whom he had
yesterday shaken hands in the Piazza of La Scala. The ceremony was
cordially renewed. Luciano unlinked his arm from Carlo and left him.

'It appears that you are mistaken with reference to Mademoiselle
Belloni,' said Captain Gambier. 'We hear on positive authority that she
will not appear at La Scala to-night. It's a disappointment; though,
from what you did me the honour to hint to me, I cannot allow myself to
regret it.'

Carlo had a passionate inward prompting to trust this Englishman with
the secret. It was a weakness that he checked. When one really takes to
foreigners, there is a peculiar impulse (I speak of the people who are
accessible to impulse) to make brothers of them. He bowed, and said,
'She does not appear?'

'She has in fact quitted Milan. Not willingly. I would have stopped the
business if I had known anything of it; but she is better out of the
way, and will be carefully looked after, where she is. By this time she
is in the Tyrol.'

'And where?' asked Carlo, with friendly interest.

'At a schloss near Meran. Or she will be there in a very few hours. I
feared--I may inform you that we were very good friends in England--I
feared that when she once came to Italy she would get into political
scrapes. I dare say you agree with me that women have nothing to do
with politics. Observe: you see the lady who is speaking to the Austrian
officer?--he is her brother. Like Mademoiselle Belloni he has adopted
a fresh name; it's the name of his uncle, a General Pierson in the
Austrian service. I knew him in England: he has been in our service.
Mademoiselle Belloni lived with his sisters for some years two or three.
As you may suppose, they are all anxious to see her. Shall I introduce
you? They will be glad to know one of her Italian friends.'

Carlo hesitated; he longed to hear those ladies talk of Vittoria. 'Do
they speak French?'

'Oh, dear, yes. That is, as we luckless English people speak it. Perhaps
you will more easily pardon their seminary Italian. See there,' Captain
Gambier pointed at some trotting squadrons; 'these Austrians have
certainly a matchless cavalry. The artillery seems good. The infantry
are fine men--very fine men. They have a "woodeny" movement; but that's
in the nature of the case: tremendous discipline alone gives homogeneity
to all those nationalities. Somehow they get beaten. I doubt whether
anything will beat their cavalry.'

'They are useless in street-fighting,' sa