Vittoria — Complete

  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 d
on'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.