ould never use them again in this war. When Count Ranuzi, the
captive Austrian captain, had completed his toilet, he took his hat
and entered the street. Ranuzi had now assumed a careless, indifferent
expression; he greeted the acquaintances who met him with a friendly
smile, uttering to each a few kindly words or gay jests. He reached, at
last, a small and insignificant house in the Frederick Street, opened
the door which was only slightly closed, and entered the hall; at the
same moment a side door opened, and a lady sprang forward, with extended
arms, to meet the count.

"Oh, my angel," said she, in that soft Italian tongue, so well suited to
clothe love's trembling sighs in words--"oh, my angel, are you here at
last? I saw your noble, handsome face, from my window; it seemed to me
that my room was illuminated with glorious sunshine, and my heart and
soul were warmed."

Ranuzi made no answer to these glowing words, silently he suffered
himself to be led forward by the lady, then replied to her ardent
assurances by a few cool, friendly words.

"You are alone to-day, Marietta," said he, "and your husband will not
interrupt our conversation."

"My husband!" said she, reproachfully, "Taliazuchi is not my husband.
I despise him; I know nothing of him; I am even willing that he should
know I adore you."

"Oh woman, woman!" said Ranuzi, laughing; "how treacherous, how
dangerous you are! When you love happily, you are like the anaconda,
whose poisonous bite one need not fear, when it is well fed and tended,
but when you have ceased to love, you are like the tigress who, rashly
awaked from sleep, would strangle the unfortunate who disturbed her
repose. Come, my anaconda, come; if you are satisfied with my love, let
us talk and dream." He drew her tenderly toward him, and, kissing her
fondly, seated her by his side; but Marietta glided softly to his feet.

"Let it be so," she said; "let me lie at your feet; let me adore you,
and read in your face the history of these last three terrible days, in
which I have not seen you. Where were you, Carlo? why have you forgotten
me?"

"Ah," said he, laughing, "my anaconda begins to hunger for my heart's
blood! how long before she will be ready to devour or to murder me?"

"Do not call me your anaconda," she said, shaking her head; "you say
that, when we are satisfied with your love, we are like the sleeping
anaconda. But, Carlo, when I look upon you, I thirst for your glances,
y