‘I do, Count Ammiani,’ returned the patrician conspirator.

‘You really listen to a man you despise?’

‘I do not despise him, my friend.’

’You cannot surely tell us that you allow such a man, on his sole authority, to blacken the character of the signorina?’

‘I believe that he has not.’

’Believe? trust him?  Then we are all in his hands.  What can you mean?  Come to the signorina herself instantly.  Agostino, you now conduct Count Medole to her, and save him from the shame of subscribing to the monstrous calumny.  I beg you to go with our Agostino, Count Medole.  It is time for you—­I honour you for the part you have taken; but it is time to act according to your own better judgement.’

Count Medole bowed.

‘The filthy rat!’ cried Ammiani, panting to let out his wrath.

‘A serviceable dog,’ Agostino remarked correctingly.  ’Keep true to the form of animal, Carlo.  He has done good service in his time.’

‘You listen to the man?’ Carlo said, now thoroughly amazed.

’An indiscretion is possible to woman, my lad.  She may have been indiscreet in some way I am compelled to admit the existence of possibilities.’

’Of all men, you, Agostino!  You call her daughter, and profess to love her.’

‘You forget,’ said Agostino sharply.  ’The question concerns the country, not the girl.’  He added in an underbreath, ’I think you are professing that you love her a little too strongly, and scarce give her much help as an advocate.  The matter must be looked into.  If Barto shall be found to have acted without just grounds, I am certain that Count Medole’—­he turned suavely to the nobleman—­’will withdraw confidence from him; and that will be equivalent to a rope’s-end for Barto.  We shall see him to-night at your house?’

‘He will be there,’ Medole said.

’But the harm’s done; the mischief’s done!  And what’s to follow if you shall choose to consider this vile idiot justified?’ asked Ammiani.

‘She sings, and there is no rising,’ said Medole.

’She is detached from the patriotic battery, for the moment:  it will be better for her not to sing at all,’ said Agostino.  ’In fact, Barto has merely given us warning that—­and things look like it—­the Fifteenth is likely to be an Austrian feast-day.  Your arm, my son.  We will join you to-night, my dear Count.  Now, Carlo, I was observing, it appears to me that the Austrians are not going to be surprised by us, and it affords me exquisite comfort.  Fellows prepared are never more than prepared for one day and another day; and they are sure to be in a state of lax preparation after a first and second disappointment.  On the contrary, fellows surprised’—­Agostino had recovered his old smile again—­’fellows surprised may be expected to make use of the inspirations pertaining to genius.  Don’t you see?’

‘Oh, cruel!  I am sick of you all!’ Carlo exclaimed.  ’Look at her; think of her, with her pure dream of Italy and her noble devotion.  And you permit a doubt to be cast on her!’