Carlo got his forehead into a show of smoothness, and said, ’Suppose, my dear Signor Antonio, the prophet of dark things were to say to himself, “Let us wait?"’

‘Hein-it is deep.’  Antonio-Pericles affected to sound the sentence, eye upon earth, as a sparrow spies worm or crumb.  ‘Permit me,’ he added rapidly; an idea had struck him from his malicious reserve stores,—­ ’Here is Lieutenant Pierson, of the staff of the Field-Marshal of Austria, unattached, an old friend of Mademoiselle Emilia Belloni,—­ permit me,—­here is Count Ammiani, of the Lombardia Milanese journal, a new friend of the Signorina Vittoria Campa-Mademoiselle Belloni the Signorina Campa—­it is the same person, messieurs; permit me to introduce you.’

Antonio-Pericles waved his arm between the two young men.

Their plain perplexity caused him to dash his fingers down each side of his moustachios in tugs of enjoyment.

For Lieutenant Pierson, who displayed a certain readiness to bow, had caught a sight of the repellent stare on Ammiani’s face; a still and flat look, not aggressive, yet anything but inviting; like a shield.

Nevertheless, the lieutenant’s head produced a stiff nod.  Carlo’s did not respond; but he lifted his hat and bowed humbly in retirement to the ladies.

Captain Gambier stepped aside with him.

‘Inform Lieutenant Pierson, I beg you,’ said Ammiani, ’that I am at his orders, if he should consider that I have insulted him.’

‘By all means,’ said Gambier; ’only, you know, it’s impossible for me to guess what is the matter; and I don’t think he knows.’

Luciano happened to be coming near.  Carlo went up to him, and stood talking for half a minute.  He then returned to Captain Gambier, and said, ’I put myself in the hands of a man of honour.  You are aware that Italian gentlemen are not on terms with Austrian officers.  If I am seen exchanging salutes with any one of them, I offend my countrymen; and they have enough to bear already.’

Perceiving that there was more in the background, Gambier simply bowed.  He had heard of Italian gentlemen incurring the suspicion of their fellows by merely being seen in proximity to an Austrian officer.

As they were parting, Carlo said to him, with a very direct meaning in his eyes, ‘Go to the opera tonight.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ the Englishman answered, and digested the look and the recommendation subsequently.

Lieutenant Pierson had ridden off.  The war-machine was in motion from end to end:  the field of flowers was a streaming flood; regiment by regiment, the crash of bands went by.  Outwardly the Italians conducted themselves with the air of ordinary heedless citizens, in whose bosoms the music set no hell-broth boiling.  Patrician and plebeian, they were chiefly boys; though here and there a middle-aged workman cast a look of intelligence upon Carlo and Luciano, when these two passed along the crowd.  A gloom of hoarded hatred was visible in the mass of faces, ready to spring fierily.