emedy.

Some time after her craving for it had commenced, an Austrian foot
regiment, marching to the drum, passed under her windows. The fife is a
merry instrument; fife and drum colour the images of battle gaily; but
the dull ringing Austrian step-drum, beating unaccompanied, strikes the
mind with the real nature of battles, as the salt smell of powder strikes
it, and more in horror, more as a child's imagination realizes bloodshed,
where the scene is a rolling heaven, black and red on all sides, with
pitiable men moving up to the mouth of butchery, the insufferable
flashes, the dark illumination of red, red of black, like a vision of the
shadows Life and Death in a shadow-fight over the dear men still living.
Sensitive minds may be excited by a small stimulant to see such pictures.
This regimental drum is like a song of the flat-headed savage in man. It
has no rise or fall, but leads to the bloody business with an unvarying
note, and a savage's dance in the middle of the rhythm. Violetta listened
to it until her heart quickened with alarm lest she should be going to
have a fever. She thought of Carlo Ammiani, and of the name of Nagen; she
had seen him at the Lenkensteins. Her instant supposition was that Anna
had perhaps paid heavily for the secret of Carlo's movements an purpose
to place Major Nagen on the Brescian high-road to capture him. Capture
meant a long imprisonment, if not execution. Partly for the sake of
getting peace of mind--for she was shocked by her temporary inability to
command repose--but with some hope of convincing Carlo that she strove to
be of use to him, she sent for the spy Luigi, and at a cost of two
hundred and twenty Austrian florins, obtained his promise upon oath to
follow Count Ammiani into Brescia, if necessary, and deliver to him a
letter she had written, wherein Nagen's name was mentioned, and Carlo was
advised to avoid personal risks; the letter hinted that he might have
incurred a private enmity, and he had better keep among his friends. She
knew the writing of this letter to be the foolishest thing she had ever
done. Two hundred and twenty florins--the man originally stipulated to
have three hundred--was a large sum to pay for postage. However,
sacrifices must now and then be made for friendship, and for sleep. When
she had paid half the money, her mind was relieved, and she had the
slumber which preserves beauty. Luigi was to be paid the other half on
his return. "He may never retu