udder in Vittoria's frame at this concluding sentence
caught 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 of
her voice that Corte had not a word.

"It is my husband who is going," Vittoria spoke on steadily; "him I am
prepared to sacrifice, as I am myself. If he thinks it right to throw
himself into Brescia, nothing is left for me but to thank him for having
done me the honour to consult me. His will is firm. I trust to God that
he is wise. I look on him now as one of many brave men whose lives belong
to Italy, and if they all are misdirected and perish, we have no more; we
are lost. The king is on the Ticino; the Chief is in Rome. I desire to
entreat you to take counsel before you act in anticipation of the king's
fortune. I see that it is a crushed life in Lombardy. In Rome there 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 take counsel. 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; Rome is 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 deep duty binds you to Bergamo and to
Brescia--poor Milan we must not think of. You are not personally pledged
to Rome: yet Rome may have the greatest claims on you. The heart of our
country is beginning to beat there. Colonel Corte! signor Marco! my
Agostino! my cousin Angelo! it is not a woman asking for the safety of
her husband, but one of the blood of Italy who begs to offer you her
voice, without seeking to disturb your 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 the absence
of emotion in the language of a woman so sorrowfully placed. "Wait," she
said, "wait for the news from Carlo Alberto, if you determine to play at
swords and guns in narrow streets." She spoke long and vehemently, using
irony, coarse and fine, with the eloquence which was her gift. In
conclusion she apostrophized Colonel Corte as one who had loved him might
have done. He was indeed that figure of indomitable strength to which her
spirit, exh