Such a request, coming from an Italian husband, was so great a proof of the noble character of his love and his knowledge of the woman he loved, that Merthyr took him in his arms and kissed him.

“Get it over quickly, dear good fellow,” Carlo murmured; “you have something to tell me.  Whatever it is, it’s air; but I’ll listen.”

They passed into a vacant room.  “You know you are betrayed,” Merthyr began.

“Not exactly that,” said Carlo, humming carelessly.

“Positively and absolutely.  The Countess d’Isorella has sold your secrets.”

“I commend her to the profit she has made by it.”

“Do you play with your life?”

Carlo was about to answer in the tone he had assumed for the interview.  He checked the laugh on his lips.

“She must have some regard for my life, such as it’s worth, since, to tell you the truth, she is in the house now, and came here to give me fair warning.”

“Then, you trust her.”

“I?  Not a single woman in the world!—­that is, for a conspiracy.”

It was an utterly fatuous piece of speech.  Merthyr allowed it to slip, and studied him to see where he was vulnerable.

“She is in the house, you say.  Will you cause her to come before me?”

“Curiously,” said Carlo, “I kept her for some purpose of the sort.  Will I? and have a scandal now?  Oh! no.  Let her sleep.”

Whether he spoke from noble-mindedness or indifference, Merthyr could not guess.

“I have a message from your friend Luciano.  He sends you his love, in case he should be shot the first, and says that when Lombardy is free he hopes you will not forget old comrades who are in Rome.”

“Forget him!  I would to God I could sit and talk of him for hours.  Luciano!  Luciano!  He has no wife.”

Carlo spoke on hoarsely.  “Tell me what authority you have for charging Countess d’Isorella with . . . with whatever it may be.”

“A conversation between Countess Anna of Lenkenstein and a Major Nagen, in the Duchess of Graatli’s house, was overheard by our Beppo.  They spoke German.  The rascal had a German sweetheart with him.  She imprisoned him for some trespass, and had come stealing in to rescue him, when those two entered the room.  Countess Anna detailed to Nagen the course of your recent plotting.  She named the hour this morning when you are to start for Brescia.  She stated what force you have, what arms you expect; she named you all.”

“Nagen—­Nagen,” Carlo repeated; “the man’s unknown to me.”

“It’s sufficient that he is an Austrian officer.”

“Quite.  She hates me, and she has reason, for she’s aware that I mean to fight her lover, and choose my time.  The blood of my friends is on that man’s head.”