ceeding was dictated by the military instinct to
get 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 to
disconcert a youngster such as he was; nor have the subalterns of Croat
regiments a very signal reputation for efficiency in the Austrian
Service. Vittoria stood among her supporters apart; pale, and 'only very
thirsty,' as she told the enthusiastic youths who pressed near her, and
implored her to have no fear. Carlo was on her right hand; Luciano on her
left. They kept her from going off to her room. Montini was despatched to
fetch her maid Giacinta with cloak and hood for her mistress. The young
lieutenant of Croats drew his sword, but hesitated. Weisspriess, Wilfrid,
and Major de Pyrmont were at one wing, between the Italian gentlemen and
the soldiery. The operatic company had fallen into the background, or
stood crowding the side places of exit. Vittoria's name was being shouted
with that angry, sea-like, horrid monotony of iteration which is more
suggestive of menacing impatience and the positive will of the people,
than varied, sharp, imperative calls. The people had got the lion in
their throats. One shriek from her would bring 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 to the difficulty of their
position. The lieutenant of Croats strode up to Weisspriess and Wilfrid,
who were discussing a plan of action vehemently; while, amid hubbub and
argument, De Pyrmont studied Vittoria's features through his opera-glass,
with an admirable simple languor.

Wilfrid turned back to him, and De Pyrmont, without altering the level of
his glass, said, 'She's as cool as a lemon-ice. That girl will be a
mother of heroes. To have volcanic fire and the mastery of her nerves at
the same time, is something prodigious. She is magnificent. Take a peep
at her. I suspect that the rascal at her right is seizing his occasion to
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 grown
dead-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