ty another thought.
They began discussing plans for the campaign, plans for insurrections,
but here they could not agree. V. knew the men and the mountains of the
Lake of Como from Colico to Como and Lecco, better perhaps than any one
else. And everywhere all along the lake, in Val Menaggio, in Vall
'Intelvi, in Valsassina, in the Tre Pievi, he knew those who were
devoted to the cause, and even ready to strike the blow at a sign from
the _Scior Avocat_. He and Franco considered any insurrectional movement
useful that might serve to distract part of the Austrian forces even for
a moment. But Luisa and Pedraglio were of opinion that all the
able-bodied men should hasten to swell the Piedmontese battalions. "We
women will make the revolution," said Luisa, with her mock gravity. "I,
for my part, will pitch Carlascia into the lake!"

They still conversed in an undertone, with an electric current in their
veins that flashed from their eyes, and made their nerves tingle;
enjoying this hushed talk behind closed doors and windows, the danger of
being in possession of that letter, the glowing life they felt in their
blood, and those intoxicating words they were always repeating:
Piedmont, War, Cavour, Duke of Genoa, Victor Emmanuel, Cannon,
_Bersaglieri_.

"Do you know what time it is?" said Pedraglio, consulting his watch. "It
is half-past twelve! Let us go to bed."

Luisa went for the candles, and lighted them, standing the while, but no
one moved, so she also sat down again. When he saw the candles lighted,
even Pedraglio himself lost his desire to go to bed.

"A fine kingdom!" said he.

"Piedmont," said Franco, "Lombardy-Venice, Parma, and Modena."

"And the Legations!"[L] V. added.

More discussions followed. All wished for the

Legations, especially the lawyer and Luisa, but Franco and Pedraglio
were afraid to touch them, fearing to stir up difficulties. They grew so
warm that Pedraglio entreated his companions to "scream" in an
undertone. "Scream softly, children!" Then it was V.'s turn to propose
going to bed. He took his candle in his hand but did not rise.

"Body of Bacchus!" said he, not knowing whether he meant it as a
conclusion or an exhortation. Indeed he had a terrible desire to talk,
and to hear others talk, but could find nothing new to say. "Body of
Bacchus it is indeed!" Franco exclaimed, who was in much the same state
of mind. A long silence ensued. At last Pedraglio said, "Well?" and
rose. "Shall