of the higher members of the Milanese aristocracy were visible; the people looked sullen.  Carlo was attracted by the tall figure of the Signor Antonio-Pericles, whom he beheld in converse with the commandant of the citadel, out in the square, among chatting and laughing General officers.  At Carlo’s elbow there came a burst of English tongues; he heard Vittoria’s English name spoken with animation.  ‘Admire those faces,’ he said to Luciano, but the latter was interchanging quiet recognitions among various heads of the crowd; a language of the eyelids and the eyebrows.  When he did look round he admired the fair island faces with an Italian’s ardour:  ’Their women are splendid!’ and he no longer pushed upon Carlo’s arm to make way ahead.  In the English group were two sunny-haired girls and a blue-eyed lady with the famous English curls, full, and rounding richly.  This lady talked of her brother, and pointed him out as he rode down the line in the Marshal’s staff.  The young officer indicated presently broke away and galloped up to her, bending over his horse’s neck to join the conversation.  Emilia Belloni’s name was mentioned.  He stared, and appeared to insist upon a contrary statement.

Carlo scrutinized his features.  While doing so he was accosted, and beheld his former adversary of the Motter—­one, with 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.’