‘Carlo is composing for his newspaper,’ the countess said to Luciano.

‘Those are the leaders who can lead,’ the latter replied.  ’Give the men who are born to it the first chance.  Old Agostino is right—­the people owe them their vantage ground.  But when they have been tried and they have failed, decapitate them.  Medole looks upon revolution as a description of conjuring trick.  He shuffles cards and arranges them for a solemn performance, but he refuses to cut them if you look too serious or I look too eager; for that gives him a suspicion that you know what is going to turn up; and his object is above all things to produce a surprise.’

‘You are both of you unjust to Count Medole,’ said the countess.  ’He imperils more than all of you.’

’Magnificent estates, it is true; but of head or of heart not quite so much as some of us,’ said Luciano, stroking his thick black pendent moustache and chin-tuft.  ’Ah, pardon me; yes! he does imperil a finer cock’s comb.

’When he sinks, and his vanity is cut in two, Medole will bleed so as to flood his Lombard flats.  It will be worse than death to him.’

Carlo said:  ‘Do you know what our Agostino says of Count Medole?’

‘Oh, for ever Agostino with you young men!’ the countess exclaimed.  ’I believe he laughs at you.’

’To be sure he does:  he laughs at all.  But, what he says of Count Medole holds the truth of the thing, and may make you easier concerning the count’s estates.  He says that Medole is vaccine matter which the Austrians apply to this generation of Italians to spare us the terrible disease.  They will or they won’t deal gently with Medole, by-and-by; but for the present he will be handled tenderly.  He is useful.  I wish I could say that we thought so too.  And now,’ Carlo stooped to her and took her hand, ‘shall we see you at La Scala to-night?’

The countess, with her hands lying in his, replied:  ’I have received an intimation from the authorities that my box is wanted.’

‘So you claim your right to occupy it!’

‘That is my very humble protest for personal liberty.’

’Good:  I shall be there, and shall much enjoy an introduction to the gentleman who disputes it with you.  Besides, mother, if the Signorina Vittoria sings . . .’

Countess Ammiani’s gaze fixed upon her son with a level steadiness.  His voice threatened to be unequal.  All the pleading force of his eyes was thrown into it, as he said:  ’She will sing:  and she gives the signal; that is certain.  We may have to rescue her.  If I can place her under your charge, I shall feel that she is safe, and is really protected.’

The countess looked at Luciano before she answered: 

’Yes, Carlo, whatever I can do.  But you know I have not a scrap of influence.’

‘Let her lie on your bosom, my mother.’

‘Is this to be another Violetta?’

‘Her name is Vittoria,’ said Carlo, colouring deeply.  A certain Violetta had been his boy’s passion.