The question came with great simplicity.

“If I can give a proof of it, I am ready to answer,” said Merthyr, in some surprise.

“Your whole life is the proof of it.  The women of your country are intolerable to me, Merthyr:  but I do see the worth of the men.  Sandra has taught me.  She can think of you, talk of you, kiss the vision of you, and still be a faithful woman in our bondage of flesh; and to us you know what a bondage it is:  How can that be?  I should have asked, if I had not seen it.  Dearest, she loves her husband, and she loves you.  She has two husbands, and she turns to the husband of her spirit when that, or any, dagger strikes her bosom.  Carlo has an unripe mind.  They have been married but a little more than four months; and he reveres her and loves her.” . . . .  Laura’s voice dragged.  “Multiply the months by thousands, we shall not make those two lives one.  It is the curse of man’s education in Italy?  He can see that she has wits and courage.  He will not consent to make use of them.  You know her:  she is not one to talk of these things.  She, who has both heart and judgement—­she is merely a little boat tied to a big ship.  Such is their marriage.  She cannot influence him.  She is not allowed to advise him.  And she is the one who should lead the way.  And—­if she did, we should now be within sight of the City.”

Laura took his hand.  She found it moist, though his face was calm and his chest heaved regularly.  An impish form of the pity women feel for us at times moved her to say, “Your skin is as bronzed as it was last year.  Sandra spoke of it.  She compared it to a young vine-leaf.  I wonder whether girls have really an admonition of what is good for them while they are going their ways like destined machines?”

“Almost all men are of flesh and blood,” said Merthyr softly.

“I spoke of girls.”

“I speak of men.”

“Blunt—­witted that I am!  Of course you did.  But do not imagine that she is not happy with her husband.  They are united firmly.”

“The better for her, and him, and me,” said Merthyr.

Laura twisted an end of her scarf with fretful fingers.  “Carlo Albert has crossed the Ticino?”

“Is about to do so,” Merthyr rejoined.

“Will Rome hold on if he is defeated?”

“Rome has nothing to fear on that side.”

“But you do not speak hopefully of Rome.”

“I suppose I am thinking of other matters.”

“You confess it!”

The random conversation wearied him.  His foot tapped the floor.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.