e 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, exhausted by intensity of passion, clung
more than to any other on earth, though she did not love him, scarcely
liked him.

Corte asked her curiously--for she had surprised and vexed his softer
side--why she distinguished him with such remar