nded
that he would be very much in her way. She had no time for chagrin at
her loss of power over him, though she was sensible of vexation. Barto
folded his arms and sat with his head in his chest, silent, till they
reached the' gates, when he said in French, "Madame, I am a nameless
person in your train. Gabble!" he added, when the countess advised him
not to enter; nor would he allow her to precede him by more than one
step. Violetta sent up her name. The man had shaken her nerves. "At
least, remember that your appearance should be decent," she said,
catching sight of blood on his hands, and torn garments. "I expect,
madame," he replied, "I shall not have time to wash before I am
laid out. My time is short. I want tobacco. The washing can be done
by-and-by, but not the smoking."

They were ushered up to the reception-room, where Countess Ammiani,
Vittoria, and Carlo sat, awaiting the visitor whose unexpected name,
cast in their midst at so troubled a season, had clothed her with some
of the midnight's terrors.

CHAPTER XLIII

THE LAST MEETING IN MILAN

Barto Rizzo had silence about him without having to ask for it, when he
followed Violetta into Countess Ammiani's saloon of reception. Carlo was
leaning over his mother's chair, holding Vittoria's wrist across it,
and so enclosing her, while both young faces were raised to the bowed
forehead of the countess. They stood up. Violetta broke through the
formal superlatives of an Italian greeting. "Speak to me alone," she
murmured for Carlo's ear and glancing at Barto: "Here is a madman; a
mild one, I trust." She contrived to show that she was not responsible
for his intrusion. Countess Ammiani gathered Vittoria in her arms; Carlo
stepped a pace before them. Terror was on the venerable lady's face,
wrath on her son's. As he fronted Barto, he motioned a finger to the
curtain hangings, and Violetta, quick at reading signs, found his bare
sword there. "But you will not want it," she remarked, handing the hilt
to him, and softly eyeing the impression of her warm touch on the steel
as it passed.

"Carlo, thou son of Paolo! Countess Marcellina, wife of a true patriot!
stand aside, both of you. It is between the Countess Alessandra and
myself," so the man commenced, with his usual pomp of interjection.
"Swords and big eyes,--are they things to stop me?" Barto laughed
scornfully. He had spoken in the full roll of his voice, and the sword
was hard back for the thrust.