ered
more than she betrayed, was less consoled than her spiritual comforter
imagined. She continued obstinate and unrepentant, saying, "If my
punishment is to come, it will at least bring experience with it, and I
shall know why I am punished. The misery now is that I do not know, and
do not see, the justice of the sentence."

Countess Ammiani thought better of her case than the priest did; or
she was more indulgent, or half indifferent. This girl was Carlo's
choice;--a strange choice, but the times were strange, and the girl was
robust. The channels of her own and her husband's house were drying on
all sides; the house wanted resuscitating. There was promise that the
girl would bear children of strong blood. Countess Ammiani would not for
one moment have allowed the spiritual welfare of the children to hang
in dubitation, awaiting their experience of life; but a certain
satisfaction was shown in her faint smile when her confessor lamented
over Vittoria's proud stony state of moral revolt. She said to her
accepted daughter, "I shall expect you to be prepared to espouse my son
as soon as I have him by my side;" nor did Vittoria's silent bowing of
her face assure her that strict obedience was implied. Precise words--"I
will," and "I will not fail"--were exacted. The countess showed some
emotion after Vittoria had spoken. "Now, may God end this war quickly,
if it is to go against us," she exclaimed, trembling in her chair
visibly a half-minute, with dropped eyelids and lips moving.

Carlo had sent word that he would join his mother as early as he was
disengaged from active service, and meantime requested her to proceed to
a villa on Lago Maggiore. Vittoria obtained permission from the countess
to order the route of the carriage through Milan, where she wished to
take up her mother and her maid Giacinta. For other reasons she would
have avoided the city. The thought of entering it was painful with the
shrewdest pain. Dante's profoundly human line seemed branded on the
forehead of Milan.

The morning was dark when they drove through the streets of Bergamo.
Passing one of the open places, Vittoria beheld a great concourse of
volunteer youth and citizens, all of them listening to the voice of one
who stood a few steps above them holding a banner. She gave an outcry
of bitter joy. It was the Chief. On one side of him was Agostino, in the
midst of memorable heads that were unknown to her. The countess refused
to stay, though