“Only,” she added, “why will men always think women are so weak?  The Count worked with conspirators who were not dreaming they would do anything, but were plotting to do it.  The Countess belonged to the other party—­men who never thought they were strong enough to see their ideas acting—­I mean, not bold enough to take their chance.  As if we die more than one death, and the blood we spill for Italy is ever wasted!  That night the Austrian spy followed the Count to the meeting-house of the conspirators.  It was thought quite natural that the Count should go there.  But the spy, not having the password, crouched outside, and heard from two that came out muttering, the next appointment for a meeting.  This was told to Countess Branciani, and in the meantime she heard from the Austrian Governor that her husband had given in names of the conspirators.  She determined at once.  ’Now may Christ and the Virgin help me!’”

Emilia struck her knees, while tears started through her shut eyelids.  The exclamation must have been caught from her father, who liked not the priests of his native land well enough to interfere between his English wife and their child in such a matter as religious training.

“What happened?” said Wilfrid, vainly seeking for personal application in this narrative.

“Listen!—­Ah!” she fought with her tears, and said, as they rolled down her face:  “For a miserable thing one can not help, I find I must cry.  This is what she did.  She told him she knew of the conspiracy, and asked permission to join it, swearing that she was true to Italy.  He said he believed her.—­Oh, heaven!—­And for some time she had to beg and beg; but to spare her he would not let her join.  I cannot tell why—­he gave her the password for the neat meeting, and said that an old gold coin must be shown.  She must have coaxed it, though he was a strong man, who could resist women.  I suppose he felt that he had been unkind.—­Were I Queen of Italy he should stand for ever in a statue of gold!—­The next appointed night a spy entered among the conspirators, with the password and the coin.  Did I tell you the Countess had one child—­a girl!  She lives now, and I am to know her.  She is like her mother.  That little girl was playing down the stairs with her nurse when a band of Austrian soldiers entered the hall underneath, and an officer, with his sword drawn, and some men, came marching up in their stiff way—­the machines!  This officer stooped to her, and before the nurse could stop her, made her say where her father was.  Those Austrians make children betray their parents!  They don’t think how we grow up to detest them.  Do I?  Hate is not the word:  it burns so hot and steady with me.  The Countess came out on the first landing; she saw what was happening.  When her husband was led out, she asked permission to embrace him.  The officer consented, but she had to say to him, ‘Move back,’ and then, with her lips to her husband’s cheek, ‘Betray no more of