and saying, “The farther he takes me the angrier I shall be.”  She dreamed of her anger while asleep, but awakened so frequently during the night that morning was at her eyelids before they divided.  To her amazement, she saw the carriage surrounded by Austrian troopers.  Pericles was spreading cigars among them, and addressing them affably.  The carriage was on a good road, between irrigated flats, that flashed a lively green and bright steel blue for miles away.  She drew down the blinds to cry at leisure; her wings were clipped, and she lost heart.  Pericles came round to her when the carriage had drawn up at an inn.  He was egregiously polite, but modestly kept back any expressions of triumph.  A body of Austrians, cavalry and infantry, were breaking camp.  Pericles accorded her an hour of rest.  She perceived that he was anticipating an outbreak of the anger she had nursed overnight, and baffled him so far by keeping dumb.  Luigi was sent up to her to announce the expiration of her hour of grace.

“Ah, Luigi!” she said.  “Signorina, only wait, and see how Luigi can serve two,” he whispered, writhing under the reproachfulness of her eyes.  At the carriage-door she asked Pericles whither he was taking her.  “Not to Turin, not to London, Sandra Belloni!” he replied; “not to a place where you are wet all night long, to wheeze for ever after it.  Go in.”  She entered the carriage quickly, to escape from staring officers, whose laughter rang in her ears and humbled her bitterly; she felt herself bringing dishonour on her lover.  The carriage continued in the track of the Austrians.  Pericles was audibly careful to avoid the border regiments.  He showered cigars as he passed; now and then he exhibited a paper; and on one occasion he brought a General officer to the carriage-door, opened it and pointed in.  A white-helmeted dragoon rode on each side of the carriage for the remainder of the day.  The delight of the supposition that these Austrians were retreating before the invincible arms of King Carlo Alberto kept her cheerful; but she heard no guns in the rear.  A blocking of artillery and waggons compelled a halt, and then Pericles came and faced her.  He looked profoundly ashamed of himself, ready as he was for an animated defence of his proceedings.

“Where are you taking me, sir?” she said in English.

“Sandra, will you be a good child?  It is anywhere you please, if you will promise—­”

“I will promise nothing.”

“Zen, I lock you up in Verona.”  In Verona!”

“Sandra, will you promise to me?”

“I will promise nothing.”

“Zen I lock you up in Verona.  It is settled.  No more of it.  I come to say, we shall not reach a village.  I am sorry.  We have soldiers for a guard.  You draw out a board and lodge in your carriage as in a bed.  Biscuits, potted meats, prunes, bon-bona, chocolate, wine—­you shall find all at your right hand and your left.  I am desolate in offending you.  Sandra, if you will promise—­”