Antonio-Pericles waved his arm between the two young men.

Their plain perplexity caused him to dash his fingers down each side of his moustachios in tugs of enjoyment.

For Lieutenant Pierson, who displayed a certain readiness to bow, had caught a sight of the repellent stare on Ammiani’s face; a still and flat look, not aggressive, yet anything but inviting; like a shield.

Nevertheless, the lieutenant’s head produced a stiff nod.  Carlo’s did not respond; but he lifted his hat and bowed humbly in retirement to the ladies.

Captain Gambier stepped aside with him.

‘Inform Lieutenant Pierson, I beg you,’ said Ammiani, ’that I am at his orders, if he should consider that I have insulted him.’

‘By all means,’ said Gambier; ’only, you know, it’s impossible for me to guess what is the matter; and I don’t think he knows.’

Luciano happened to be coming near.  Carlo went up to him, and stood talking for half a minute.  He then returned to Captain Gambier, and said, ’I put myself in the hands of a man of honour.  You are aware that Italian gentlemen are not on terms with Austrian officers.  If I am seen exchanging salutes with any one of them, I offend my countrymen; and they have enough to bear already.’

Perceiving that there was more in the background, Gambier simply bowed.  He had heard of Italian gentlemen incurring the suspicion of their fellows by merely being seen in proximity to an Austrian officer.

As they were parting, Carlo said to him, with a very direct meaning in his eyes, ‘Go to the opera tonight.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ the Englishman answered, and digested the look and the recommendation subsequently.

Lieutenant Pierson had ridden off.  The war-machine was in motion from end to end:  the field of flowers was a streaming flood; regiment by regiment, the crash of bands went by.  Outwardly the Italians conducted themselves with the air of ordinary heedless citizens, in whose bosoms the music set no hell-broth boiling.  Patrician and plebeian, they were chiefly boys; though here and there a middle-aged workman cast a look of intelligence upon Carlo and Luciano, when these two passed along the crowd.  A gloom of hoarded hatred was visible in the mass of faces, ready to spring fierily.

Arms were in the city.  With hatred to prompt the blow, with arms to strike, so much dishonour to avenge, we need not wonder that these youths beheld the bit of liberty in prospect magnified by their mighty obfuscating ardour, like a lantern in a fog.  Reason did not act.  They were in such a state when just to say ‘Italia!  Italia!’ gave them nerve to match an athlete.  So, the parading of Austria, the towering athlete, failed of its complete lesson of intimidation, and only ruffled the surface of insurgent hearts.  It seemed, and it was, an insult to the trodden people, who read it as a lesson for cravens:  their instinct commonly hits the