‘I say,’ Weisspriess replied, ’that if there’s a further depreciation of the paper currency, we shall none of us have much chance of digesting or assimilating either—­if I know at all what those processes mean.’

‘Our good Lombard cow is not half squeezed enough,’ observed the major, confidentially in tone.  ’When she makes a noise—­quick! the pail at her udders and work away; that’s my advice.  What’s the verse?—­our Zwitterwitz’s, I mean; the Viennese poet:—­

              “Her milk is good-the Lombard cow;
               Let her be noisy when she pleases
               But if she kicks the pail, I vow,
               We’ll make her used to sharper squeezes: 
               We’ll write her mighty deeds in cheeses: 
               (That is, if she yields milk enow).”

‘Capital! capital!’ the major applauded his quotation, and went on to speak of ‘that Zwitterwitz’ as having served in a border regiment, after creating certain Court scandal, and of his carrying off a Wallach lady from her lord and selling her to a Turk, and turning Turk himself and keeping a harem.  Five years later he reappeared in Vienna with a volume of what he called ‘Black Eagle Poems,’ and regained possession of his barony.  ‘So far, so good,’ said the major; ’but when he applied for his old commission in the army—­that was rather too cool.’

Weisspriess muttered intelligibly, ’I’ve heard the remark, that you can’t listen to a man five minutes without getting something out of him.’

‘I don’t know; it may be,’ said the major, imagining that Weisspriess demanded some stronger flavours of gossip in his talk.  ’There’s no stir in these valleys.  They arrested, somewhere close on Trent yesterday afternoon, a fellow calling himself Beppo, the servant of an Italian woman—­a dancer, I fancy.  They’re on the lookout for her too, I’m told; though what sort of capers she can be cutting in Tyrol, I can’t even guess.’

The major’s car was journeying leisurely toward Cles.  ‘Whip that brute!’ Weisspriess sang out to the driver, and begging the major’s pardon, requested to know whither he was bound.  The major informed him that he hoped to sup in Trent.  ‘Good heaven! not at this pace,’ Weisspriess shouted.  But the pace was barely accelerated, and he concealed his reasons for invoking speed.  They were late in arriving at Trent, where Weisspriess cast eye on the imprisoned wretch, who declared piteously that he was the trusted and innocent servant of the Signorina Vittoria, and had been visiting all the castles of Meran in search of her.  The captain’s man Wilhelm had been the one to pounce on poor Beppo while the latter was wandering disconsolately.  Leaving him to howl, Weisspriess procured the loan of a horse from a colonel of cavalry at the Buon Consiglio barracks, and mounted an hour before dawn, followed by Wilhelm.  He reached Cles in time to learn that Vittoria and her party had passed through it