was
saying, with the intention of bringing round some reproach upon Luciano
for his want of noble sympathy, when the crash of an Austrian regimental
band was heard coming up the Corso. It stirred him to love his friend
with all his warmth. 'At any rate, for my sake, Luciano, you will
respect and uphold her.'

'Yes, while she's true,' said Luciano, unsatisfactorily. The regiment,
in review uniform, followed by two pieces of artillery, passed by. Then
came a squadron of hussars and one of Uhlans, and another foot regiment,
more artillery, fresh cavalry.

'Carlo, if three generations of us pour out our blood to fertilize
Italian ground, it's not too much to pay to chase those drilled curs.'
Luciano spoke in vehement undertone.

'We 'll breakfast and have a look at them in the Piazza d'Armi, and show
that we Milanese are impressed with a proper idea of their power,' said
Carlo, brightening as he felt the correction of his morbid lover's anger
in Luciano's reaching view of their duties as Italian citizens. The
heat and whirl of the hour struck his head, for to-morrow they might be
wrestling with that living engine which had marched past, and surely
all the hate he could muster should be turned upon the outer enemy. He
gained his mother's residence with clearer feelings.

CHAPTER XVI

COUNTESS AMMIANI

Countess Ammiani was a Venetian lady of a famous House, the name of
which is as a trumpet sounding from the inner pages of the Republic.
Her face was like a leaf torn from an antique volume; the hereditary
features told the story of her days. The face was sallow and fireless;
life had faded like a painted cloth upon the imperishable moulding.
She had neither fire in her eyes nor colour on her skin. The thin close
multitudinous wrinkles ran up accurately ruled from the chin to the
forehead's centre, and touched faintly once or twice beyond, as you
observe the ocean ripples run in threads confused to smoothness within a
space of the grey horizon sky. But the chin was firm, the mouth and nose
were firm, the forehead sat calmly above these shows of decay. It was a
most noble face; a fortress face; strong and massive, and honourable in
ruin, though stripped of every flower.

This lady in her girlhood had been the one lamb of the family dedicated
to heaven. Paolo, the General, her lover, had wrenched her from that
fate to share with him a life of turbulent sorrows till she should
behold the blood upon his grave. She,