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 com
e 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 hust
ling 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 o
ut 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.
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