established—­words flowing so plainly from his honest heart that savage indeed would have been the enmity which, for the time, at least, was not quelled.  Cavour grasped the olive branch at once; all his momentary ire vanished.  He made excuses for his adversary; from the grief which he had felt himself when he advised the King to cede Savoy and Nice, he could understand the general’s resentment.  He had always been, he said in general terms, a friend to the volunteers.  What he did not even remotely suggest was the dissension which existed between himself and his military colleague on the subject of the Garibaldians.  The least hint would have gained for Cavour any amount of applause and popularity; but he preferred to bear all the blame rather than bring the national army into disfavour.  Garibaldi replied ‘that he had never doubted the Count’s patriotism;’ but at the end of the three days’ debate he declared himself dissatisfied with the Ministerial assurances touching the volunteers in particular and the country’s armaments as a whole.  As Cavour left the Chamber after the final night’s sitting, he remarked to a friend—­all his fine equanimity returned:  ’And yet, and yet, when the time comes for war, I shall take General Garibaldi under my arm and say:  “Let’s go and see what they are about inside Verona!"’

Cialdini tried to stir up the quarrel anew by a letter full of foolish personalities; but to this sort of attack Garibaldi was impervious.  It mattered nothing to him that a man should make rude remarks about his wearing a red shirt.  He admired the victor of Castelfidardo as one of Italy’s best soldiers.  He was, therefore, perfectly ready to embrace Cialdini at the King’s request before he left Turin for Caprera.  It cost him more to consent to an interview of reconciliation with the Prime Minister in the royal presence, because his disagreement with Cavour was purely political and impersonal, and was rooted more deeply in his heart than any private irritation could be; but he did consent, and the interview took place on the 23rd of April.  Probably Victor Emmanuel in after days was never gladder of anything he had done than of having caused his two great subjects—­both his subjects born—­to part for the last time in this mortal life in peace.

On one other memorable occasion the man who, at twenty-two, said that he meant to be Prime Minister of Italy, and who now, at fifty-one, was keeping his word, filled with his presence the Chamber of which he seemed to incarnate the life and history—­which may be said to have been his only home, for Cavour hardly had a private life.  Very soon the familiar figure was to vacate the accustomed place for ever.