wait for them, and
hear that fifteen patriots have stabbed a Croat corporal, and wrestled
hotly with a lieutenant of the guard? I say they are bunglers. They never
mean the thing. Fifteen! There were just three Milanese among the last
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 Council was, 'Go
and do the business!' which means, 'Go and earn your ounce of Austrian
lead.' They went, and we gave fifteen true men for one poor devil of a
curst tight blue-leg. They can play the game on if we give them odds like
that. Milan burns bad powder, and goes off like a drugged pistol. It's a
nest of bunglers, and may it be razed! We could do without it, and well!
If it were a family failing, should not I too be trusting them? My
brother was one of the fifteen who marched out as targets to try the
skill of those hell-plumed Tyrolese: and they did it thoroughly--shot him
straight here." Corte struck his chest. "He gave a jump and a cry. Was it
a viva for Milan? They swear that it was, and they can't translate from a
living mouth, much more from a dead one; but I know my Niccolo better. I
have kissed his lips a thousand times, and I know the poor boy meant,
'Scorn and eternal distrust of such peddling conspirators as these!' I
can deal with traitors, but these flash-in-the-pan plotters--these
shaking, jelly-bodied patriots!--trust to them again? Rather draw lots
for another fifteen to bare their breasts and bandage their eyes, and
march out in the grey morning, while the stupid Croat corporal goes on
smoking his lumpy pipe! We shall hear that Milan is moving; we shall
rise; we shall be hot at it; and the news will come that Milan has merely
yawned and turned over to sleep on the other side. Twice she has done
this trick, and the garrison there has sent five regiments to finish
us--teach us to sleep soundly likewise! I say, let it be Bergamo; or be
it Brescia, if you like; or Venice: she is ready. You trust to Milan, and
you are fore-doomed. I would swear it with this hand in the flames. She
give the signal? Shut your eyes, cross your hands flat on your breasts:
you are dead men if you move. She lead the way? Spin on your heels, and
you have followed her!"

Corte had spoken in a thick difficult voice, that seemed to require the
aid of his vehement gestures to pour out as it did like a water-pipe in a
hurricane of rain. He ceased, red almost to blackness,