she asked, "What is that?"

"A letter from Countess Anna to Countess d'Isorella, " said the duchess. 

"Burnt!" Laura screamed. 

"It's only fair, " the duchess remarked. 

"From her to that woman! It may be priceless. Stop! Let me see whatremains. Amalia! are you mad? Oh! you false friend. I would havesacrificed my right hand to see it. "

"Try and love me still, " said the duchess, letting her take one unburntcorner, and crumble the black tissuey fragments to smut in her hands. 

There was no writing; the unburnt corner of the letter was a blank. 

Laura fooled the wretched ashes between her palms. "Good-night, " shesaid. "Your face will be of this colour to me, my dear, for long. "

"I cannot behave disgracefully, even to keep your love, my beloved, "said the duchess. 

"You cannot betray a German, you mean, " Laura retorted. "You could let aspy into the house. "

"That was a childish matter--merely to satisfy a whim. "

"I say you could let a spy into the house. Who is to know where thescruples of you women begin? I would have given my jewels, my head, myhusband's sword, for a sight of that letter. I swear that it concernsus. Yes, us. You are a false friend. Fish-blooded creature! may it be ayear before I look on you again. Hide among your miserable set!"

"Judge me when you are cooler, dearest, " said the duchess, seeking todetain the impetuous sister of her affection by the sweeping skirts; butLaura spurned her touch, and went from her. 

Irma drove to Countess d'Isorella's. Violetta was abed, and lay fairand placid as a Titian Venus, while Irma sputtered out her tale, withintermittent sobs. She rose upon her elbow, and planting it in herpillow, took half-a-dozen puffs of a cigarette, and then requested Irmato ring for her maid. "Do nothing till you see me again, " she said;"and take my advice: always get to bed before midnight, or you'll haveunmanageable wrinkles in a couple of years. If you had been in bed at aprudent hour to-night, this scandal would not have occurred. "

"How can I be in bed? How could I help it?" moaned Irma, replying to theabstract rule, and the perplexing illustration of its force. 

Violetta dismissed her. "After all, my wish is to save my poorAmaranto, " she mused. "I am only doing now what I should have been doingin the daylight; and if I can't stop him, the Government must; and theywill. Whatever the letter contained, I can anticipate it. He knows myprofession and my necessities. I must have money. Why not from the richGerman woman whom he jilted?"

She attributed Anna's apparent passion of revenge to a secret passion ofunrequited love. What else was implied by her willingness to part withland and money for the key to his machinations?

Violetta would have understood a revenge directed against AngeloGuidascarpi, as the slayer of Anna's brother. But of him Anna had onlyinquired once, and carelessly, whether he was in Milan. Anna's mysticalsemi-patriotism--prompted by her hatred of Vittoria, hatred of Carlo asAngelo's cousin and protector, hatred of the Italy which held the three, who never took the name Tedesco on their tongues without loathing--wasperfectly hidden from this shrewd head. 

Some extra patrols were in the streets. As she stepped into thecarriage, a man rushed up, speaking hoarsely and inarticulately, andjumped in beside her. She had discerned Barto Rizzo in time to givedirections to her footman, before she was addressed by a body ofgendarmes in pursuit, whom she mystified by entreating them to enterher house and search it through, if they supposed that any evil-doerhad taken advantage of the open door. They informed her that a man hadescaped from the civil prison. "Poor creature!" said the countess, withwomanly pity; "but you must see that he is not in my house. How couldthree of you let one escape?" She drove off laughing at their vehementassertion that he would not have escaped from them. Barto Rizzo made herconduct him to Countess Ammiani's gates. 

Violetta was frightened by his eyes when she tried to persuade him inher best coaxing manner to avoid Count Ammiani. In fact she apprehendedthat he would be very much in her way. She had no time for chagrin ather loss of power over him, though she was sensible of vexation. Bartofolded his arms and sat with his head in his chest, silent, till theyreached the' gates, when he said in French, "Madame, I am a namelessperson in your train. Gabble!" he added, when the countess advised himnot to enter; nor would he allow her to precede him by more than onestep. Violetta sent up her name. The man had shaken her nerves. "Atleast, remember that your appearance should be decent, " she said, catching sight of blood on his hands, and torn garments. "I expect, madame, " he replied, "I shall not have time to wash before I amlaid out. My time is short. I want tobacco. The washing can be doneby-and-by, but not the smoking. "

They were ushered up to the reception-room, where Countess Ammiani, Vittoria, and Carlo sat, awaiting the visitor whose unexpected name, cast in their midst at so troubled a season, had clothed her with someof the midnight's terrors. 

CHAPTER XLIII

THE LAST MEETING IN MILAN

Barto Rizzo had silence about him without having to ask for it, when hefollowed Violetta into Countess Ammiani's saloon of reception. Carlo wasleaning over his mother's chair, holding Vittoria's wrist across it, and so enclosing her, while both young faces were raised to the bowedforehead of the countess. They stood up. Violetta broke through theformal superlatives of an Italian greeting. "Speak to me alone, " shemurmured for Carlo's ear and glancing at Barto: "Here is a madman; amild one, I trust. " She contrived to show that she was not responsiblefor his intrusion. Countess Ammiani gathered Vittoria in her arms; Carlostepped a pace before them. Terror was on the venerable lady's face, wrath on her son's. As he fronted Barto, he motioned a finger to thecurtain hangings, and Violetta, quick at reading signs, found his baresword there. "But you will not want it, " she remarked, handing the hiltto him, and softly eyeing the impression of her warm touch on the steelas it passed. 

"Carlo, thou son of Paolo! Countess Marcellina, wife of a true patriot!stand aside, both of you. It is between the Countess Alessandra andmyself, " so the man commenced, with his usual pomp of interjection. "Swords and big eyes, --are they things to stop me?" Barto laughedscornfully. He had spoken in the full roll of his voice, and the swordwas hard back for the thrust. 

Vittoria disengaged herself from the countess. "Speak to me, " she said, dismayed by the look of what seemed an exaltation of madness in Barto'svisage, but firm as far as the trembling of her limbs would let her be. 

He dropped to her feet and kissed them. 

"Emilia Alessandra Belloni! Vittoria! Countess Alessandra Ammiani! pityme. Hear this:--I hated you as the devil is hated. Yesterday I wokeup in prison to hear that I must adore you. God of all the pits ofpunishment! was there ever one like this? I had to change heads. "

It was the language of a distorted mind, and lamentable to hear when asob shattered his voice. 

"Am I mad?" he asked piteously, clasping his temples. 

"You are as we are, if you weep, " said Vittoria, to sooth him. 

"Then I have been mad!" he cried, starting. "I knew you a wickedvirgin--signora contessa, confess to me, marriage has changed you. Hasit not changed you? In the name of the Father of the Saints, help me outof it:--my brain reels backwards. You were false, but marriage--It actsin this way with you women; yes, that we know--you were married, and yousaid, 'Now let us be faithful. ' Did you not say that? I am forgiving, though none think it. You have only to confess. If you will not, --oh!"He smote his face, groaning. 

Carlo spoke a stern word in an undertone; counselling him to be gone. 

"If you will not--what was she to do?" Barto cut the question tointerrogate his strayed wits. "Look at me, Countess Alessandra. I was inthe prison. I heard that my Rosellina had a tight heart. She criedfor her master, poor heathen, and I sprang out of the walls to her. There--there--she lay like a breathing board; a woman with a body like acoffin half alive; not an eye to show; nothing but a body and a whisper. She perished righteously, for she disobeyed. She acted without myorders: she dared to think! She will be damned, for she would havevengeance before she went. She glorified you over me--over Barto Rizzo. Oh! she shocked my soul. But she is dead, and I am her slave. Every wordwas of you. Take another head, Barto Rizzo your old one was mad: shesaid that to my soul. She died blessing you above me. I saw the last bitof life go up from her mouth blessing you. It's heard by this time inheaven, and it's written. Then I have had two years of madness. If sheis right, I was wrong; I was a devil of hell. I know there's an eyegiven to dying creatures, and she looked with it, and she said, the soulof Rinaldo Guidascarpi, her angel, was glorifying you; and she thankedthe sticking of her heart, when she tried to stab you, poor fool!"

Carlo interrupted: "Now go; you have said enough. "

"No, let him speak, " said Vittoria. She supposed that Barto was going tosay that he had not given the order for her assassination. "You do notwish me dead, signore?"

"Nothing that is not standing in my way, signora contessa, " said Barto;and his features blazed with a smile of happy self-justification. "Ihave killed a sentinel this night: Providence placed him there. I wishfor no death, but I punish, and--ah! the cursed sight of the woman whocalls me mad for two years. She thrusts a bar of iron in an engine atwork, and says, Work on! work on! Were you not a traitress? CountessAlessandra, were you not once a traitress? Oh! confess it; save my head. Reflect, dear lady! it's cruel to make a man of a saintly sinceritylook back--I count the months--seventeen months! to look back seventeenmonths, and see that his tongue was a clapper, --his will, his eyes, his ears, all about him, everything, stirred like a pot on the fire. Itraced you. I saw your treachery. I said--I, I am her Day of Judgement. She shall look on me and perish, struck down by her own treachery. Were my senses false to me? I had lived in virtuous fidelity tomy principles. None can accuse me. Why were my senses false, if myprinciples were true? I said you were a traitress. I saw it from thefirst. I had the divine contempt for women. My distrust of a woman wasthe eye of this brain, and I said--Follow her, dog her, find her out! Iproved her false; but her devilish cunning deceived every other manin the world. Oh! let me bellow, for it's me she proves the mass ofcorruption! Tomorrow I die, and if I am mad now, what sort of a curse isthat?

"Now to-morrow is an hour--a laugh! But if I've not been shot from atrue bow--if I've been a sham for two years--if my name, and nature, bones, brains, were all false things hunting a shadow, CountessAlessandra, see the misery of Barto Rizzo! Look at those two years, andsay that I had my head. Answer me, as you love your husband: are youheart and soul with him in the fresh fight for Lombardy?" He saidthis with a look penetrating and malignant, and then by a sudden flashpitifully entreating. 

Carlo feared to provoke, revolted from the thought of slaying him. "Yes, yes, " he interposed, "my wife is heart and soul in it. Go. "

Barto looked from him to her with the eyes of a dog that awaits anorder. 

Victoria gathered her strength, and said: "I am not. "

"It is her answer!" Barto roared, and from deep dejection his wholecountenance radiated. "She says it--she might give the lie to a saint! Iwas never mad. I saw the spot, and put my finger on it, and not a madmancan do that. My two years are my own. Mad now, for, see!

"I worship the creature. She is not heart and soul in it. She is not init at all. She is a little woman, a lovely thing, a toy, a cantatrice. Joy to the big heart of Barto Rizzo! I am for Brescia!"

He flung his arm like a banner, and ran out. 

Carlo laid his sword on a table. Vittoria's head was on his mother'sbosom. 

The hour was too full of imminent grief for either of the three toregard this scene as other than a gross intrusion ended. 

"Why did you deny my words?" Carlo said coldly. 

"I could not lie to make him wretched, " she replied in a low murmur. 

"Do you know what that 'I am for Brescia' means? He goes to stir thecity before a soul is ready. "

"I warned you that I should speak the truth of myself to-night, dearest. "

"You should discern between speaking truth to a madman, and to a man. "

Vittoria did not lift her eyes, and Carlo beckoned to Violetta, withwhom he left the room. 

"He is angry, " Countess Ammiani murmured. "My child, you cannotdeal with men in a fever unless you learn to dissemble; and there isexemption for doing it, both in plain sense, and in our religion. If Icould arrest him, I would speak boldly. It is, alas! vain to dream ofthat; and it is therefore an unkindness to cause him irritation. Carlo has given way to you by allowing you to be here when his friendsassemble. He knows your intention to speak. He has done more than wouldhave been permitted by my husband to me, though I too was well-beloved. "

Vittoria continued silent that her head might be cherished where it lay. She was roused from a stupor by hearing new voices. Laura's lips camepressing to her cheek. Colonel Corte, Agostino, Marco Sana, and AngeloGuidascarpi, saluted her. Angelo she kissed. 

"That lady should be abed and asleep, " Corte was heard to say. 

The remark passed without notice. Angelo talked apart with Vittoria. Hehad seen the dying of the woman whose hand had been checked in the actof striking by the very passion of animal hatred which raised it. Hespoke of her affectionately, attesting to the fact that Barto Rizzo hadnot prompted her guilt. Vittoria moaned at a short outline that he gaveof the last minutes between those two, in which her name was dreadfullyand fatally, incomprehensibly prominent. 

All were waiting impatiently for Carlo's return. 

When he appeared he informed his mother that the Countess d'Isorellawould remain in the house that night, and his mother passed out to herabhorred guest, who, for the time at least, could not be doing furthermischief. 

It was a meeting for the final disposition of things before theoutbreak. Carlo had begun to speak when Corte drew his attention to thefact that ladies were present, at which Carlo put out his hand as ifintroducing them, and went on speaking. 

"Your wife is here, " said Corte. 

"My wife and signora Piaveni, " Carlo rejoined. "I have consented to mywife's particular wish to be present. "

"The signora Piaveni's opinions are known: your wife's are not. "

"Countess Alessandra shares mine, " said Laura, rather tremulously. 

Countess Ammiani at the same time returned and took Vittoria's hand andpressed it with force. Carlo looked at them both. 

"I have to ask your excuses, gentlemen. My wife, my mother, and signoraPiaveni, have served the cause we worship sufficiently to claim aright--I am sorry to use such phrases; you understand my meaning. Permitthem to remain. I have to tell you that Barto Rizzo has been here: hehas started for Brescia. I should have had to kill him to stop him--ameasure that I did not undertake. "

"Being your duty!" remarked Corte. 

Agostino corrected him with a sarcasm. 

"I cannot allow the presence of ladies to exclude a comment on manifestindifference, " said Corte. "Pass on to the details, if you have any. "

"The details are these, " Carlo resumed, too proud to show a shadeof self-command; "my cousin Angelo leaves Milan before morning. You, Colonel Corte, will be in Bergamo at noon to-morrow. Marco and Angelowill await my coming in Brescia, where we shall find Giulio and therest. I join them at five on the following afternoon, and my arrivalsignals the revolt. We have decided that the news from the king's armyis good. "

A perceptible shudder in Vittoria's frame at this concluding sentencecaught Corte's eye. 

"Are you dissatisfied with that arrangement?" he addressed her boldly. 

"I am, Colonel Corte, " she replied. So simple was the answering tone ofher voice that Corte had not a word. 

"It is my husband who is going, " Vittoria spoke on steadily; "him I amprepared to sacrifice, as I am myself. If he thinks it right to throwhimself into Brescia, nothing is left for me but to thank him for havingdone me the honour to consult me. His will is firm. I trust to Godthat he is wise. I look on him now as one of many brave men whose livesbelong to Italy, and if they all are misdirected and perish, we have nomore; we are lost. The king is on the Ticino; the Chief is in Rome. Idesire to entreat you to take counsel before you act in anticipation ofthe king's fortune. I see that it is a crushed life in Lombardy. In Romethere is one who can lead and govern. He has suffered and is calm. He calls to you to strengthen his hands. My prayer to you is to takecounsel. I know the hour is late; but it is not too late for wisdom. Forgive me if I am not speaking humbly. Brescia is but Brescia; Romeis Italy. I have understood little of my country until these last days, though I have both talked and sung of her glories. I know that a deepduty binds you to Bergamo and to Brescia--poor Milan we must not thinkof. You are not personally pledged to Rome: yet Rome may have thegreatest claims on you. The heart of our country is beginning to beatthere. Colonel Corte! signor Marco! my Agostino! my cousin Angelo! it isnot a woman asking for the safety of her husband, but one of the bloodof Italy who begs to offer you her voice, without seeking to disturbyour judgement. "

She ceased. 

"Without seeking to disturb their judgement!" cried Laura. "Why not, when the judgement is in error?"

To Laura's fiery temperament Vittoria's speech had been feebleness. She was insensible to that which the men felt conveyed to them by theabsence of emotion in the language of a woman so sorrowfully placed. "Wait, " she said, "wait for the news from Carlo Alberto, if youdetermine to play at swords and guns in narrow streets. " She spoke longand vehemently, using irony, coarse and fine, with the eloquence whichwas her gift. In conclusion she apostrophized Colonel Corte as one whohad loved him might have done. He was indeed that figure of indomitablestrength to which her spirit, exhausted by intensity of passion, clungmore than to any other on earth, though she did not love him, scarcelyliked him. 

Corte asked her curiously--for she had surprised and vexed his softerside--why she distinguished him with such remarkable phrases only todeclare her contempt for him. 

"It's the flag whipping the flag-pole, " murmured Agostino; and he nowspoke briefly in support of the expedition to Rome; or at least infavour of delay until the King of Sardinia had gained a battle. While hewas speaking, Merthyr entered the room, and behind him a messenger whobrought word that Bergamo had risen. 

The men drew hurriedly together, and Countess Ammiani, Vittoria andLaura stood ready to leave them. 

"You will give me, five minutes?" Vittoria whispered to her husband, andhe nodded. 

"Merthyr, " she said, passing him, "can I have your word that you willnot go from me?"

Merthyr gave her his word after he had looked on her face. 

"Send to me every two hours, that I may know you are near, " she added;"do not fear waking me. Or, no, dear friend; why should I have anyconcealment from you? Be not a moment absent, if you would not have mefall to the ground a second time: follow me. "

Even as he hesitated, for he had urgent stuff to communicate to Carlo, he could see a dreadful whiteness rising on her face, darkening thecircles of her eyes. 

"It's life or death, my dearest, and I am bound to live, " she said. Hervoice sprang up from tears. 

Merthyr turned and tried in vain to get a hearing among the excited, voluble men. They shook his hand, patted his shoulder, and counselledhim to leave them. He obtained Carlo's promise that he would not quitthe house without granting him an interview; after which he passed outto Vittoria, where Countess Ammiani and Laura sat weeping by the door. 

CHAPTER XLIV

THE WIFE AND THE HUSBAND

When they were alone Merthyr said: "I cannot give many minutes, not muchtime. I have to speak to your husband. "

She answered: "Give me many minutes--much time. All other speaking isvain here. "

"It concerns his safety. "

"It will not save him. "

"But I have evidence that he is betrayed. His plans are known; a trap isset for him. If he moves, he walks into a pit. "

"You would talk reason, Merthyr, " Vittoria sighed. "Talk it to me. I canlisten; I thirst for it. I beat at the bars of a cage all day. When Isaw you this afternoon, I looked on another life. It was too sudden, and I swooned. That was my only show of weakness. Since then you are theonly strength I feel. "

"Have they all become Barto Rizzos?" Merthyr exclaimed. 

"Beloved, I will open my mind to you, " said Vittoria. "I am cowardly, and I thought I had such courage! Tonight a poor mad creature has beenhere, who has oppressed me, I cannot say how long, with real fear--thatI only understand now that I know the little ground I had for it. I ameven pleased that one like Barto Rizzo should see me in a better light. I find the thought smiling in my heart when every other thing is utterlydark there. You have heard that Carlo goes to Brescia. When I wasmarried, I lost sight of Italy, and everything but happiness. I sufferas I deserve for it now. I could have turned my husband from this blackpath; I preferred to dream and sing. I would not see--it was my pridethat would not let me see his error. My cowardice would not let me woundhim with a single suggestion. You say that he is betrayed. Then he isbetrayed by the woman who has never been unintelligible to me. We werein Turin surrounded by intrigues, and there I thanked her so much forleaving me the days with my husband by Lake Orta that I did not seek toopen his eyes to her. We came to Milan, and here I have been thankingher for the happy days in Turin. Carlo is no longer to blame if he willnot listen to me. I have helped to teach him that I am no better thanany of these Italian women whom he despises. I spoke to him as his wifeshould do, at last. He feigned to think me jealous, and I too rememberthe words of the reproach, as if they had a meaning. Ah, my friend!I would say of nothing that it is impossible, except this task ofrecovering lost ground with one who is young. Experience of trouble hasmade me older than he. When he accused me of jealousy, I could mentionCountess d'Isorella's name no more. I confess to that. Yet I knew myhusband feigned. I knew that he could not conceive the idea of jealousyexisting in me, as little as I could imagine unfaithfulness in him. Butmy lips would not take her name! Wretched cowardice cannot go farther. I spoke of Rome. As often as I spoke, that name was enough to shakeme off: he had but to utter it, and I became dumb. He did it to obtainpeace; for no other cause. So, by degrees, I have learnt the fataltruth. He has trusted her, for she is very skilful; distrusting her, for she is treacherous. He has, therefore, believed excessively in hisability to make use of her, and to counteract her baseness. I saw hiserror from the first; and I went on dreaming and singing; and now thisnight has come!"

Vittoria shadowed her eyes. 

"I will go to him at once, " said Merthyr. 

"Yes; I am relieved. Go, dear friend, " she sobbed; "you have given metears, as I hoped. You will not turn him; had it been possible, could Ihave kept you from him so long? I know that you will not turn him fromhis purpose, for I know what a weight it is that presses him forward inthat path. Do not imagine our love to be broken. He will convince youthat it is not. He has the nature of an angel. He permitted me to speakbefore these men to-night--feeble thing that I am! It was a last effort. I might as well have tried to push a rock. "

She rose at a noise of voices in the hall below. 

"They are going, Merthyr. See him now. There may be help in heaven; ifone could think it! If help were given to this country--if help wereonly visible! The want of it makes us all without faith. "

"Hush! you may hear good news from Carlo Alberto in a few hours, " saidMerthyr. 

"Ask Laura; she has witnessed how he can be shattered, " Vittoria repliedbitterly. 

Merthyr pressed her fingers. He was met by Carlo on the stairs. 

"Quick!" Carlo said; "I have scarce a minute to spare. I have my adieuxto make, and the tears have set in already. First, a request: youwill promise to remain beside my wife; she will want more than her ownstrength. "

Such a request, coming from an Italian husband, was so great a proof ofthe noble character of his love and his knowledge of the woman he loved, that Merthyr took him in his arms and kissed him. 

"Get it over quickly, dear good fellow, " Carlo murmured; "you havesomething to tell me. Whatever it is, it's air; but I'll listen. "

They passed into a vacant room. "You know you are betrayed, " Merthyrbegan. 

"Not exactly that, " said Carlo, humming carelessly. 

"Positively and absolutely. The Countess d'Isorella has sold yoursecrets. "

"I commend her to the profit she has made by it. "

"Do you play with your life?"

Carlo was about to answer in the tone he had assumed for the interview. He checked the laugh on his lips. 

"She must have some regard for my life, such as it's worth, since, totell you the truth, she is in the house now, and came here to give mefair warning. "

"Then, you trust her. "

"I? Not a single woman in the world!--that is, for a conspiracy. "

It was an utterly fatuous piece of speech. Merthyr allowed it to slip, and studied him to see where he was vulnerable. 

"She is in the house, you say. Will you cause her to come before me?"

"Curiously, " said Carlo, "I kept her for some purpose of the sort. WillI? and have a scandal now? Oh! no. Let her sleep. "

Whether he spoke from noble-mindedness or indifference, Merthyr couldnot guess. 

"I have a message from your friend Luciano. He sends you his love, incase he should be shot the first, and says that when Lombardy is free hehopes you will not forget old comrades who are in Rome. "

"Forget him! I would to God I could sit and talk of him for hours. Luciano! Luciano! He has no wife. "

Carlo spoke on hoarsely. "Tell me what authority you have for chargingCountess d'Isorella with... With whatever it may be. "

"A conversation between Countess Anna of Lenkenstein and a Major Nagen, in the Duchess of Graatli's house, was overheard by our Beppo. They spoke German. The rascal had a German sweetheart with him. Sheimprisoned him for some trespass, and had come stealing in to rescuehim, when those two entered the room. Countess Anna detailed to Nagenthe course of your recent plotting. She named the hour this morning whenyou are to start for Brescia. She stated what force you have, what armsyou expect; she named you all. "

"Nagen--Nagen, " Carlo repeated; "the man's unknown to me. "

"It's sufficient that he is an Austrian officer. "

"Quite. She hates me, and she has reason, for she's aware that I mean tofight her lover, and choose my time. The blood of my friends is on thatman's head. "

"I will finish what I have to say, " pursued Merthyr. "When Beppo hadrelated as much as he could make out from his sweetheart's translation, I went straight to the duchess. She is an Austrian, and a good andreasonable woman. She informed me that a letter addressed by CountessAnna to Countess d'Isorella fell into her hands this night. She burnt itunopened. I leave it to you to consider whether you have been betrayedand who has betrayed you. The secret was bought. Beppo himself caughtthe words, 'from a mercenary Italian. ' The duchess tells me thatCountess Anna is in the habit of alluding to Countess d'Isorella inthose terms. "

Carlo stretched his arms like a man who cannot hide the yawning fit. 

"I promised my wife five minutes, though we have had the worst of theparting over. Perhaps you will wait for me; I may have a word to say. "

He was absent for little more than the space named. When he returned, hewas careful to hide his face. He locked the door, and leading Merthyr toan inner room, laid his watch on the table, and said: "Now, friend, you will see that I have nothing to shrink from, for I am going to doexecution upon myself, and before him whom I would, above all othermen, have think well of me. My wife supposes that I am pledged to thisBrescian business because I am insanely patriotic. If I might joinLuciano tomorrow I would shout like a boy. I would be content to serveas the lowest in the ranks, if I might be with you all under the Chief. Rome crowns him, and Brescia is my bloody ditch, and it is deserved!When I was a little younger--I am a boy still, no doubt--I had thehonour to be distinguished by a handsome woman; and when I grew a littleolder, I discovered by chance that she had wit. The lady is the CountessVioletta d'Isorella. It is a grief to me to know that she is sordid:it hurts my vanity the more. Perhaps: you begin to perceive that vanitygoverns me. The signora Laura has not expressed her opinion on thissubject with any reserve, but to Violetta belongs the merit of havingseen it without waiting for the signs. First--it is a small matter, butyou are English--let me assure you that my wife has had no rival. I havetaunted her with jealousy when I knew that it was neither in her natureto feel it, nor in mine to give reason for it. No man who has a spark ofhis Maker in him could be unfaithful to such a woman. When Lombardy wascrushed, we were in the dust. I fancy we none of us knew how miserablywe had fallen--we, as men. The purest--I dare say, the bravest--marchedto Rome. God bless my Luciano there! But I, sir, I, my friend, I, Merthyr, I said proudly that I would not abandon a beaten country: and Iwas admired for my devotion. The dear old poet, Agostino, praised me. It stopped his epigrams--during a certain time, at least. Colonel Corteadmired me. Marco Sana, Giulio Bandinelli admired me. Vast numbersadmired me. I need not add that I admired myself. I plunged intointrigues with princes, and priests, and republicans. A clever woman wasat my elbow. In the midst of all this, my marriage: I had seven weeks ofpeace; and then I saw what I was. You feel that you are tired, when youwant to go another way and you feel that you have been mad when you wantto undo your work. But I could not break the chains I had wrought, forI was a chief of followers. The men had come from exile, or theyhad refused to join the Roman enterprise:--they, in fact, had boundthemselves to me; and that means, I was irrevocably bound to them. I hadan insult to wipe out: I refrained from doing it, sincerely, I may tellyou, on the ground that this admired life of mine was precious. I willheap no more clumsy irony on it: I can pity it. Do you see now how Istand? I know that I cannot rely on the king's luck or on the skill ofhis generals, or on the power of his army, or on the spirit in Lombardy:neither on men nor on angels. But I cannot draw back. I have set goinga machine that's merciless. From the day it began working, every momenthas added to its force. Do not judge me by your English eyes: otherlands, other habits; other habits, other thoughts. And besides, ifhonour said nothing, simple humanity would preserve me from leaving myband to perish like a flock of sheep. "

He uttered this with a profound conviction of his quality as leader, that escaped the lurid play of self-inspection which characterized whathe had previously spoken, and served singularly in bearing witness tothe truth of his charge against himself. 

"Useless!" he said, waving his hand at anticipated remonstrances. "Look with the eyes of my country; not with your own, my friend. I amdisgraced if I do not go out. My friends are disgraced if I do not headthem in. Brescia--sacrificed!--murdered!--how can I say what? Can I liveunder disgrace or remorse? The king stakes on his army; I on the king. Whether he fights and wins, or fights and loses, I go out. I havepromised my men--promised them success, I believe!--God forgive me! Didyou ever see a fated man before? None had plotted against me. I havewoven my own web, and that's the fatal thing. I have a wife, thesweetest woman of her time. Goodnight to her! our parting is over. "

He glanced at his watch. "Perhaps she will be at the door below. Herheart beats like mine just now. You wish to say that you think mebetrayed, and therefore I may draw back? Did you not hear that Bergamohas risen? The Brescians are up too by this time. Gallant Brescians!they never belie the proverb in their honour; and to die among themwould be sweet if I had all my manhood about me. You would have memaking a scene with Violetta. "

"Set the woman face to face with me!" cried Merthyr, sighting a gleam ofhope. 

Carlo smiled. "Can she bear my burden though she be ten times guilty?Let her sleep. I have her here harmless for the night. The Brescians areup:--that's an hour that has struck, and there's no calling it to movea step in the rear. Brescia under the big Eastern hill which throwsa cloak on it at sunrise! Brescia is always the eagle that looks overLombardy! And Bergamo! you know the terraces of Bergamo. Aren't theylike a morning sky? Dying there is not death; it's flying into the dawn. You Romans envy us. Come, confess it; you envy us. You have no Alps, no crimson hills, nothing but old walls to look on while you fight. Farewell, Merthyr Powys. I hear my servant's foot outside. My horse isawaiting me saddled, a mile from the city. Perhaps I shall see my wifeagain at the door below, or in heaven. Addio! Kiss Luciano for me. Tellhim that I knew myself as well as he did, before the end came. Enrico, Emilio, and the others--tell them I love them. I doubt if there willever be but a ghost of me to fight beside them in Rome. And there's nohonour, Merthyr, in a ghost's fighting, because he's shotproof; so Iwon't say what the valiant disembodied 'I' may do by-and-by. "

He held his hands out, with the light soft smile of one who asksforgiveness for flippant speech, and concluded firmly: "I have talkedenough, and you are the man of sense I thought you; for to give meadvice is childish when no power on earth could make me follow it. Addio! Kiss me. "

They embraced. Merthyr said no more than that he would place messengerson the road to Brescia to carry news of the king's army. His voice wasthick, and when Carlo laughed at him, his sensations strangely reversedtheir situations. 

There were two cloaked figures at different points in the descent ofthe stairs. These rose severally at Carlo's approach, took him to theirbosoms, and kissed him in silence. They were his mother and Laura. Athird crouched by the door of the courtyard, which was his wife. 

Merthyr kept aloof until the heavy door rolled a long dull sound. Vittoria's head was shawled over. She stood where her husband had lefther, groping for him with one hand, that closed tremblingly hard onMerthyr when he touched it. Not a word was uttered in the house. 

CHAPTER XLV

SHOWS MANY PATHS CONVERGING TO THE END

Until daylight Merthyr sat by himself, trying to realize the progressivesteps of the destiny which seemed like a visible hand upon CountAmmiani, that he might know it to be nothing else than Carlo's work. Hesat in darkness in the room where Carlo had spoken, thinking of himas living and dead. The brilliant life in Carlo protested against apossible fatal tendency in his acts so irrevocable as to plunge him todestruction when his head was clear, his blood cool, and a choice layopen to him. That brilliant young life, that fine face, the tones ofCarlo's voice, swept about Merthyr, accusing him of stupid fatalism. Grief stopped his answer to the charge; but in his wise mind he knewCarlo to have surveyed things justly; and that the Fates are withinus. Those which are the forces of the outer world are as shadows tothe power we have created within us. He felt this because it was hisgathered wisdom. Human compassion, and love for the unhappy youth, crushed it in his heart, and he marvelled how he could have beenparalyzed when he had a chance of interceding. Can a man stay a torrent?But a noble and fair young life in peril will not allow our philosophyto liken it to things of nature. The downward course of a fall thattakes many waters till it rushes irresistibly is not the course of anylife. Yet it is true that our destiny is of our own weaving. Carlo'sinvolvements cast him into extreme peril, almost certain death, unlesshe abjured his honour, dearer than a life made precious by love. Merthyrsaw that it was not vanity, but honour; for Carlo stood pledged to leada forlorn enterprise, the ripeness of his own scheming. In the imminenthour Carlo had recognized his position as Merthyr with the wisdom ofyears looked on it. That was what had paralyzed the older man, thoughhe could not subsequently trace the cause. Thinking of the beauty ofthe youth, husband of the woman who was to his soul utterly an angel, Merthyr sat in the anguish of self-accusation, believing that someremonstrance, some inspired word, might have turned him, and halfdreading to sound his own heart, as if an evil knowledge of his naturehaunted it. 

He rose up at last with a cry. The door opened, and Giacinta, Vittoria'smaid, appeared, bearing a lamp. She had been sitting outside, waitingto hear him stir before she intruded. He touched her cheek kindly, andthought that one could do little better than die, if need were, in theservice of such a people. She said that her mistress was kneeling. Shewished to make coffee for him, and Merthyr let her do it, knowing thecomfort there is to a woman in the ministering occupation of her hands. It was soon daylight. Beppo had not come back to the house. 

"No one has left the house?" Merthyr asked. 

"Not since--" she answered convulsively. 

"The Countess d'Isorella is here?"

"Yes, signore. "

"Asleep?" he put the question mournfully, in remembrance of Carlo's "Lether sleep!"

"Yes, signore; like the first night after confession. "

"She resides, I think, in the Corso Venezia. When she awakens, let herknow that I request to have the honour of conducting her. "

"Yes, signore. Her carriage is still at the gates. The countess's horsesare accustomed to stand. "

Merthyr knew this for a hint against his leaving, as well as against thelady's character. 

"Let your mistress be assured that I shall on no account be long absentat any time. "

"Signore, I shall do so, " said Giacinta. 

She brought him word soon after, that Countess d'Isorella was stirring. Merthyr met Violetta on the stairs. 

"Can it be true?" she accosted him first. 

"Count Ammiani has left for Brescia, " he replied. 

"In spite of my warning?"

Merthyr gave space for her to pass into the room. She appearedundecided, saying that she had a dismal apprehension of her not havingdismissed her coachman overnight. 

"In spite of my warning, " she murmured again, "he has really gone?Surely I cannot have slept more than three hours. "

"It was Count Ammiani's wish that you should enjoy your full sleepundisturbed in his house, " said Merthyr, "As regards your warning tohim, he has left Milan perfectly convinced of the gravity of a warningthat comes from you. "

Violetta shrugged lightly. "Then all we have to do is to pray for thesuccess of Carlo Alberto. "

"Oh! pardon me, countess, " Merthyr rejoined, "prayers may be useful, butyou at least have something to do besides. "

His eyes caught hers firmly as they were letting a wild look ofinterrogation fall on him, and he continued with perfect courtesy, "Youwill accompany me to see Countess Anna of Lenkenstein. You have greatinfluence, madame. It is not Count Ammiani's request; for, as I informedyou, it was his wish that you should enjoy your repose. The request ismine, because his life is dear to me. Nagen, I think, is the name of theAustrian officer who has started for Brescia. "

She had in self-defence to express surprise while he spoke, whichcompelled her to meet his mastering sight and submit to a struggleof vision sufficient to show him that he had hit a sort of guiltyconsciousness. Otherwise she was not discomposed, and with marvelloussagacity she accepted the forbearance he assumed, not affectinginnocence to challenge it, as silly criminals always do when they areexposed, but answering quite in the tone of innocence, and so throwingthe burden by an appearance of mutual consent on some unnamed thirdperson. 

"Certainly; let us go to Countess Anna of Lenkenstein, if you think fit. I have to rely on your judgement. I quite abjure my own. If I have toplead for anything, I am going before a woman, remember. "

"I do not forget it, " said Merthyr. 

"The expedition to Brescia may be unfortunate, " she resumed hurriedly;"I wish it had not been undertaken. At any rate, it rescues CountAmmiani from an expedition to Rome, and his slavish devotion to thatpriest-hating man whom he calls, or called, his Chief. At Brescia he isnot outraging the head of our religion. That is a gain. "

"A gain for him in the next world?" said Merthyr. "I believe thatCountess Anna of Lenkenstein is also a fervent Catholic; is she not?"

"I trust so. "

"On behalf of her peace of mind, I trust so, too. In that case, she alsomust be a sound sleeper. "

"We shall have to awaken her. What excuse--what am I to say to her?"

"I beg you to wait for the occasion, Countess d'Isorella. The words willcome. "

Violetta bit her lip. She had consented to this extraordinary step inan amazement. As she contemplated it now, it seemed worse than a partialconfession and an appeal to his generosity. She broke out in pity forher horses, in dread of her coachman, declaring that it was impossiblefor her to give him the order to drive her anywhere but home. 

"With your permission, countess, I will undertake to give him theorder, " said Merthyr. 

"But have you no compassion, signor Powys? and you are an Englishman! Ithought that Englishmen were excessively compassionate with horses. "

"They have been known to kill them in the service of their friends, nevertheless. "

"Well!"--Violetta had recourse to the expression of her shoulders--"andI am really to see Countess Anna?"

"In my presence. "

"Oh! that cannot be. Pardon me; it is impossible. She will decline thescene. I say it with the utmost sincerity: I know that she will refuse. "

"Then, countess, " Merthyr's face grew hard, "if I am not to be in yourcompany to prompt you, allow me to instruct you beforehand. "

Violetta looked at him eagerly, as one looks for tidings, with aninvoluntary beseeching quiver of the strained eyelids. 

"No irony!" she said, fearing horribly that he was about to throw offthe mask of irony. 

This desperate effort of her wits at the crisis succeeded. 

Merthyr, not knowing what design he had, hopeless of any definite end intormenting the woman, and never having it in his mind merely to punish, was diverted by the exclamation to speak ironically. "You can tellCountess Anna that it is only her temporal sovereign who is attacked, and that therefore--" he could not continue. 

"Some affection?" he murmured, in intense grief. 

His manly forbearance touched her whose moral wit was too blunt toapprehend the contempt in it. 

"Much affection--much!" Violetta exclaimed. "I have a deep affection forCount Ammiani; an old friendship. Believe me! believe me! I came herelast night to save him. Anything on earth that I can do, I will do--onmy honour; and do not smile at that--I have never pledged it withoutfulfilling the oath. I will not sleep while I can aid in preserving him. He shall know that I am not the base person he has conceived me to be. You, signor Powys, are not a man to paint all women black that are alittle less than celestial--are you? I am told it is a trick with yourcountrymen; and they have a poet who knew us! I entreat you toconfide in me. I am at present quite unaware that Count Ammiani runsparticular--I mean personal danger. He is in danger, of course; everyonecan see it. But, on my honour--and never in my life have I spoken soearnestly, my friends would hardly recognize me--I declare to you on myfaith as a Christian lady, I am ignorant of any plot against him. Ican take a Cross and kiss it, like a peasant, and swear to you by theMadonna that I know nothing of it. "

She corrected her ardour, half-exulting in finding herself carried sofar and so swimmingly on a tide of truth, half wondering whether theflowering beauty of her face in excitement had struck his sensibility. He was cold and speculative. 

"Ah!" she said, "if I were to ask my compatriots to put faith in awoman's pure friendship for a man, I should know the answer; but you, signor Powys, who have shown us that a man is capable of the purestfriendship for a woman, should believe me. "

He led her down to the gates, where her coachman sat muffled in athree-quarter sleep. The word was given to drive to her own house;rejoiced by which she called his attention deploringly to the conditionof her horses, requesting him to say whether he could imagine them thebest English, and confessing with regret, that she killed three setsa year--loved them well, notwithstanding. Merthyr saw enough of her tofeel that she was one of the weak creatures who are strong through ourgreater weakness; and, either by intuition or quick wit, too livelyand too subtle to be caught by simple suspicion. She even divined thatreflection might tell him she had evaded him by an artifice--a pieceof gross cajolery; and said, laughing: "Concerning friendship, I couldoffer it to a boy, like Carlo Ammiani; not to you, signor Powys. I knowthat I must check a youth, and I am on my guard. I should be eternallytormented to discover whether your armour was proof. "

"I dare say that a lady who had those torments would soon be able tomake them mine, " said Merthyr. 

"You could not pay a fairer compliment to some one else, " she remarked. In truth, the candid personal avowal seemed to her to hold up Vittoria'ssacred honour in a crystal, and the more she thought of it, the more sherespected him, for his shrewd intelligence, if not for his sincerity;but on the whole she fancied him a loyal friend, not solely a clevermaker of phrases; and she was pleased with herself for thinking such amatter possible, in spite of her education. 

"I do most solemnly hope that you may not have to sustain CountessAlessandra under any affliction whatsoever, " she said at parting. 

Violetta had escaped an exposure--a rank and naked accusation ofher character and deeds. She feared nothing but that, being quiteindifferent to opinion; a woman who would not have thought itpreternaturally sad to have to walk as a penitent in the streets, withthe provision of a very thick veil to cover her. She had escaped, butthe moment she felt herself free, she was surprised by a sharp twinge ofremorse. She summoned her maid to undress her, and smelt her favouriteperfume, and lay in her bed, to complete her period of rest, closingher eyes there with a child's faith in pillows. Flying lights andblood-blotches rushed within a span of her forehead. She met thissymptom promptly with a medical receipt; yet she had no sleep; norwould coffee give her sleep. She shrank from opium as deleterious to theconstitution, and her mind settled on music as the remedy. 

Some time after her craving for it had commenced, an Austrian footregiment, marching to the drum, passed under her windows. The fife is amerry instrument; fife and drum colour the images of battle gaily; butthe dull ringing Austrian step-drum, beating unaccompanied, strikesthe mind with the real nature of battles, as the salt smell of powderstrikes it, and more in horror, more as a child's imagination realizesbloodshed, where the scene is a rolling heaven, black and red onall sides, with pitiable men moving up to the mouth of butchery, theinsufferable flashes, the dark illumination of red, red of black, like avision of the shadows Life and Death in a shadow-fight over the dear menstill living. Sensitive minds may be excited by a small stimulant to seesuch pictures. This regimental drum is like a song of the flat-headedsavage in man. It has no rise or fall, but leads to the bloody businesswith an unvarying note, and a savage's dance in the middle of therhythm. Violetta listened to it until her heart quickened with alarmlest she should be going to have a fever. She thought of Carlo Ammiani, and of the name of Nagen; she had seen him at the Lenkensteins. Herinstant supposition was that Anna had perhaps paid heavily for thesecret of Carlo's movements an purpose to place Major Nagen on theBrescian high-road to capture him. Capture meant a long imprisonment, ifnot execution. Partly for the sake of getting peace of mind--for she wasshocked by her temporary inability to command repose--but with some hopeof convincing Carlo that she strove to be of use to him, she sent forthe spy Luigi, and at a cost of two hundred and twenty Austrian florins, obtained his promise upon oath to follow Count Ammiani into Brescia, ifnecessary, and deliver to him a letter she had written, wherein Nagen'sname was mentioned, and Carlo was advised to avoid personal risks; theletter hinted that he might have incurred a private enmity, and he hadbetter keep among his friends. She knew the writing of this letter tobe the foolishest thing she had ever done. Two hundred and twentyflorins--the man originally stipulated to have three hundred--was alarge sum to pay for postage. However, sacrifices must now and then bemade for friendship, and for sleep. When she had paid half the money, her mind was relieved, and she had the slumber which preserves beauty. Luigi was to be paid the other half on his return. "He may neverreturn, " she thought, while graciously dismissing him. The deduction bymental arithmetic of the two hundred and twenty, or the one hundred andten florins, from the large amount Countess Anna was bound to pay herin turn, annoyed her, though she knew it was a trifle. For this lady, Milan, Turin, and Paris sighed deeply. 

When he had left Violetta at her house in the Corso, Merthyr walkedbriskly for exercise, knowing that he would have need of his health andstrength. He wanted a sight of Alps to wash out the image of the womanfrom his mind, and passed the old Marshal's habitation fronting theGardens, wishing that he stood in the field against the fine oldwarrior, for whom he had a liking. Near the walls he discovered Beppositting pensively with his head between his two fists. Beppo had notseen Count Ammiani, but he had seen Barto Rizzo, and pointing to thewalls, said that Barto had dropped down there. He had met him hurryingin the Corso Francesco. Barto took him to the house of Sarpo, thebookseller, who possessed a small printing-press. Beppo describedvividly, with his usual vivacity of illustration, the stupefaction ofthe man at the apparition of his tormentor, whom he thought fast inprison; and how Barto had compelled him to print a proclamation to thePiedmontese, Lombards, and Venetians, setting forth that a battle hadbeen fought South of the Ticino, and that Carlo Alberto was advancingon Milan, signed with the name of the Piedmontese Pole in command of theking's army. A second, framed as an order of the day, spoke of victoryand the planting of the green, white and red banner on the Adige, andforward to the Isonzo. 

"I can hear nothing of Carlo Alberto's victory, " Beppo said; "no one hasheard of it. Barto told us how the battle was fought, and the name ofthe young lieutenant who discovered the enemy's flank march, and got theartillery down on him, and pounded him so that--signore, it's amazing!I'm ready to cry, and laugh, and howl!--fifteen thousand men capitulatedin a heap!"

"Don't you know you've been listening to a madman?" said Merthyr, irritated, and thoroughly angered to see Beppo's opposition to thatview. 

"Signore, Barto described the whole battle. It began at five o'clock inthe morning. "

"When it was dark!"

"Yes; when it was dark. He said so. And we sent up rockets, and caughtthe enemy coming on, and the cavalry of Alessandria fell upon twobatteries of field guns and carried them off, and Colonel Romboni wasshot in his back, and cries he, 'Best give up the ghost if you're hit inthe rear. Evviva l'Italia!'"

"A Piedmontese colonel, you fool! he would have shouted 'Viva CarloAlberto!'" said Merthyr, now critically disgusted with the tale, andrefusing to hear more. Two hours later, he despatched Beppo to Carloin Brescia, warning him that for some insane purpose these twoproclamations had been printed by Barto Rizzo, and that they were false. 

It was early on the morning of a second day, before sunrise, whenVittoria sent for Merthyr to conduct her to the cathedral. "There hasbeen a battle, " she said. Her lips hardly joined to frame the syllablesin speech. Merthyr refrained from asking where she had heard of thebattle. As soon as the Duomo doors were open, he led her in and left herstanding shrinking under the great vault with her neck fearfully drawnon her shoulders, as one sees birds under thunder. He thought that shewas losing courage. Choosing to go out on the steps rather than lookon her, he was struck by the sight of two horsemen, who proved to beAustrian officers, rattling at racing speed past the Duomo up the Corso. The sight of them made it seem possible that a battle had been fought. As soon as he was free, Merthyr went to the Duchess of Graatli, fromwhom he had the news of Novara. The officers he had seen were PrinceRadocky and Lieutenant Wilfrid Pierson, the old Marshal's emissaries ofvictory. They had made a bet on the bloody field about reaching Milanfirst, and the duchess affected to be full of the humour of this betin order to conceal her exultation. The Lenkensteins called on her; theCountess of Lenkenstein, Anna, and Lena; and they were less considerate, and drew their joy openly from the source of his misery--a dreadfulhouse for Merthyr to remain in; but he hoped to see Wilfrid, havingheard the duchess rally Lena concerning the deeds of the white umbrella, which, Lena said, was pierced with balls, and had been preserved forher. "The dear foolish fellow insisted on marching right into the midstof the enemy with his absurd white umbrella; and wherever there wasdanger the men were seen following it. Prince Radocky told me thewhole army was laughing. How he escaped death was a miracle!" She spokeunaffectedly of her admiration for the owner, and as Wilfrid came in shegave him brilliant eyes. He shook Merthyr's hand without looking athim. The ladies would talk of nothing but the battle, so he went up toMerthyr, and under pretext of an eager desire for English news, drew himaway. 

"Her husband was not there? not at Novara, I mean?" he said. 

"He's at Brescia, " said Merthyr. 

"Well, thank goodness he didn't stand in those ranks!"

Wilfrid murmured, puffing thoughtfully over the picture they presentedto his memory. 

Merthyr then tried to hint to him that he had a sort of dull suspicionof Carlo's being in personal danger, but of what kind he could not say. He mentioned Weisspriess by name; and Nagen; and Countess Anna. Wilfridsaid, "I'll find out if there's anything, only don't be fancying it. Theman's in a bad hole at Brescia. Weisspriess, I believe, is at Verona. He's an honourable fellow. The utmost he would do would be to demanda duel; and I'm sure he's heartily sick of that work. Besides, he andCountess Anna have quarrelled. Meet me;--by the way, you and I mustn'tbe seen meeting, I suppose. The duchess is neutral ground. Come hereto-night. And don't talk of me, but say that a friend asks how she is, and hopes--the best things you can say for me. I must go up to theirconfounded chatter again. Tell her there's no fear, none whatever. You all hate us, naturally; but you know that Austrian officers aregentlemen. Don't speak my name to her just yet. Unless, of course, sheshould happen to allude to me, which is unlikely. I had a dismal ideathat her husband was at Novara. "

The tender-hearted duchess sent a message to Vittoria, bidding her notto forget that she had promised her at Meran to 'love her always. '

"And tell her, " she said to Merthyr, "that I do not think I shallhave my rooms open for the concert to-morrow night. I prefer to letAntonio-Pericles go mad. She will not surely consider that she is boundby her promise to him? He drags poor Irma from place to place to makesure the miserable child is not plotting to destroy his concert, as thatman Sarpo did. Irma is half dead, and hasn't the courage to offend him. She declares she depends upon him for her English reputation. She hasalready caught a violent cold, and her sneezing is frightful. I havenever seen so abject a creature. I have no compassion at the sight ofher. "

That night Merthyr heard from Wilfrid that a plot against Carlo Ammianidid exist. He repeated things he had heard pass between Countessd'Isorella and Irma in the chamber of Pericles before the late battle. Modestly confessing that he was 'for some reasons' in high favour withCountess Lena, he added that after a long struggle he had brought herto confess that her sister had sworn to have Countess Alessandra Ammianibegging at her feet. 

By mutual consent they went to consult the duchess. She repelled thenotion of Austrian women conspiring. "An Austrian noble lady--do youthink it possible that she would act secretly to serve a private hatred?Surely I may ask you, for my sake, to think better of us?"

Merthyr showed her an opening to his ground by suggesting that Anna'santipathy to Victoria might spring more from a patriotic than a privatesource. 

"Oh! I will certainly make inquiries, if only to save Anna's reputationwith her enemies, " the duchess answered rather proudly. 

It would have been a Novara to Pericles if Vittoria had refused to sing. He held the pecuniarily-embarrassed duchess sufficiently in his power tocommand a concert at her house; his argument to those who pressed himto spare Vittoria in a season of grief running seriously, with visiblecontempt of their intellects, thus: "A great voice is an ocean. Youcannot drain it with forty dozen opera-hats. It is something found--anaddition to the wealth of this life. Shall we not enjoy what we find?You do not wear out a picture by looking at it; likewise you do not wearout a voice by listening to it. A bird has wings;--here is a voice. Why were they given? I should say, to go into the air. Ah; but not ifgrandmother is ill. What is a grandmother to the wings and the voice? Ifto sing would kill, --yes, then let the puny thing be silent! But SandraBelloni has a soul that has not a husband--except her Art. Her body ishusbanded; but her soul is above her body. You would treat it as below. Art is her soul's husband! Besides, I have her promise. She is a girlwho will go up to a loaded gun's muzzle if she gives her word. Andbesides, her husband may be shot to-morrow. So, all she sings now isclear gain. "

Vittoria sent word to him that she would sing. 

In the meantime a change had come upon Countess Anna. Weisspriess, herhero, appeared at her brother's house, fresh from the field of Novara, whither he had hurried from Verona on a bare pretext, that was abreach of military discipline requiring friendly interposition inhigh quarters. Unable to obtain an audience with Count Lenkenstein, he remained in the hall, hoping for things which he affected to carenothing for; and so it chanced that he saw Lena, who was mindful thather sister had suffered much from passive jealousy when Wilfrid returnedfrom the glorious field, and led him to Anna, that she also mightrejoice in a hero. Weisspriess did not refrain from declaring on the waythat he would rather charge against a battery. Some time after, Anna layin Lena's arms, sobbing out one of the wildest confessions ever made bywoman:--she adored Weisspriess; she hated Nagen; but was miserably boundto the man she hated. "Oh! now I know what love is. " She repeated thiswith transparent enjoyment of the opposing sensations by whose shock theknowledge was revealed to her. 

"How can you be bound to Major Nagan?" asked Lena. 

"Oh! why? except that I have been possessed by devils. "

Anna moaned. "Living among these Italians has distempered my blood. " Sheexclaimed that she was lost. 

"In what way can you be lost?" said Lena. 

"I have squandered more than half that I possess. I am almost a beggar. I am no longer the wealthy Countess Anna. I am much poorer than anyoneof us. "

"But Major Weisspriess is a man of honour, and if he loves you--"

"Yes; he loves me! he loves me! or would he come to me after I havesent him against a dozen swords? But he is poor; he must, must marry awealthy woman. I used to hate him because I thought he had his eye onmoney. I love him for it now. He deserves wealth; he is a matchlesshero. He is more than the first swordsman of our army; he is a knightlyman. Oh my soul Johann!" She very soon fell to raving. Lena was imploredby her to give her hand to Weisspriess in reward for his heroism--"Foryou are rich, " Anna said; "you will not have to go to him feeling thatyou have made him face death a dozen times for your sake, and that youthank him and reward him by being a whimpering beggar in his arms. Do, dearest! Will you? Will you, to please me, marry Johann? He is notunworthy of you. " And more of this hysterical hypocrisy, which broughton fits of weeping. "I have lived among these savages till I have ceasedto be human--forgotten everything but my religion, " she said. "I wantedWeisspriess to show them that they dared not stand up against a man ofus, and to tame the snarling curs. He did. He is brave. He did as muchas a man could do, but I was unappeasable. They seem to have bitten metill I had a devouring hunger to humiliate them. Lena, will you believethat I have no hate for Carlo Ammiani or the woman he has married? None!and yet, what have I done!" Anna smote her forehead. "They are nothingbut little dots on a field for me. I don't care whether they live ordie. It's like a thing done in sleep. "

"I want to know what you have done, " said Lena caressingly. 

"You at least will try to reward our truest hero, and make up to him foryour sister's unkindness, will you not?" Anna replied with a cajolerywonderfully like a sincere expression of her wishes. "He will be a goodhusband.. He has proved it by having been so faithful a--a lover. So youmay be sure of him. And when he is yours, do not let him fight again, Lena, for I have a sickening presentiment that his next duel is hislast. "

"Tell me, " Lena entreated her, "pray tell me what horrible thing youhave done to prevent your marrying him. "

"With their pride and their laughter, " Anna made answer; "the fools!were they to sting us perpetually and not suffer for it? That woman, theCountess Alessandra, as she's now called--have you forgotten that shehelped our Paul's assassin to escape? was she not eternally plottingagainst Austria? And I say that I love Austria. I love my country; Iplot for my country. She and her husband plot, and I plot to thwartthem. I have ruined myself in doing it. Oh, my heart! why has itcommenced beating again? Why did Weisspriess come here? He offended me. He refused to do my orders, and left me empty-handed, and if he sufferstoo, " Anna relieved a hard look with a smile of melancholy, "I hope hewill not; I cannot say more. "

"And I'm to console him if he does?" said Lena. 

"At least, I shall be out of the way, " said Anna. "I have still moneyenough to make me welcome in a convent. "

"I am to marry him?" Lena persisted, and half induced Anna to act afeeble part, composed of sobs and kisses and full confession of herplight. Anna broke from her in time to leave what she had stated ofherself vague and self-justificatory, so that she kept her pride, andcould forgive, as she was ready to do even so far as to ask forgivenessin turn, when with her awakened enamoured heart she heard Vittoria singat the concert of Pericles. Countess Alessandra's divine gift, which shewould not withhold, though in a misery of apprehension; her grave eyes, which none could accuse of coldness, though they showed no emotion;her simple noble manner that seemed to lift her up among the forcesthreatening her; these expressions of a superior soul moved Anna underthe influence of the incomparable voice to pass over envious contrasts, and feel the voice and the nature were one in that bosom. Could it bethe same as the accursed woman who had stood before her at Meran? Shecould hardly frame the question, but she had the thought sufficientlyfirmly to save her dignity; she was affected by very strong emotionwhen Vittoria's singing ended, and nothing but the revival of therecollection of her old contempt preserved her from an impetuous desireto take the singer by the hand and have all clear between them; for theywere now of equal rank to tolerating eyes. "But she has no religiouswarmth!" Anna reflected with a glow of satisfaction. The concert wasbroken up by Laura Piaveni. She said out loud that the presence of MajorWeisspriess was intolerable to the Countess Alessandra. It happenedthat Weisspriess entered the room while Laura sat studying the effectproduced by her countrywoman's voice on the thick eyelids of AustrianAnna; and Laura, seeing their enemy ready to weep in acknowledgment oftheir power, scorned the power which could never win freedom, and brokeup the sitting, citing the offence of the presence of Weisspriess fora pretext. The incident threw Anna back upon her old vindictiveness. It caused an unpleasant commotion in the duchess's saloon. CountSerabiglione was present, and ran round to Weisspriess, apologizing forhis daughter's behaviour. "Do you think I can't deal with your women aswell as your men, you ass?" said Weisspriess, enraged by the scandal ofthe scene. He was overheard by Count Karl Lenkenstein, who took him totask sharply for his rough speech; but Anna supported her lover, andthey joined hands publicly. Anna went home prostrated with despair. "What conscience is in me that I should wish one of my Kaiser's officerskilled?" she cried enigmatically to Lena. "But I must have freedom. Oh!to be free. I am chained to my enemy, and God blesses that woman. Hemakes her weep, but he blesses her, for her body is free, and mine, --thethought of mine sets flames creeping up my limbs as if I were tied tothe stake. Losing a husband you love--what is that to taking a husbandyou hate?" Still Lena could get no plain confession from her, for Annaclung to self-justification, and felt it abandoning her, and her soulfluttering in a black gulf when she opened her month to disburdenherself. 

There came tidings of the bombardment of Brescia one of the historicdeeds of infamy. Many officers of the Imperial army perceived the shamewhich it cast upon their colours, even in those intemperate hours, and Karl Lenkenstein assumed the liberty of private friendship to gocomplaining to the old Marshal, who was too true a soldier to condemna soldier in action, however strong his disapproval of proceedings. The liberty assumed by Karl was excessive; he spoke out in the midst ofGeneral officers as if his views were shared by them and the Marshal;and his error was soon corrected; one after another reproachedhim, until the Marshal, pitying his condition, sent him into hiswriting-closet, where he lectured the youth on military discipline. It chanced that there followed between them a question upon what theGeneral in command at Brescia would do with his prisoners; and hearingthat they were subject to the rigours of a court-martial, and ifadjudged guilty, would forthwith summarily be shot, Karl ventured to askgrace for Vittoria's husband. He succeeded finally in obtaining his kindold Chief's promise that Count Ammiani should be tried in Milan, and asthe bearer of a paper to that effect, he called on his sisters to getthem or Wilfrid to convey word to Vittoria of her husband's probablesafety. He found Anna in a swoon, and Lena and the duchess bendingover her. The duchess's chasseur Jacob Baumwalder Feckelwitz had beenreturning from Moran, when on the Brescian high-road he met the spyLuigi, and acting promptly under the idea that Luigi was always apestilential conductor of detestable correspondence, he attacked him, overthrew him, and ransacked him, and bore the fruit of his sagaciousexertions to his mistress in Milan; it was Violetta d'Isorella's letterto Carlo Ammiani. "I have read it, " the duchess said; "contrary to anyhabits when letters are not addressed to me. I bring it open to yoursister Anna. She catches sight of one or two names and falls down in thestate in which you see her. "

"Leave her to me, " said Karl. 

He succeeded in extracting from Anna hints of the fact that she hadpaid a large sum of her own money to Countess d'Isorella for secretsconnected with the Bergamasc and Brescian rising. "We were under amutual oath to be silent, but if one has broken it the other cannot; soI confess it to you, dearest good brother. I did this for my country atmy personal sacrifice. "

Karl believed that he had a sister magnificent in soul. She was glad tohave deluded him, but she could not endure his praises, which painted toher imagination all that she might have been if she had not dashed herpatriotism with the low cravings of vengeance, making herself like someabhorrent mediaeval grotesque, composed of eagle and reptile. She wasmost eager in entreating him to save Count Ammiani's life. Carlo, shesaid, was their enemy, but he had been their friend, and she declaredwith singular earnestness that she should never again sleep or hold upher head, if he were slain or captured. 

"My Anna is justified by me in everything she has done, " Karl said tothe duchess. 

"In that case, " the duchess replied, "I have only to differ with her tofeel your sword's point at my breast. "

"I should certainly challenge the man who doubted her, " said Karl. 

The duchess laughed with a scornful melancholy. 

On the steps of the door where his horse stood saddled, he met Wilfrid, and from this promised brother-in-law received matter for the challenge. Wilfrid excitedly accused Anna of the guilt of a conspiracy to causethe destruction of Count Ammiani. In the heat of his admiration for hissister, Karl struck him on the cheek with his glove, and called him aname by which he had passed during the days of his disgrace, signifyingone who plays with two parties. Lena's maid heard them arrange to meetwithin an hour, and she having been a witness of the altercation, ran toher mistress in advance of Wilfrid, and so worked on Lena's terrors onbehalf of her betrothed and her brother, that Lena, dropped at Anna'sfeet telling her all that she had gathered and guessed in verificationof Wilfrid's charge, and imploring her to confess the truth. Anna, though she saw her concealment pierced, could not voluntarily foregoher brother's expressed admiration of her, and clung to the tatters ofsecresy. After a brief horrid hesitation, she chose to face Wilfrid. This interview began with lively recriminations, and was resultingin nothing--for Anna refused to be shaken by his statement that theCountess d'Isorella had betrayed her, and perceived that she waslistening to suspicions only--when, to give his accusation force, Wilfrid said that Brescia had surrendered and that Count Ammiani hadescaped. 

"And I thank God for it!" Anna exclaimed, and with straight frowningeyes demanded the refutation of her sincerity. 

"Count Ammiani and his men have five hours' grace ahead of Major Nagenand half a regiment, " said Wilfrid. 

At this she gasped; she had risen her breath to deny or defy, and hungon the top of it without a voice. 

"Tell us--say, but do say--confess that you know Nagen to be a name ofmischief, " Lena prayed her. 

"I will say anything to prevent my brother from running into danger, "Anna rejoined. 

"She is most foully accused by one whom we permitted to aspire to be ofour own family, " said Karl. 

"Yet you, Karl, have always been the first to declare her revengeful, "Lena turned to him. 

"Help, Karl, help me, " said Anna. 

"Yes!" cried her sister; "there you stand, and ask for help, meanest ofwomen! Do you think these men are not in earnest? Karl is to help you, and you will not speak a word to save him from a grave before night, orme from a lover all of blood. "

"Am I to be the sacrifice?" said Anna. 

"Whatever you call it, Wilfrid has spoken truth of you, and to none butmembers of our family; and he had a right to say it, and you are boundnow to acknowledge it. "

"I acknowledge that I love and serve my country, Lena. "

"Not with a pure heart: you can't forgive. Insult or a wrong makes amadwoman of you. Confess, Anna! You know well that you can't kneel toa priest's ear, for you've stopped your conscience. You have pledgedyourself to misery to satisfy a spite, and you have not the courage toask for--" Lena broke her speech like one whose wits have been kindled. "Yes, Karl, " she resumed; "Anna begged you to help her. You will. Takeher aside and save her from being miserable forever. You do mean tofight my Wilfrid?"

"I am certainly determined to bring him to repentance leaving him theoption of the way, " said Karl. 

Lena took her sullen sister by the arm. 

"Anna, will you let these two men go--to slaughter? Look at them; theyare both our brothers. One is dearer than a brother to me, and, oh God!I have known what it is to half-lose him. You to lose a lover andhave to go bound by a wretched oath to be the wife of a detestableshort-sighted husband! Oh, what an abominable folly!"

This epithet, 'short-sighted, ' curiously forced in by Lena, was like ashock of the very image of Nagen's needle features thrust against Anna'seyes; the spasm of revulsion in her frame was too quick for her habitualself-control. 

At that juncture Weisspriess opened the door, and Anna's eyes met his. 

"You don't spare me, " she murmured to Lena. 

Her voice trembled, and Wilfrid bent his head near her, pressing herhand, and said, "Not only I, but Countess Alessandra Ammiani exoneratesyou from blame. As she loves her country, you love yours. My wordsto Karl were an exaggeration of what I know and think. Only tell methis;--if Nagen captures Count Ammiani, how is he likely to deal withhim?"

"How can I inform you?" Anna replied coldly; but she reflected in afire of terror. She had given Nagen the prompting of a hundred angryexclamations in the days of her fever of hatred; she had neverthelessforgotten their parting words; that is, she had forgotten her mood whenhe started for Brescia, and the nature of the last instructions she hadgiven him. Revolting from the thought of execution being done upon CountAmmiani, as one quickly springing out of fever dreams, all her whiteface went into hard little lines, like the withered snow whichwears away in frost. "Yes, " she said; and again, "Yes, " to somethingWeisspriess whispered in her ear, she knew not clearly what. Weisspriesstold Wilfrid that he would wait below. As he quitted the room, theduchess entered, and went up to Anna. "My good soul, " she said, "youhave, I trust, listened to Major Weisspriess. Oh, Anna! you wantedrevenge. Now take it, as becomes a high-born woman; and let your enemycome to your feet, and don't spurn her when she is there. Must I informyou that I have been to Countess d'Isorella myself with a man who cancompel her to speak? But Anna von Lenkenstein is not base like thatItalian. Let them think of you as they will, I believe you to have agreat heart. I am sure you will not allow personal sentiment to sullyyour devotion to our country. Show them that our Austrian faces can bebright; and meet her whom you call your enemy; you cannot fly. Youmust see her, or you betray yourself. The poor creature's husband is indanger of capture or death. "

While the duchess's stern under-breath ran on hurriedly, convincing Annathat she had, with no further warning, to fall back upon her uttermoststrength--the name of Countess Alessandra Ammiani was called at thedoor. Instinctively the others left a path between Vittoria and Anna. Itwas one of the moments when the adoption of a decisive course says morein vindication of conduct than long speeches. Anna felt that she wason her trial. For the first time since she had looked on this woman shenoticed the soft splendour of Vittoria's eyes, and the harmony of herwhole figure; nor was the black dress of protesting Italian mourningany longer offensive in her sight, but on a sudden pitiful, for Annathought: "It may at this very hour be for her husband, and she notknowing it. " And with that she had a vision under her eyelids of Nagenlike a shadowy devil in pursuit of men flying, and striking herself andVittoria worse than dead in one blow levelled at Carlo Ammiani. A senseof supernatural horror chilled her blood when she considered again, facing her enemy, that their mutual happiness was by her own actinvolved in the fate of one life. She stepped farther than the half-wayto greet her visitor, whose hands she took. Before a word was utteredbetween them, she turned to her brother, and with a clear voice said:

"Karl, the Countess Alessandra's husband, our old, friend Carlo Ammiani, may need succour in his flight. Try to cross it; or better, get amongthose who are pursuing him; and don't delay one minute. You understandme. "

Count Karl bowed his head, bitterly humbled. 

Anna's eyes seemed to interrogate Vittoria, "Can I do, more?" but herown heart answered her. 

Inveterate when following up her passion for vengeance, she wasfanatical in responding to the suggestions of remorse. 

"Stay; I will despatch Major Weisspriess in my own name, " she said. "He is a trusty messenger, and he knows those mountains. Whoever is theofficer broken for aiding Count Ammiani's escape, he shall be rewardedby me to the best of my ability. Countess Alessandra, I have anticipatedyour petition; I hope you may not have to reproach me. Remember that mycountry was in pieces when you and I declared war. You will not sufferwithout my suffering tenfold. Perhaps some day you will do me the favourto sing to me, when there is no chance of interruption. At present it iscruel to detain you. "

Vittoria said simply: "I thank you, Countess Anna. "

She was led out by Count Karl to where Merthyr awaited her. All wonderedat the briefness of a scene that had unexpectedly brought the crisisto many emotions and passions, as the broken waters of the sea beattogether and make here or there the wave which is topmost. Anna's grandinitiative hung in their memories like the throbbing of a pulse, sohotly their sensations swarmed about it, and so intensely it embracedand led what all were desiring. The duchess kissed Anna, saying:

"That is a noble heart to which you have become reconciled. Though youshould never be friends, as I am with one of them, you will esteem her. Do not suppose her to be cold. She is the mother of an unborn littleone, and for that little one's sake she follows out every duty; shechecks every passion in her bosom. She will spare no sacrifice to saveher husband, but she has brought her mind to look at the worst, for fearthat a shock should destroy her motherly guard. "

"Really, duchess, " Anna replied, "these are things for married women tohear;" and she provoked some contempt of her conventional delicacy, atthe same time that in her imagination the image of Vittoria strugglingto preserve this burden of motherhood against a tragic mischance, completely humiliated and overwhelmed her, as if nature had also come toadd to her mortifications. 

"I am ready to confess everything I have done, and to be known for whatI am, " she said. 

"Confess no more than is necessary, but do everything you can; that'swisest, " returned the duchess. 

"Ah; you mean that you have nothing to learn. " Anna shuddered. 

"I mean that you are likely to run into the other extreme ofdisfavouring yourself just now, my child. And, " continued the duchess, "you have behaved so splendidly that I won't think ill of you. "

Before the day darkened, Wilfrid obtained, through Prince Radocky'sinfluence, an order addressed to Major Nagen for the surrender ofprisoners into his hands. He and Count Karl started for the Val Camonicaon the chance of intercepting the pursuit. These were not much wiserthan their guesses and their apprehensions made them; but Weisspriessstarted on the like errand after an interview with Anna, and he haddrawn sufficient intelligence out of sobs, and broken sentences, andtorture of her spirit, to understand that if Count Ammiani fell alive ordead into Nagen's hands, Nagen by Anna's scrupulous oath, had a claim onher person and her fortune: and he knew Nagen to be a gambler. As hewas now by promotion of service Nagen's superior officer, and a nearrelative of the Brescian commandant, who would be induced to justify hissteps, his object was to reach and arbitrarily place himself over Nagen, as if upon a special mission, and to get the lead of the expedition. Forthat purpose he struck somewhat higher above the Swiss borders thanKarl and Wilfrid, and gained a district in the mountains above thevale, perfectly familiar to him. Obeying directions forwarded to herby Wilfrid, Vittoria left Milan for the Val Camonica no later than theevening; Laura was with her in the carriage; Merthyr took horse afterthem as soon as he had succeeded in persuading Countess Ammiani topardon her daughter's last act of wilfulness, and believe that, duringthe agitation of unnumbered doubts, she ran less peril in the wildswhere her husband fled, than in her home. 

"I will trust to her idolatrously, as you do, " Countess Ammiani said;"and perhaps she has already proved to me that I may. "

Merthyr saw Agostino while riding out of Milan, and was seen by him;but the old man walked onward, looking moodily on the stones, and merelywaved his hand behind. 

CHAPTER XLVI

THE LAST

There is hard winter overhead in the mountains when Italian Springwalks the mountain-sides with flowers, and hangs deep valley-walls withflowers half fruit; the sources of the rivers above are set about withfangs of ice, while the full flat stream runs to a rose of sunlight. High among the mists and snows were the fugitives of Brescia, andthose who for love or pity struggled to save them wandered through theblooming vales, sometimes hearing that they had crossed the frontierinto freedom, and as often that they were scattered low in death andcaptivity. Austria here, Switzerland yonder, and but one depth betweento bound across and win calm breathing. But mountain might call tomountain, peak shine to peak; a girdle of steel drove the hunted menback to frosty heights and clouds, the shifting bosom of snows andlightnings. They saw nothing of hands stretched out to succour. They sawa sun that did not warm them, a home of exile inaccessible, crags likean earth gone to skeleton in hungry air; and below, the land oftheir birth, beautiful, and sown everywhere for them with torture andcaptivity, or death, the sweetest. Fifteen men numbered the escape fromBrescia. They fought their way twice through passes of the mountains, and might easily, in their first dash Northward from the South-facinghills, have crossed to the Valtelline and Engadine, but that in theirinsanity of anguish they meditated another blow, and were readier tomarch into the plains with the tricolour than to follow any course offlight. When the sun was no longer in their blood they thought of reasonand of rest; they voted the expedition to Switzerland, that so theyshould get round to Rome, and descended from the crags of the Tonale, under which they were drawn to an ambush, suffering three of their partykilled, and each man bloody with wounds. The mountain befriended them, and gave them safety, as truth is given by a bitter friend. Among icycrags and mists, where the touch of life grows dull as the nail of afore-finger, the features of the mountain were stamped on them, and withhunger they lost pride, and with solitude laughter; with endless fleeingthey lost the aim of flight; some became desperate, a few craven. Companionship was broken before they parted in three bodies, commandedseverally by Colonel Corte, Carlo Ammiani, and Barto Rizzo. Cortereached the plains, masked by the devotion of Carlo's band, who luredthe soldiery to a point and drew a chase, while Corte passed theline and pushed on for Switzerland. Carlo told off his cousin AngeloGuidascarpi in the list of those following Corte; but when he fled upto the snows again, he beheld Angelo spectral as the vapour on a jutof rock awaiting him. Barto Rizzo had chosen his own way, none knewwhither. Carlo, Angelo, Marco Sana, and a sharply-wounded Brescian lad, conceived the scheme of traversing the South Tyrol mountain-range towardFriuli, whence Venice, the still-breathing republic, might possibly begained. They carried the boy in turn till his arms drooped long down, and when they knew the soul was out of him they buried him in snow, andthought him happy. It was then that Marco Sana took his death for anomen, and decided them to turn their heads once more for Switzerland;telling them that the boy, whom he last had carried, uttered "Rome" withthe flying breath. Angelo said that Sana would get to Rome; and Carlo, smiling on Angelo, said they were to die twins though they had been bornonly cousins. The language they had fallen upon was mystical, scarceintelligible to other than themselves. On a clear morning, with theSwiss peaks in sight, they were condemned by want of food to quit theirfastness for the valley. 

Vittoria read the faces of the mornings as human creatures base triedto gather the sum of their destinies off changing surfaces, fair notmeaning fair, nor black black, but either the mask upon the secretof God's terrible will; and to learn it and submit, was the spiritualburden of her motherhood, that the child leaping with her heartmight live. Not to hope blindly, in the exceeding anxiousness of herpassionate love, nor blindly to fear; not to bet her soul fly out amongthe twisting chances; not to sap her great maternal duty by affectingfalse stoical serenity:--to nurse her soul's strength, and suckle herwomanly weakness with the tsars which are poison--when repressed; tobe at peace with a disastrous world for the sake of the dependent lifeunborn; lay such pure efforts she clung to God. Soft dreams of sacrednuptial tenderness, tragic images, wild pity, were like phantomsencircling her, plucking at her as she went, lest they were beneath herfeet, and she kept them from lodging between her breasts. The thoughtthat her husband, though he should have perished, was not a life lostif their child lived, sustained her powerfully. It seemed to whisper attimes almost as it were Carlo's ghost breathing in her ears: "On thee!"On her the further duty devolved; and she trod down hope, lest it shouldbuild her up and bring a shock to surprise her fortitude; she put backalarm. 

The mountains and the valleys scarce had names for her understanding;they were but a scene where the will of her Maker was at work. Rarelyhas a soul been so subjected to its own force. She certainly had theimage of God in her mind. 

Yet when her ayes lingered on any mountain gorge, the fate of herhusband sang within it a strange chant, ending in a key that rangsounding through all her being, and seemed to question heaven. Thismusic framed itself; it was still when she looked at the shroudedmountain-tops. A shadow meting sunlight on the long green slopes arousedit, and it hummed above the tumbling hasty foam, and penetrated hangingdepths of foliage, sad-hued rock-clefts, dark green ravines; it becameconvulsed where the mountain threw forward in a rushing upward lineagainst the sky, there to be severed at the head by cloud. It was silentamong the vines. 

Most painfully did human voices affect her when she had this music;speech was a scourge to her sense of hearing, and touch distressed her:an edge of purple flame would then unfold the vision of things toher eyes. She had lost memory; and if by hazard unawares one idea wasprojected by some sudden tumult of her enslaved emotions beyond knownand visible circumstances, her intelligence darkened with am oppressivedread like that of zealots of the guilt of impiety. 

Thus destitute, her eye took innumerable pictures sharp as on abrass-plate: torrents, goat-tracks winding up red earth, rocks veiledwith water, cottage and children, strings of villagers mounting to thechurch, one woman kneeling before a wayside cross, her basket ather back, and her child gazing idly by; perched hamlets, rollingpasture-fields, the vast mountain lines. She asked all that she saw, "Does he live?" but the life was out of everything, and these showstold of no life, neither of joy nor of grief. She could only distantlyconnect the appearance of the white-coated soldiery with the source ofher trouble. They were no more than figures on a screen that hid theflashing of the sword which renders dumb. She had charity for one whowas footsore and sat cherishing his ankle by a village spring, and shefed him, and not until he was far behind, thought that he might haveseen the white face of her husband. 

Accurate tidings could not be obtained, though the whole course of thevale was full of stories of escapes, conflicts, and captures. Merthyrlearnt positively that some fugitives had passed the cordon. He cameacross Wilfrid and Count Karl, who both verified it in the most sanguinemanner. They knew, however, that Major Nagen continued in the mountains. Riding by a bend of the road, Merthyr beheld a man playing amongchildren, with one hand and his head down apparently for concealment athis approach. It proved to be Beppo. The man believed that Count Ammianihad fled to Switzerland. Barto Rizzo, he said, was in the mountainsstill, and Beppo invoked damnation on him, as the author of those lyingproclamations which had ruined Brescia. He had got out of the city laterthan the others and was seeking to evade the outposts, that he mightjoin his master--"that is, my captain, for I have only one master;" hecorrected the slip of his tongue appealingly to Merthyr. His left handwas being continually plucked at by the children while he talked, andafter Merthyr had dispersed them with a shower of small coin, he showedthe hand, saying, glad of eye, that it had taken a sword-cut intendedfor Count Ammiani. Merthyr sent him back to mount the carriage, enjoining him severely not to speak. 

When Carlo and his companions descended from the mountains, they entereda village where there was an inn recognized by Angelo as the abode ofJacopo Cruchi. He there revived Carlo's animosity toward Weisspriessby telling the tale of the passage to Meran, and his good reasons fordetermining to keep guard over the Countess Alessandra all the way. Subsequently Angelo went to Jacopo for food. This he procured, but hewas compelled to leave the man behind, and unpaid. It was dark when heleft the inn; he had some difficulty in evading a flock of whitecoats, and his retreat from the village was still on the Austrian side. Somewhat about midnight Merthyr reached the inn, heralding the carriage. As Jacopo caught sight of Vittoria's face, he fell with his shouldersstraightened against the wall, and cried out loudly that he had betrayedno one, and mentioned Major Weisspriess by name as having held the pointof his sword at him and extracted nothing better than a wave of thehand and a lie; in other words, that the fugitives had retired to theTyrolese mountains, and that he had shammed ignorance of who they were. Merthyr read at a glance that Jacopo had the large swallow and calmdigestion for bribes, and getting the fellow alone he laid money inview, out of which, by doubling the sum to make Jacopo correct his firststatement, and then by threatening to withdraw it altogether, he gainedknowledge of the fact that Angelo Guidascarpi had recently visited theinn, and had started from it South-eastward, and that Major Weisspriesswas following on his track. He wrote a line of strong entreaty toWeisspriess, lest that officer should perchance relapse into angerat the taunts of prisoners abhorring him with the hatred of Carlo andAngelo. At the same time he gave Beppo a considerable supply of money, and then sent him off, armed as far as possible to speed Count Ammianisafe across the borders, if a fugitive; or if a prisoner, to ensure thebest which could be hoped for him from an adversary become generous. That evening Vittoria lay with her head on Laura's lap, and the pearlylittle crescent of her ear in moonlight by the window. So fair and youngand still she looked that Merthyr feared for her, and thought of sendingher back to Countess Ammiani. 

Her first question with the lifting of her eyelids was if he had ceasedto trust to her courage. 

"No, " said Merthyr; "there are bounds to human strength; that is all. "

She answered: "There would be to mine--if I had not more than humanstrength beside me. I bow my head, dearest; it is that. I feel that Icannot break down as long as I know what is passing. Does my husbandlive?"

"Yes, he lives, " said Merthyr; and she gave him her hand, and went toher bed. 

He learnt from Laura that when Beppo mounted the carriage in silence, afit of ungovernable wild trembling had come on her, broken at intervalsby a cry that something was concealed. Laura could give no advice;she looked on Merthyr and Vittoria as two that had an incomprehensibleknowledge of the power of one another's natures, and the fiery creatureremained passive in perplexity of minds as soft an attendant as asuffering woman could have:

Merthyr did not sleep, and in the morning Vittoria said to him, "Youwant to be active, my friend. Go, and we will wait for you here. I knowthat I am never deceived by you, and when I see you I know that thetruth speaks and bids me be worthy of it Go up there, " she pointed withshut eyes at the mountains; "leave me to pray for greater strength. I amamong Italians at this inn; and shall spend money here; the poor peoplelove it. " She smiled a little, showing a glimpse of her old charitablehumour. 

Merthyr counselled Laura that in case of evil tidings during his absenceshe should reject her feminine ideas of expediency, and believe that shewas speaking to a brave soul firmly rooted in the wisdom of heaven. 

"Tell her?--she will die, " said Laura, shuddering. 

"Get tears from her, " Merthyr rejoined; "but hide nothing from her fora single instant; keep her in daylight. For God's sake, keep her indaylight. "

"It's too sharp a task for me. " She repeated that she was incapable ofit. 

"Ah, " said he, "look at your Italy, how she weeps! and she has cause. She would die in her grief, if she had no faith for what is to come. Idare say it is not, save in the hearts of one or two, a conscious faith, but it's real divine strength; and Alessandra Ammiani has it. Do as Ibid you. I return in two days. "

Without understanding him, Laura promised that she would do her utmostto obey, and he left her muttering to herself as if she were schoolingher lips to speak reluctant words. He started for the mountains withgladdened limbs, taking a guide, who gave his name as Lorenzo, andtalked of having been 'out' in the previous year. "I am a patriot, signore! and not only in opposition to my beast of a wife, I assure you:a downright patriot, I mean. " Merthyr was tempted to discharge him atfirst, but controlled his English antipathy to babblers, and discoveredhim to be a serviceable fellow. Toward nightfall they heard shots upa rock-strewn combe of the lower slopes; desultory shots indicatingrifle-firing at long range. Darkness made them seek shelter in apine-hut; starting from which at dawn, Lorenzo ran beating about like adog over the place where the shots had sounded on the foregoing day; hefound a stone spotted with blood. Not far from the stone lay a militaryglove that bore brown-crimson finger-ends. They were striking off toa dairy-but for fresh milk, when out of a crevice of rock overhungby shrubs a man's voice called, and Merthyr climbing up from perch toperch, saw Marco Sana lying at half length, shot through hand andleg. From him Merthyr learnt that Carlo and Angelo had fled higher up;yesterday they had been attacked by coming who tried to lure there tosurrender by coming forward at the head of his men and offering safety, and "other gabble, " said Marco. He offered a fair shot at his heart, too, while he stood below a rock that Marco pointed at gloomily as ahope gone for ever; but Carlo would not allow advantage to be taken ofeven the treacherous simulation of chivalry, and only permitted firingafter he had returned to his men. "I was hit here and here, " said Marco, touching his wounds, as men can hardly avoid doing when speaking of thefresh wound. Merthyr got him on his feet, put money in his pocket, andled him off the big stones painfully. "They give no quarter, " Marcoassured him, and reasoned that it must be so, for they had not takenhim prisoner, though they saw him fall, and ran by or in view of him inpursuit of Carlo. By this Merthyr was convinced that Weisspriessmeant well. He left his guide in charge of Marco to help him into theEngadine. Greatly to his astonishment, Lorenzo tossed the back of hishand at the offer of money. "There shall be this difference between meand my wife, " he remarked; "and besides, gracious signore, serving mycountrymen for nothing, that's for love, and the Tedeschi can't punishme for it, so it's one way of cheating them, the wolves!" Merthyr shookhis hand and said, "Instead of my servant, be my friend;" and Lorenzomade no feeble mouth, but answered, "Signore, it is much to my honour, "and so they went different ways. 

Left to himself Merthyr set step vigorously upward. Information fromherdsmen told him that he was an hour off the foot of one of the passes. He begged them to tell any hunted men who might come within hail that afriend ran seeking them. Farther up, while thinking of the fine natureof that Lorenzo, and the many men like him who could not by the veryexistence of nobility in their bosoms suffer their country to go throughanother generation of servitude, his heart bounded immensely, for heheard a shout and his name, and he beheld two figures on a rock near thegorge where the mountain opened to its heights. But they were not Carloand Angelo. They were Wilfrid and Count Karl, the latter of whom haddiscerned him through a telescope. They had good news to revive him, however: good at least in the main. Nagen had captured Carlo and Angelo, they believed; but they had left Weisspriess near on Nagen's detachment, and they furnished sound military reasons to show why, if Weisspriessfavoured the escape, they should not be present. They supposed that theywere not half-a-mile from the scene in the pass where Nagen was beingforcibly deposed from his authority: Merthyr borrowed Count Karl'sglass, and went as they directed him round a bluff of the descendinghills, that faced the vale, much like a blown and beaten sea-cliff. Wilfrid and Karl were so certain of Count Ammiani's safety, that theironly thought was to get under good cover before nightfall, andhaply into good quarters, where the three proper requirements of thesoldier-meat, wine, and tobacco--might be furnished to them. After animperative caution that they should not present themselves before theCountess Alessandra, Merthyr sped quickly over the broken ground. Howgaily the two young men cheered to him as he hurried on! He met a sortof pedlar turning the bluntfaced mountain-spur, and this man said, "Yes, sure enough, prisoners had been taken, " and he was not aware of harmhaving been done to them; he fancied there was a quarrel between twocaptains. His plan being always to avoid the military, he had slunkround and away from them as fast as might be. An Austrian commonsoldier, a good-humoured German, distressed by a fall that had hurthis knee-cap, sat within the gorge, which was very wide at the mouth. Merthyr questioned him, and he, while mending one of his gatheredcigar-ends, pointed to a meadow near the beaten track, some distance upthe rocks. Whitecoats stood thick on it. Merthyr lifted his telescopeand perceived an eager air about the men, though they stood ranged incareless order. He began to mount forthwith, but amazed by a suddenringing of shot, he stopped, asking himself in horror whether it couldbe an execution. The shots and the noise increased, until the confusionof a positive mellay reigned above. The fall of the meadow swept toa bold crag right over the pathway, and with a projection that seensideways made a vulture's head and beak of it. There rolled a corpsedown the precipitous wave of green grass on to the crag, where itlodged, face to the sky; sword dangled from swordknot at one wrist, heels and arms were in the air, and the body caught midway hung poisedand motionless. The firing deadened. Then Merthyr drawing nearer beneaththe crag, saw one who had life in him slipping down toward the body, and knew the man for Beppo. Beppo knocked his hands together and groanedmiserably, but flung himself astride the beak of the crag, and tookthe body in his arms, sprang down with it, and lay stunned at Merthyr'sfeet. Merthyr looked on the face of Carlo Ammiani. 

EPILOGUE

No uncontested version of the tragedy of Count Ammiani's death passedcurrent in Milan during many years. With time it became disconnectedfrom passion, and took form in a plain narrative. He and Angelowere captured by Major Nagen, and were, as the soldiers of the forcesubsequently let it be known, roughly threatened with what he termedI 'Brescian short credit. ' The appearance of Major Weisspriess andhis claim to the command created a violent discussion between the twoofficers. For Nagen, by all military rules, could well contest it. ButWeisspriess had any body of the men of the army under his charm, andseeing the ascendency he gained with them over an unpopular officer, he dared the stroke for the charitable object he had in view. Havingestablished his command, in spite of Nagen's wrathful protests andmenaces, he spoke to the prisoners, telling Carlo that for his wife'ssake he should be spared, and Angelo that he must expect the fate of amurderer. His address to them was deliberate, and quite courteous: heexpressed himself sorry that a gallant gentleman like Angelo Guidascarpishould merit a bloody grave, but so it was. At the same time heentreated Count Ammiani to rely on his determination to save him. MajorNagen did not stand far removed from them. Carlo turned to him andrepeated the words of Weisspriess; nor could Angelo restrain hiscousin's vehement renunciation of hope and life in doing this. Heaccused Weisspriess of a long evasion of a brave man's obligation torepair an injury, charged him with cowardice, and requested Major Nagen, as a man of honour, to drag his brother officer to the duel. Nagen thensaid that Major Weisspriess was his superior, adding that his gallantbrother officer had only of late objected to vindicate his reputationwith his sword. Stung finally beyond the control of an irritable temper, Weisspriess walked out of sight of the soldiery with Carlo, to whom, ata special formal request from Weisspriess, Nagen handed his sword. Againhe begged Count Ammiani to abstain from fighting; yea, to strike him anddisable him, and fly, rather--than provoke the skill of his right hand. Carlo demanded his cousin's freedom. It was denied to him, and Carloclaimed his privilege. The witnesses of the duel were Jenna and anotheryoung subaltern: both declared it fair according to the laws of honour, when their stupefaction on beholding the proud swordsman of the armystretched lifeless on the brown leaves of the past year left them withpower to speak. Thus did Carlo slay his old enemy who would have servedas his friend. A shout of rescue was heard before Carlo had yielded uphis weapon. Four haggard and desperate men, headed by Barto Rizzo, burstfrom an ambush on the guard encircling Angelo. There, with one thoughtof saving his doomed cousin and comrade, Carlo rushed, and not oneItalian survived the fight. 

An unarmed spectator upon the meadow-borders, Beppo, had but obscureglimpses of scenes shifting like a sky in advance of hurricane winds. 

Merthyr delivered the burden of death to Vittoria. Her soul had crossedthe darkness of the river of death in that quiet agony preceding therevelation of her Maker's will, and she drew her dead husband to herbosom and kissed him on the eyes and the forehead, not as one who hadquite gone away from her, but as one who lay upon another shore whithershe would come. The manful friend, ever by her side, saved her by hisabsolute trust in her fortitude to bear the burden of the great sorrowundeceived, and to walk with it to its last resting-place on earthunobstructed. Clear knowledge of her, the issue of reverent love, enabled him to read her unequalled strength of nature, and to relyon her fidelity to her highest mortal duty in a conflict with extremedespair. She lived through it as her Italy had lived through the hourswhich brought her face to face with her dearest in death; and she alsoon the day, ten years later, when an Emperor and a King stood beneaththe vault of the grand Duomo, and the organ and a peal of voicesrendered thanks to heaven for liberty, could show the fruit of herdevotion in the dark-eyed boy, Carlo Merthyr Ammiani, standing betweenMerthyr and her, with old blind Agostino's hands upon his head. And thenonce more, and but for once, her voice was heard in Milan. 

 ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

 A common age once, when he married her; now she had grown old A fortress face; strong and massive, and honourable in ruin Agostino was enjoying the smoke of paper cigarettes An angry woman will think the worst Anguish to think of having bent the knee for nothing Art of despising what he coveted As the Lord decided, so it would end! "Oh, delicious creed!" Be on your guard the next two minutes he gets you alone But is there such a thing as happiness By our manner of loving we are known Compliment of being outwitted by their own offspring Conduct is never a straight index where the heart's involved Confess no more than is necessary, but do everything you can Critical in their first glance at a prima donna Deep as a mother's, pure as a virgin's, fiery as a saint's Defiance of foes and (what was harder to brave) of friends Do I serve my hand? or, Do I serve my heart? English antipathy to babblers Every church of the city lent its iron tongue to the peal Fast growing to be an eccentric by profession Foolish trick of thinking for herself Forgetfulness is like a closing sea Fortitude leaned so much upon the irony Good nerve to face the scene which he is certain will be enacted Government of brain; not sufficient Insurrection of heart Grand air of pitying sadness Had taken refuge in their opera-glasses Hated tears, considering them a clog to all useful machinery He is in the season of faults He is inexorable, being the guilty one of the two He postponed it to the next minute and the next Her singing struck a note of grateful remembered delight I always respected her; I never liked her I hope I am not too hungry to discriminate I know nothing of imagination Impossible for us women to comprehend love without folly in man In Italy, a husband away, ze friend takes title Intentions are really rich possessions Ironical fortitude It rarely astonishes our ears It illumines our souls Italians were like women, and wanted--a real beating Longing for love and dependence Love of men and women as a toy that I have played with Madness that sane men enamoured can be struck by Morales, madame, suit ze sun Necessary for him to denounce somebody Never, never love a married woman No intoxication of hot blood to cheer those who sat at home No word is more lightly spoken than shame Not to be feared more than are the general race of bunglers O heaven! of what avail is human effort? Obedience oils necessity Our life is but a little holding, lent To do a mighty labour Pain is a cloak that wraps you about Patience is the pestilence People who can lose themselves in a ray of fancy at any season Profound belief in her partiality for him Question with some whether idiots should live Rarely exacted obedience, and she was spontaneously obeyed She thought that friendship was sweeter than love She was sick of personal freedom Simple obstinacy of will sustained her Speech was a scourge to her sense of hearing Taint of the hypocrisy which comes with shame The devil trusts nobody The divine afflatus of enthusiasm buoyed her no longer They take fever for strength, and calmness for submission Too weak to resist, to submit to an outrage quietly Too well used to defeat to believe readily in victory Was born on a hired bed Watch, and wait We are good friends till we quarrel again We can bear to fall; we cannot afford to draw back Went into endless invalid's laughter Who shrinks from an hour that is suspended in doubt Whole body of fanatics combined to precipitate the devotion Why should these men take so much killing? Will not admit the existence of a virtue in an opposite opinion Women and men are in two hostile camps You can master pain, but not doubt Youth will not believe that stupidity and beauty can go together